Emma was laughing without anyone guessing what. Her mouth formed words, but their sounds were inaudible, absorbed into the pulpy mass of her well-nourished face, like the satisfied mask of a Gille de Binche. I suppose she continued to utter sentences as she always did. It made her laugh. She laughed at it all by herself, despite her black eye. Every month, Emma's face always had a new black eye, a new bruise, somewhere in her mouth, around her eye or on the wings of her nose. It didn't stop her from smiling, or even laughing out loud. Maybe in some ways it even helped him. Anyway, we never thought about it. We'd gotten used to that, too.
Text, voice, music © David Noir 2014