o administer her
deathly affairs. One corner for cookingone for clothesone for bedding rollsone
for dying in. He wondered how long his would takeand what people who had more
than four corners in their houses did with the rest of their corners. Did it give them a
choice of corners to die in? He assumednot without reasonthat he would be the
first in his family to follow in his mother’s wake. He would learn otherwise. Soon.
Too soon. Sometimes (from habitfrom missing her)Kuttappen coughed like his
mother used toand his upper body bucked like a justcaught fish. His lower body lay
like leadas though it belonged to someone else. Someone dead whose spirit was
trapped and couldn’t get away. Unlike VeluthaKuttappen was a goodsafe Paravan.
He could neither read nor write. As belay there on his hardbedbits of thatch and grit
fell onto him from the ceiling and mingled with his sweat. Sometimes ants and other
insects fell with it. On bad days the orange walls held hands and bent over himin-
specting him like malevolent doctorsslowlydeliberatelysqueezing the breath out of
him and making him scream. Sometimes they receded of their own accordand the
room he lay in grew impossibly largeterrorizing him with the specter of his own,
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