She fell into a deep delirium, whispering hoarsely to her dead mother, cursing God in Heaven, cursing her doctor, cursing herself as apparitions of devils and demons pulled at her with yellow ochre hands. After all, she found herself reflecting, behind her aunt’s complacent visage there was a past as lurid as any one’s—not, of course, her aunt’s own personal past, which was apparently just that curate and almost incredibly jejune, but an ancestral past with all sorts of scandalous things in it: fire and slaughterings, exogamy, marriage by capture, corroborees, cannibalism! Ancestresses with perhaps dim anticipatory likenesses to her aunt, their hair less neatly done, no doubt, their manners and gestures as yet undisciplined, but still ancestresses in the direct line, must have danced through a brief and stirring life in the woady buff. The night was now profoundly dark. The knots and broken pale that made the garden-fence scalable, and gave access to the fields behind, were still to be traced. Why don’t you just tell me what is going on with you! Why the police questioned you! Why they’re looking for your mother? I’ll understand! Just tell me and I swear to God Lucy I’ll understand. ’ ‘What name would you like, then?’ Her shadowed features turned in his direction.
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