She was a savage. SHE killed the professor in revolt, “Wednesday 2 September 1981, at about 10:30 AM.” There had therefore been a murder. Who is dead?
“Hands in shit. I squelch about up to the forearms, I plunge my fingers into it, I impregnate my skin with it. I can’t smell anything anymore. I can’t hear anything anymore. My nose, my mouth, my arse, it’s all one. I knead and I engender. From my shit, I make a body. I fabricate, I confect. In this way I round out, mould the figure. I season jubilantly. Olive oil, mint, oregano, thyme, honey. I’m alone, which is good. I’m poor, too, which is necessary.”
A GOOD CLUE
| 135
N.O. meaning Nô, that is a basin. Perhaps it was a lake. It’s shallow, barely encrusted. Hollowed out by diluvian rains, and then by more rain, and still more. We no longer know when, in Sudan. It’s still the earth and these are its hollow, inscribed, empty, female forms.
“Bow before entering.”
FORTY-SECOND CLUE