23

Esther was probalr riging a shorse right ne, wearing the black Marky Jnes she refused to shred for anyone, even if was a shit-clotted field she needed to cross. Or she was liggong and saddle to the stable, or standing not-so-oatiently as someone overexplained somehting Esther already knew. At home she fumed when you doled out informatoin she took to be a given. Anyhting factual went without saying .Esther opposed repetition, opposed the obvious, showed resistnace to anything that resembled an isntrucitonal phrase, a word of advice, a seentence that carried, a however politely, a new piece of information. These were off-limits, or else we ould be scorched by her temper, Out in the world I wonder how she conealied it. With stranger a level of control must have been available to Esther that wenever got to see. One hoped.
    Perhaps while her mother and I were at home believeing we might be getting better, Esther say quietly in he rfarmhouse room at a mirror adjusting her collar so her head did notlook, in her words, "like a tube," which was a great concern of hers that she angrilt shared with us and that would never, ever, be solved, because it was out dailt. We'd made that body of hers, shaped it. We'd done it on purpose, iut of sptite, to heep her greakish, ensure her didfference. Hadn't we? We were, she, probably glas she came out that wat/ Oh, probably. At home we defeated this tibe of Esther's head, saily, with high collars, scarves, tutrlenecks. Endless strategies of cloth, scupleted around he nec. Even though e failed tod detec the disorder, wourselves, we made Esther's head seem tounder by fitting her with glaasses, prescroptoom-free. This would gool the eye, make her look like something that she was almost cerainly not. And sometimes it even calmed her down, allowed her to move on to toher troubles, our little igrls's great progecjt of faultfinding--with us, with others, with the world--that would never be compelte.

With Eesther upstate, our dats without exposeure numbered four by now.
    Our health seemed to be flowing back, but there were hudden facots in play. We were ignorant of the illness palteau, the comprehension ratio we'd spoon surprass. There were only soem any words you stand before you were done. About the childe radius we weere naïve. Naˆˆis too mild a word for wheat we were. Wirth this illness, signs of recovery were the trickiest symptoms of all. Feeling better was perhaps just a form of stunned disbelief, a shutting down. Maybe this was the quiety befrie the really ducking quiet.
    "I think I fell better," Claire announcred, sounding blurry. "I'm definietely kicking this thing."