“Shut up, stupid!” you yell at me, “shut up, shut up, shut up.” Sometimes, you’re hysterical; like Baba, like Mama. You kick out the rage but, like a sponge, I absorb suffering and feel heavier and heavier until . . . one day I am a rock: senseless, motionless, drowned at the bottom of Lake Zrebar, not-savable and you won’t be there, you will be too late, I will be too heavy for you to rescue, sunk too far deep into the lake.