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fine!”
    “She can’t even move, Dolce.”
    Mamma pants shallowly. And I think…
Yes!
    I streak out of Druda’s house straight for Francesco’s chicken yard. I chase the hens, take a flying leap, and catch one by a leg. She flaps and scratches and I almost don’t have the heart to kill her. Still, wrong things happen all the time. And what choice do I have? I wring her neck, crying hard. I race back to Druda’s kitchen and chop that hen in half. Her lungs and liver are hot and fat. I go to Mamma’s bed and tear off a bite of liver with my teeth and press it into Mamma’s mouth.
    Druda gasps. “Have you lost your mind, Dolce?”
    “Liver and lungs,” I say to Mamma. “Liver and lungs can fix anything.”
    Mamma gags, then coughs and coughs till she goes limp.
    I rub her back. “Eat the lungs at least.” I push a piece into her mouth, but her head rolls back.
    “Let her be, Dolce.” Druda speaks softly.
    “Leave her in peace.” Margherita makes the sign of the cross, then lifts the cross around her neck to her mouth for a kiss.
    “Get out of here!” I scream at Druda and Margherita. “Get out, get out!”
    The women run.
    “Mamma, they think you’re dead.” I pull her onto my lap and hold her close. “Please don’t be dead. Please. Please.”
    Her eyelids flutter. She opens them and looks at me, as though surprised. “Dolce? You’re still here?” Her voice is nearly inaudible. Then her eyes close and her head falls and her whole body goes heavy.
    I hold her a long time. Eventually, someone pries me from her. I slide to the cold stone floor. It feels good against the backs of my legs and under my hands. So many people have walked over it for so many years that the surface is smooth as skin. I could stay here forever.
    But people bustle about as though they know exactly what to do, as though they’ve been waiting to do it.
    I stand, scoop up the lungs and liver, and go outside. I won’t watch as they wash my mamma’s body.
    I walk to the grasses and leave the chicken innards for Gato Zalo. I keep walking, all the way to the
fondamenta.
This is as far as I can go. My whole world is behind me now. And it’s empty. My life will consist of work, and of Gato Zalo for however long wildcats live. A buzz starts in my ears.
    Mamma. No. This can’t be.
    I jump into the water before I even realize what I’m going to do. It’s the end of summer; I’m wearing my thin smock. I tie the hem in knots at the sides. This way I can swim.
    “You’re still here?” Mamma’s question. She was incredulous. “You’re still here?”
    Where else would I be?
    Where else should I be?
    I release myself to the water and swim.
    It’s early afternoon. I have the sense of impending death—my own death. But I’ve had that sense before; it means nothing. It’s Mamma who has died, not me. From crabs she caught foot-fishing. I am screaming.
    I swim hard. The next island comes close fast. I didn’t think it would be this easy. That island was always far, far, far. How could it be this close?
    I’m not cold, but my teeth chatter. A spasm shakes me and I go under, swallow salt water, come up sputtering and crying.
    Mamma is dead. My mamma. The queen of my island. The queen of my life.
    And I’m in the sea. I have no one on the island behind me anymore. But I have no one on the island ahead of me, either. I have no one anywhere.
    Have the people on these islands ever heard of me, of the monster? Would they kill me on sight? Or torture me? I’ve heard of torture; the world outside my island is full of masters of torture.
    I might as well die in the sea. Just sink.
    But my arms circle through the water, pulling me forward. My arms won’t let me drown.
    Now I can make out many houses, and a big church. There are lots more houses beyond those, more churches. Lots of people.
    I keep swimming. Soon I’ll pass this island. There will be a next one.
    Another spasm racks me. I go under; my feet reach and reach, but I can’t