Unlike the white men, the crowd did notice the girl. Some were intrigued by her presence set against the yellow grass. They made up stories:

Maybe, they whispered, the girl is a widow who is tired of sleeping alone in a bed that is too large for her body, she hates rolling over in her sleep, you know, waking up alone, with her breasts askew, to that ever vacant side, a side devoid of any human chaos or warmth, so, so she’s looking for a husband or a wife, someone whose ivory suits she can hang outside with wooden clothespins, a body she can easily dislike. Or, or maybe she’s a ghost looking for the man who murdered her, murdered, she hadn’t seen his face when he strangled her, only his elbows, so she is studying them, studying all of our elbows to find him.

The crowd stayed on the paved road as they whispered about the girl, close together in three straight lines, so the soles of their shoes would not touch the yellow grass or the river or the mud. The smell of lavender in the air.

They all wore the tailored three-piece suits, dark blue and burgundy suits, gray and ivory suits. They felt more professional this way, even though the suits were not appropriate for the climate, and they were not required to wear them.

The three-piece suits had been found floating in the river, hundreds of suits. Those who discovered them found them beautiful, it was beautiful to see all the colors swimming about, the dark blue and burgundy, gray and ivory. No one knew if they were an offering from the Enflamed Mountain or a sign of a drowning.

No swollen bodies had ever followed the clothing, so after many days of debate the community decided to gather them gently from the river and distribute them among the crowd, and among the white men. They hung them with wooden clothespins in their backyards. The breeze rolled around the pants and vests and jackets as they dried, all of them dancing. The children watched the wind dress up and flail about, thinking anxiously about the day when their bodies would have to follow.

The crowd gave her a wave of their hand sometimes, or a nod of their head, hello girl. They presented her with their elbows. The girl noticed these gestures but didn’t let on. Their bleached shirts were fastened tight around their necks, the collars filled with the day’s sweat.

The white men are sightless, the girl thought. They could not perceive her or anyone else, they did not see the waving hands of the crowd, or the sleeves rolled up to reveal the elbows.

The girl bit her fingernails. Her hands were large, her fingers long. Her teeth snipping, clipping, clipping the nails, a repulsive habit. She bit them hard and fast, and she knew the white men would not notice this repulsiveness.