The Pale Altar
I. There is a specific sound a machine makes when it stops lying, and I have just heard it, though I did not know I was listening for it. I am Amparo Guzmán, and for the last three years I have held the chipped ceramic bowl in my left hand while the Director, Don Ignacio, signs my transfer papers to the coastal clinic, a document that has remained unsigned because he insists the bowl’s soul...
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