Han Ong

marfa squatted and nimbly pushed the sack back into her hairless crinkled lump into the depths of what had once been a woman's body boris ivanovitch was not ignorant he'd graduated from art school and had the genes of a master engraver

In his adolescence, he'd studied Doré's illustrations for the Divine Comedy, keenly interested in the female body.

These contorted creatures, stirring two meters before him, were the living remains of those bodies.

It took an effort of imagination to see any vestiges of woman in their twisted bones and hanging flesh.

old age has no gender boris ivanovitch thought growing terrified what about me will this happen to my body i don't want that i'd rather go out on my own terms than be nullified

Suddenly there was a burst of laughter.

The old women had caught him staring.

''Oh, your lodger's peeking at the girls, Noorka.

Let's beat him with a birch broom so he doesn't get any ideas.''

Noora squealed.

''With the stinging nettles.

We used to beat the boys who peeked with stinging nettles.''

''Come on, you hags, like I need you.

I was just trying to help whoever fell down and you've gotten all excited.''

With that, he hid behind the curtain.

Afterward, he spent several days sketching the bath of the white swans, which was what he called the scene on the remaining wallpaper.

He was able to draw about twenty versions before he ran out of paper.

Just as Boris began to get bored, Nikolai Mikhailovich returned with his son, Kolya, to check on the house and take the reserve stores back to Moscow.

The winter route was arduous.

Unable to use the frozen waterway, they had to take the train, the bus, and then travel six more kilometers through the forest on a tractor.