went to sleep. Everyone slept but Rita.
The horses had dreams and whispered to themselves.

Along the roads where the caravan stopped there would be a fire at night
to watch. Rita sat alone looking at the flames. Dreams came out of the
fire and walked away. Then, hours afterward, they came back when the
fire was low. They stood around the coals and finally crawled into the
ground. Darkness remained. The wagons became ghosts. She grew sad and
wanted to go away with the night like the dreams that crept back into
the dead fire.

Now his eyes were like the hiding places she had wished. She trembled.
He was coming. She could see him out of the window, walking slowly in
the street below. She closed her eyes.

The door opened and her heart bowed itself. Her fingers, stiffened with
colored rings, pressed at her breasts. Now there was a game to play. He
walked up and down pretending Rita was hidden. He was cold and far away.
His face walked like a dead man back and forth in the room. Goliath
shuffled as fast as he could and hid himself in the curtains. She
crouched in the chair, her knees drawn up, her eyes cringing with
delight.

She could watch his face. When he was far away she had further to go to
reach him, and each step was like a kiss she gave him. His anger, his
words, his cold face and his hands striking her were wild roads down
which she ran toward a fire that waited.

He paid no attention but walked up and down and his eyes ignored her.
But he would begin to talk soon. She would undress for him. One by one,
rings, bands of gold, silks and petticoats--each that came off was like
a part of her already burning.

She stood up naked. Only she was left now. Her body caressed her with
its desires. She must go on undressing. There was something more to give
him. She would remove something of herself--her arms, her breasts, her
white thighs. She gave these to him with her dresses and jewels. They
were things for him to burn up.

He was looking at her because she had crawled to his feet. This was when
he began to talk to her--when she placed her arms around his feet and
bent her head to the floor.

"Yours," she whispered.

He was motionless and far away and tall above her. He stood like the
night. His white face was the cold moon. She waited and heard the wind
blow against the windows. She waited for him to grow warm.

His hands lifted her up. He held them around her neck, his fingers
tightening. She opened her eye