“Is thou brother dead?” the Skeptic asked the Widow. “He is dead, is he not?” He grabbed her by the tunic. “Answer me, heathen. Did thou kill my brother?”
The Beloved pulled the Skeptic from the Widow and threw him to the ground, where he curled into a ball and sobbed.
The Wife went to the Twin’s side and kissed his cheeks. His eyes flickered open. She helped him to his feet. “I am saved,” he proclaimed. “Please, brothers, come eat. The Messiah is ready for us to join him.” He handed the Wife the piece of fruit. She bit from the bitter meat, the flies sucking the juice from her moist lips, then the two of them stripped and coiled into each other’s arms.
Once again, that horrifying shriek echoed from inside a dark hole in the bedrock, sounding neither like man nor animal.
The Beloved
