“I know, it sounds ridiculous. I’m not exactly muscular, and you think of Samson as a muscleman. Victor Mature. But to me, Samson is a dear blind brother.

“You know, they gouge out his eyes and they hack off his hair and they make him a slave. They torture and tease him. That takes away his power, for a while. But he survives. By the time his hair grows back, his power is back too. But he doesn’t tell a soul. And no one suspects, because he’s still blind. And to them that means he’s totally helpless. Pitiful. No threat.

“Well, blind Samson knows he can use that to get his revenge. The Philistines are all gathered in the temple, for this big festival they raise money for all year. Samson is part of the talent show. They come to gawk at him and congratulate themselves for being strong and powerful and doing such good works. A little boy leads Samson to the front of the temple, so all the gawkers can get a good view. Samson whines and shuffles, all weak and pitiful. He tells the little boy, ‘I’m tired. I need something to lean on. How about the main support column for this whole structure? That would be good!’ Well, the boy falls for it. Blind Samson leans and leans with all his famous strength. Crash! Ka-boom! He pulls the whole thing down! Down on the Philistines, the little boy, and Samson too.”

I squeal. It’s a horrible story, but I find myself a little thrilled.

She continues, ruefully. “So here I come, impossible dreaming of Samson, thinking I could put on a reverse telethon and, symbolically at least, pull it all down. But I didn’t even make a crack. Yeah, sure, they didn’t know what hit them—because they didn’t get hit! Can you believe someone so brilliant could be such an idiot?”

I don’t know what to say. I am beginning to try to absorb the simple fact that she isn’t coming back.

“Well, my family’s been making noises like I’m getting too old for camp. My grandmother wants to send Mama and me on a trip next year. London possibly. I’m going to start Norm school. Since I’ve been kicked out of Crip school, maybe it’s time to exile myself from the Crip world altogether. I’ll be a foreigner. You know, that’s what you become when it gets impossible to live in the only place where you belong. You learn to sing the song of your people in a foreign land. Even if you’re alone in Babylon and you have no one to sing it to but yourself.”

I don’t get it.