I left my mother rocking by the fire. I tried to rest, but sleep wouldn’t come. Mother longed for my father’s return to cosset and protect him, but there would be conflict when he showed.
Like a river washing over the same bed of rocks, my mind returned to images of my tiger. I saw my tiger’s wounds, made by Father’s bullets, over and over until I rose and stalked the hut in rage.
Sinful acts blazed inside me. It shamed me to think I might take against my own father. But would I not be doing God’s work? The idea woke me like the morning’s goat-bells and my shame retreated.
Father’s duty maintained his pride and kept us from hunger, but I was ready to cast out his grim trade. I would hurl all he stood for from the clifftops to the jagged rocks below, and hang the consequences.
My only s
