Dialogue
"I didn't know Ofglen very well," I say. "I mean the former one."
"Oh?" she says . . .
"I've known her since May," I say. "Around the first of May I think it was. What they used to call May Day."
"Did they?' she says, light, indifferent, menacing.
"I could help you," he says. Whispers.
"What?" I say.
"Shh," he says. "I could help you. I've helped others."
"Help me?" I say, my voice as low as his. "How?.
"How do you think?" he says . . .
Foreshadowing
She held her own hands out to us, the ancient gesture that was both an offering and an invitation, to come forward, into an embrace, an acceptance. In your hands, she said, looking down at her own hands as if they had given her the idea. But there was nothing in them. They were empty.
"Mayday," she says. "I tried it on you once."
"Mayday," I repeat. I remember the day. M'aidez.
"Don't use it unless you have to," says Ofglen.
Biblical Allusion
Give me children, or else I die. There's more than one meaning to it.
"Resettlement of the Children of Ham is continuing on schedule," says a reassuring pink face, back on screen. "Three thousand have arrived this week in National Homeland One, with another two thousand in transit."
