Pierre and I begin to notice scratches on Max and Manu. We have ideas of where the blood trails are coming from, and so begin the elimination of possibilities.

Are they scratching themselves in their sleep? We bind them in a papoose, and still the scratches appear.


We put them on opposite sides in the crib, but still, injury prevails.

One day, we hang out over their bed and watch (they have little awareness of us or them as independent selves at this point so why hide?), and see that even while bound up in their swaddles they squirm like a worm to the center of the crib, and wriggle their arms out with a fury it seems to meet and connect with the other.


But with no real control over their alien limbs, and flailing to explore the space around them, they wind up flinging-flapping and pummeling one another.

Here is the play by play. ‘Real love’, one says to thee, ‘is how your brain relates to the pleasure in pain’.

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