Not the historians. No, not them. Their greatest crime is that they presume to know what happened, how things come about, when they have only what the past chose to leave behind-for the most part, they think what they were meant to think, and it’s a rare one that sees what really happened, behind the smokescreen of artifacts and paper.

There it was. There was no sense of him, or her, as I had thought there might be-but there was certainly a sense of Someone. I wondered whether perhaps babies had no gender-physical characteristics aside-until birth, when the act of exposure to the outside world set them forever as one or the other.

arms, ankles turning as I stepped in holes and stumbled on rocks. I had no room in my mind for any form of rational thought; I wanted only to get away from him. A heavy weight struck me hard in the

Love for a child cannot be free; from the first signs of movement in the womb, a devotion springs up as powerful as it is mindless, irresistible as the process of birth itself. But powerful as it is, it is a love always of control; one is in charge, the protector, the watcher, the guardian-there is great passion in it, to be sure, but never abandon. Always, always, I had had to

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