H.P. Perkofed.

My last night of childhood began with a visit home.

Tagato's sister had given us two sterile eggs.

Tagato gave one to my mother, brother, and sister.

She insisted that I eat the other one alone.

It didn't matter.

There was still enough to leave everyone feeling good, almost everyone.

My mother wouldn't take any.

She sat, watching everyone drifting and dreaming without her.

Most of the time time she watched me. I lay against Tagatoi's long velvet

underside, sipping from my egg now and then, wondering why my mother denied herself such a harmless pleasure.

Less of her hair would be gray if she indulged now and then.

The egg's prolonged life, prolonged vigor.

My father, who had never refused one in his life, had lived more than twice as long as he should have.

And towards the end of his life, when he should have been slowing down, he had married my mother and fathered four children. But my mother seemed

content to age before she had to. I saw her turn away as several of Tagatoi's limbs secured

me closer. Tagatoy liked limbs secured me closer.

Tagatoy liked our body heat and took advantage of it whenever she could.

When I was little and at home more, my mother used to try to tell me how to behave with

Tagatoy, how to be respectful and always obedient because

Tagatoy was to elect government official in charge of the preserve, and thus the most important

of her kind to deal directly with Terence.

...