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The children pressed to each other like so many roses, so many weeds, intermixed, peering out for a look at the hidden sun.

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She knew they thought they remembered a warmness, like a blushing in the face, in the body, in the arms and legs and trembling hands.

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About how like a lemon it was, and how hot.

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They turned on themselves, like a feverish wheel, all tumbling spokes.

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"It's like a penny," she said once, eyes closed.

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It's like a fire," she said, "in the stove."

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Then, wildly, like animals escaped from their caves...

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...and like leaves before a new hurricane, they tumbled upon each other and ran.

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They stood as if someone had driven them, like so many stakes, into the floor.

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...the sweet crystal fall of showers...

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...they were tidal waves...

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...a thousand forest had been crushed under the rain...

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...the endless shaking down of clear bead necklaces upon the roof, the gardens, the forests...

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...children were crushed in the great thick windows.

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She was an old photograph...

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...and if she spoke at all her voice would be a ghost.

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...the biggest crime of all...

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...her pale snow face...

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The silence was so immense and unbelievable that you felt your ears had been stuffed or you had lost your hearing altogether.

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It was the color of flaming bronze...

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....the sky around it was a blazing blue tile color.

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And the jungle burned with sunlight...

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...the children, released from their spell...

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It was a nest of octopi...

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The children lay out, laughing, on the jungle mattress...

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It was the color of rubber and ash...

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It was the color of stones and white cheeses and ink.

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...the concussion of storms...

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...when the sun came out for an hour and showed its face to the stunned world...

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Now the rain was slackening...

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...her waiting silence...

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They stood looking at the door and saw it tremble from her beating...

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The children lay out, laughing, on the jungle mattress and heard it sigh...

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The rain slacked still more.

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A wind blew cold around them.

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..and if she spoke at all her voice would be a ghost...

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The world ground to a standstill.

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...letting the sun burn their arms...

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Then they closed the door and heard the gigantic sound of the rain falling in tons and avalanches, everywhere and forever.

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...when there wasn't rain and rain and rain.

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They looked at everything and savored everything...

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So after that, dimly, dimly, she sensed it...

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It was a nest of octopi, clustering up great arms of fleshlike weed, wavering, flowering in this brief spring. It was the color of rubber and ash, this jungle, from the many years without sun. It was the color of stones and white cheeses and ink, and it was the color of the moon.

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...they breathed the fresh, fresh air and listened and listened to the silence...

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...they ran and ran in shouting circles.

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They stood as if someone had driven them, like so many stakes, into the floor. They looked at each other and then looked away. They glanced out at the world that was raining now and raining and raining steadily. They could not meet each other;s glances. Their faces were solemn and pale. They looked at their hands and feet, their faces down.

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...with the drum and gush of water...

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The children lay out, laughing, on the jungle mattress and heard it sigh and squeak...

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A boom of thunder startled them...

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In the centre of it, cupped and huge, was a single raindrop.

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They turned through the doorway to the room in the sound of the storm and thunder, lightning on their faces, blue and terrible.