“HE PUSHED it into the burlap bag, watched the rough cloth bulge, change shape, wondered what the light was like in there, filtered through the weave. He knotted the end and stood, climbed the stairs, walked slowly to the river, prepared the lie. The children would be home soon, would run laughing to the cellar, to the box near the jars of plums and peaches and beets, and reach up for the string that lit the bulb.”