We tied up, and I went with Sue to look at her mother's grave. The marker was gone, but we had no trouble in finding the grave. The dirt had sunk back into the ground so that there was a definite trench where the grave was, but Bill and I had apparently made it deep enough so that no animals had dug down to her body. We left it at that, not even putting up another marker. Sue said that her mother would certainly not care, and she didn't either.The next day, we headed north and came to the confluence with the Missouri River. There was nothing special to see there, and we kept going up the Mississippi River. We were headed for Hannibal of Mark Twain fame. My folks lived on a farm just northwest of the city limits and Bill's parents were on the next farm after ours. Both were on a major highway, so there should be no problem getting to the farms once we made it to Hannibal.We had still been listening to our shortwave radio in hopes of hearing some news of what had happened to the rest of. The words of the hauntingly beautiful woman were spoken as if she were instructing, with a dominant authority, her lover to enjoy their climax inside of her. He stared at her silently, unable to understand what was happening, awestruck by her beauty, as she lifted herself onto the railing of her balcony and stood up straight, wet hair blowing in the cold night wind around her like a sail in a storm. He tried to speak as he watched lean forward, her smile disappearing under her nose, but his heart had stopped for a moment, and his lungs failed him when he wanted to shout, to call out, to cry to her… “no”.She fell, beautifully, gracefully, her body rigid at first, for the first two rotations of her drop, and then her limbs began to pull in every direction, painfully, as she tumbled down. She embraced the pain, embraced the tug of the centrifugal force on her splayed-out form. The pain, the discomfort, the pangs of regret in those final moments purified her like the heat of the shower.
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