The Fight
Our neighbors’ voices rang out as they quarreled. The insults began spewing from their mouths with such extreme violence that I was almost trembling with fear. My mother came to me. ‘Go inside, son,’ she said. ‘Those women are shameless. Don’t listen to what they’re saying.’
I went inside our house, and was scared, though I didn’t know why. I threw myself on the floor, trying to shut my ears to the bickerers’ screams. But the screams poured over my head, gushing. The window was broken, so closing it was useless. Also, my mother refused to close the door because she needed the daylight to patch my father’s socks. But after a while, I surrendered to sleep as I thought about the rugged, rocky path that led to the valley where I’d gone two or three days before to help the olive pic
