Not any more. They’re changing. I got patches of dead skin on the inside of my thumb and the tips of all my fingers. They’re growing larger too – growing stronger – turning from the hands of a boy into the hands of a man. Not long ago they spent their days holding a book to my face. These days they pick and pluck till I’m good for nothing but sleep. And I’m beginning to feel something different, a kind of strength creeping into me, so that if someone were to hit me hard, I think I could take it. I don’t think anyone wants to. I’m just saying that if they did, it might not hurt as much as it would’ve before. At least that’s what I think until I meet with the mule. Once the mule kicks me, I know all about it, cos this ain’t just any old beast of burden, this mule’s on a mission from God. I don’t hear the voice of God for a little while after the night with Lizzie in the woods. That’s the way it works sometimes cos He’s a busy man.
