cockpit she commenced to scream. She stood on the
pier screaming with her head back while two other
women held her arms. The crowd, which had come
close behind her, formed around her, jostled close,
looking down at the launch.
'God damn it/ said the sheriff. 'Who left that
gate open? Get something to cover those bodies;
blankets, sheets, anything, and we'll get this crowd
out of here.'
The woman stopped screaming and looked down
into the launch, then put back her head and
'Where they got him?' said one of the women near
'Where they put Albert?'
The woman who was screaming stopped it and
looked in the launch again.
'He ain't there/ she said. 'Hey, you, Roger
Johnson,' she shouted at the sheriff. 'Where's
Albert? Where's Albert?'
'He isn't on board, Mrs. Tracy,' the sheriff said.
The woman put her head back and screamed again,
the chords in her scrawny throat rigid, her hands
clenched, her hair shaking.
In the back of the crowd people were shoving
and elbowing to get on to the dock side.
'Come on. Let somebody else see.'
'They're going to cover them up.'
And in Spanish, 'Let me pass. Let me look. Hay
cuatro muertos. Todos son muertos. Let me see/