The Drowned
“When he was going to the river for a swim and kept embracing and kissing everyone he met on the road, why didn’t any of them stop him halfway and turn him back? Why didn’t anyone try to say something in an attempt to change his mind, huh? Didn’t they see that he was drunk? Didn’t they see the coldness in his eyes when they let him go – go, swim in the waters melting in the spring… And now they’re burying him. Oh, how they’re burying him! I would be envious if this had been something worthy of envy.” It was the Woman of the House, her voice full of righteousness, her movements – lordly, her anger – obvious, her doubt and fear – knotted in her heart.
None of the people in the room watched how she rubbed sand into the sides of the kettles, polishing them shamelessly and casting
