Chapter 3

At the Youth Monument—which to Quinnie resembled Prometheus in his mythology textbook, holding a flaming disc aloft—he would pause reverently, admiring what he imagined to be the Titan who defied the gods to bring fire to Earth and thus free mankind. He felt a ripple of pleasure as he thought of him and his powerful physique. But on the brink of young manhood, he understood that such thoughts and feelings were best kept to himself—especially as his mother, Sydney, and a reluctant Nemin, would sometimes affront his newfound manly dignity by checking him for ticks and ensuring that he was scrubbing himself in the big, claw-foot tub, while he, ashamed, would keep his knees pressed tightly up against his chest.

“Filthy, always filthy,” his mother would say as she’d grab the loofah to scour his still-tender flesh, “after these excursions to God knows where. I swear you’ll be the death of me.”