I said I very much wanted to hear. He shuffled through the fallen books to find the original, but then swatted the air, giving up. He leaned back in his wooden chair, stretching his legs in front of him. Through the window, the bloom of brown and green, hickory and pines, darkened. A midday Georgia storm began. As Ra-mesh Uncle talked, the thunder rolled on.

THE TALE OF THE BOMBAYAN GOLD DIGGER