My sister is in Madagascar, where she has been working, farming, and praying. Her friend has just been found murdered in the next town. But the Peace Corps doesn't want any publicity, because it would be bad for public relations, and whenever there is a murder of a Peace Corps worker, applications drop substantially.

She sent me a photo of this woman -- broad shouldered, tall -- I try to imagine the force it would take to kill someone with bare hands -- the force behind a blow --

The way the metal sounded beneath the hammer, the grotesque twisting. How like flesh. How not like flesh. How like our bodies.

"We believe what we are told, if only to quell anxiety."