What remains

NATHANIEL It's probably best to forget it. Surely someone else would have kind words for the girl. Nathaniel tries to imagine what it will be like to live in an empty house one remembers only as full. He has never had a family as such. He cannot fathom the loss, so he gives up trying. Easier to mourn are the animals, quantifiable and necessary. No emotional output to fabricate when so much wool and meat are gone. “I’ll help,” he tells her. “Nothing else to do today.” His own house needs work, of course, but the chickens are loose in the yard and the dog will be keeping a watchful eye. He expected to spend most of his day out, naming the dead. Nathaniel steps back as she rises. It may be a mistake, as he notices her balance falter, but rather than move in to help her, he eases his weight in the opposite direction, expression wary. Then of course he feels some weird combination of embarrassed and confused, and decides to concentrate on the sheep, instead. He moves across the shed without making eye contact to begin the mournful task of pulling out the bodies and giving them to the sky. It's probably best to let go.