His Son Carried the Stone for a Week

Cain had taught the boy by living. He was about to find out whether the boy had been watching.

His son was twelve. The boy had Cain’s hands.

Cain had spent his whole life learning to keep his own from reaching.

He sat on the chair the council had built for him on the granary terrace. His back had stopped letting him kneel in the southern flat two seasons earlier. The chair was set against the wall where he could see the boy walk the perimeter witho…