centre that I remember. I had been punished but not subdued. At
the first opportunity, I stole out of the house and onto the lawn
that stretched out to the pavement.

I remember the day. The sun was shining, the sky was clear, and
everything was green with springtime. For a minute I stood still
and blinked in the sunlight. It was beautiful and soft and balmy;
the world at full exuberance; the buds upon the trees, the
flowers, and the songbirds singing. I could not understand it. It
was so beautiful and soft. My heart was still beating fiercely,
still black with perversity and stricken rancour. The world had no
right to be so. I hated with the full rush of childish anger.

And then I saw.

Across the street coming over to meet me was a child of my age. He
was fat and chubby, a mass of yellow curls and laughter; when he
walked he held his feet out at angles as is the manner of fat boys
and his arms away from his body. I slid off the porch quietly.
Here was something that could suffer for the cat and my mother. At
my rush he stopped in wonder. I remember his smiling face and my
anger. In an instant I had him by the hair and was biting with all
the fury of vindictiveness.

At first he set up a great bawl for assistance. He could not
understand; he screamed and held his hands aloft to keep them out
of my reach. Then he tried to run away. But I had learned from the
cat that had scratched me. I clung on, biting, tearing. The shrill
of his scream was music: it was conflict, sweet and delicious; it
was strife, swift as instinct.