“I hated you so much,” she said. “I hate you now. I always hated you. You killed it.”

“Killed it! How—?” I was stunned.

“Yes,” she said. “You did it.”

“What are you saying?” I asked. “How did I do that?” I wanted to probe her mind, but I’d never used that power with her and some profound inveterate distaste kept me from doing it.

“You were so big,” she said. “You were so healthy, so normal. Ten pounds, eleven ounces. Even your bones were big. And then that other little one, my little Garwain, only three pounds, and they said he had given you all his blood in my womb, all his blood. You were like a vampire baby drinking up all his blood! It was so awful, and he was so small. Just three pounds. Oh, he was the most terriblest, pitifulest creature you ever saw in your life.”

I was too amazed to speak.

The tears were rolling down her cheeks. Cindy took out a clean Kleenex and wiped them away.

“I wanted so badly to hold him, but they wouldn’t let me,” Patsy went on. “They said he was the donor twin, that’s what they called him. The donor twin. He gave everything. And there he was, too tiny hardly to live. They put him in an incubator. They wouldn’t even let me touch him. I sat there in that hospital day and night, day and night. And Aunt Queen kept calling me and telling me, ‘This baby at home needs you!’ What a thing to say to me! Like this tiny little baby in the hospital didn’t need me! Like this little pitiful creature in the hospital didn’t need me! She wanted me to come home and give my milk to a ten-pound monster of a baby. I couldn’t even look at you! I didn’t want to be in the same house with you! That’s why I moved out back.”

She wiped angrily at her tears. Her voice was so soft. I don’t think human beings could have heard her. I’m not sure Cindy who sat right beside her could hear her.

“I sat there in that hospital day and night,” she said. “I begged them to let me touch that tiny little baby, and don’t you know he died in that machine with all those tubes and wires, and monitors and numbers clicking. He died! That little baby, that poor little Garwain, my Little Knight, that’s what I called him, Garwain, my Little Knight, and then they let me hold him, when he was dead, that poor tiny infant, I held him in my arms.”

I had never seen her like this, never seen her cry such tears, never seen her in such abject sadness. On she went: