The little fellow's hands went to his throat. His mouth opened, but only a croak came out.
She smiled, then reversed herself, as was her habit. "Now, maybe, I look at them gifts." She shepherded me toward the verandah, leaving no one between the little man and Henry, who turned his eyes (bloodshot whites around pink irises) onto the cringing fellow.
"You comin'?" called grandmother, over her shoulder. The little man shuffled after us, his hand still at his throat. Two packages leaned against the house. The small one was covered with banana leaves and tied with twine. The other was so large that I wondered how the little fellow had carried it there. Grandmother began to open the smaller one with abandon. I was standing near the larger package, and might have started on it myself, but the smell of rotting meat struck my nostrils forcefully.
