“Marguerite. And Francis. And everyone.” Her quiet voice was full of stubbornness. “We have to go now, Daddy. We have to go.” She turned and took a few steps. Her steps were heavy and her neck determined, as she walked across the muddy bed of the canal, up onto the bank.

“Lou?”

“We have to go there, Daddy.” She started walking more quickly on the cart road between the trees.

“Lou, no.” I hurried after her.

“I’m going back,” she said.

“We can’t.”

“Can, too!”

I pulled her close to me, wanting to hold her tight, but she twisted out of my grasp. Such strength—I had no idea she was so strong, so tough.

I took hold of her again. But she struggled against me, she scratched, screamed, and bit. At first without a word. Only a low hissing, fierce whimpers, and moans accompanied her exertions.

But then the words began. Everything she was carrying. A lot of it I had heard before, but some words were new. Idiot! Shit father! Damn Daddy!

I restrained her by force, the force of a father—hating it, that I had to hold her like this. I’d never held her like this before. If a father holds his child like this, does it constitute abuse? Does it?

I held on to her, tighter and tighter. She screamed, louder and louder. Finally it came: “I hate you. I wish you were dead. Just like August! Just like Mommy!”

It was only then that I released her. I released her so abruptly that she fell down. Her body hit the ground with a thump.

She remained seated there, breathing hard. Her hair hung over her eyes. I couldn’t see her face, and I wondered if she was crying, but she wasn’t sobbing. Only breathing, more and more slowly.

I could have screamed too, yelled back at her. Denied it. Objected. Put her in her place. Called it delusions.

Or comforted her. Said that you mustn’t think like that. Given her hope.

But I didn’t say anything. Because there wasn’t anything more to say. She’d said it all.

Finally she got to her feet. Turned away from me. Started walking again. But she didn’t walk far. Because she knew I wasn’t following her. She just walked a few steps into the forest, to a spot in the shade. There she sat down, folding her legs underneath her.

“Lou?”

“Go away. Go to the shitty boat.”

And I turned away. Did as she said. Because she wouldn’t leave me, no matter what I did. She was a child, she couldn’t leave me. Hiding here between the trees for a little while was the extent of her daring. And that in itself, that I could rest assured that she wouldn’t leave me, was almost the worst part. The most unfair thing of all.

I climbed up onto the boat. Crawled into the forepeak.