Isaac

A terrible dream: I'm leading W. up one of the hills on the Town Moor, grim faced and silent. I'm much larger than usual, a giant toad, a giant flea with great thick thighs. And W. is much smaller, a wren, a midge. And I'm silent: I'm not saying a word. I'm dragging him up the hill without offering a word of expectation.

Tell me, tell me where we're going!, W. cries. But I tell him nothing. On the hill summit, late evening, W. is prone, and I have a knife to his throat. I'm silent. I'm about to cut … Does a voice from the sky cry out, telling me to stop? Does God intervene, tell me to sacrifice something else in W.'s place? No.

Night finds W.'s body on the hill, speaking his last words in bubbles of blood.