Hy told us this was how people had kept their meat and milk and vegetables cold. Tilly had asked. Hy said Pillow Lake was famous for the purity of its ice. We'd roll crackers and grapes and decks of cards in our towels and go skidding in flip-flops over rotten leaves. There was home in the lake.
Fish go to the bathroom in it.
But I liked to let the water into my mouth. It tasted fine, sweet and pale green, with a smooth heaviness, like a spoon. Our parents' lives had ended in it. This same river flowed both in our story and, in fact, every day below the hill. It was because of the river that the Rouens came.