A lizard clucks behind the bookcase, looking for sex or a fight. There’s a Kathakali play on TV. "Guh-guh-guh-guh," says evil Duhshasana, clawing his red wool beard and rolling his eyes. Suddenly he charges, ‘GUH-GUH-GUH-GUH-GUH!!’
Let him strut. Soon the hero will gouge out his guts so the heroine can fulfill her vow to wash her hair in his red wool blood.
I’m sitting behind you, we both face the screen. I stare at the back of your head. The lizard is hidden, but I know what it’s doing: It holds its fleshy pale tail stiffly, and raises it, lowers it. Raise. Lower. Cluck. As if it had all the time in the world.
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