The truth was impossible, indecent. You are all that I am or hope to be—the celestial atom God put into me at the beginning. She ought to have leapt back on guard. It is you who took my name, not I yours. Occasionally the flames would bend, twist and writhe crazily as the punka-boy bestirred himself. As the palm bears nuts perennially, there were always coconut-laden proas making the beach. She married my Dad in a small ceremony down at City Hall. He had heard everything. On that night,—that fatal night,—Winifred crushed all the hopes that were rising in my heart.
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