(Continued from previous page)

the rain.  It looked like glass, and she couldn't see outside the hut.

The men stared.  She smiled.  They smiled back.  The little man waved a stick at her and cut it with one whack of the knife. He caught the small piece before it landed on the ground.  Again he cut the stick, and again he caught another small piece. 

The little man put the small sticks on the hearth.  With a stone he pounded them until they were a flat pieces of pulp about the size of dish rags.

(Continued on next page)


Conchi's Corner

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Stories Copyright 1999

by Steve Gastineau

Update 11/7/99

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