Vardaman Bundren
The Boy Who Believes His Mother Is a Fish
She's a fish now. I drilled her some air.
I know things they don't. Like how death ain't a word, it's a smell. It's sweat and sawdust and the hollowness inside something that used to be alive. I caught a fish the day Mama died. I cleaned it out. She was like that. Only she's not in the ground, not really. She's swimming now. Maybe I will too.
What I'm Into: dead fish, coffin nails, buzzard circles, Dewey Dell's secrets, the smell of dirt after death
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