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S7 I asked Stroud why the town was called Sabbath Creek, since there was no creek. "Look here," he said. "Just because you hadn't seen a creek don't mean there's not a creek. It runswest of town. I don'tguess you been out there." Years ago, he said, churches used the creek for baptisms. There was a large clearing and a sandbar where both black and white churches gathered to baptize people who'd been saved, and that's how the creek got its name. "Not fit for much at all these days, though," he said. "There's a chicken processing plant upstream that dumps in feathers and blood and who knows what else." One of the books my mother checked out of the librarywasan atlas that traced all of human history, using maps to show how the world had changed over time. From the first page I was amazed, and for a while I enjoyed the book as though I were a normal person, but soon the atlas held me inside it assurely asit held the black oxdrawn on a cave wall or aphoto of a terra cotta man two thousand years old, and I imagined the impossible: wewould allbe dead forever, though forever would end. The book closed itself in my hands. 69 /7 I asked Stroud why the town was called Sabbath Creek, since there was no creek. "Look here:' he said. "Just because you hadn't seen a creek don't mean there's not a creek. It runs west oftown. I don't guess you been out there." Years ago, he said, churches used the creek for baptisms. There was a large dearing and a sandbar where both black and white churches gathered to baptize people who'd been saved, and that's how the creek got its name. "Not fit for much at all these days, though:' he said. "There's a chicken processing plant upstream that dumps in feathers and blood and who knows what else." *** One ofthe books my mother checked out ofthe library was an atlas that traced all of human history, using maps to show how the world had changed over time. From the first page I was amazed, and for a while I enjoyed the book as though I were a normal person, but soon the atlas held me inside it as surely as it held the black ox drawn on a cave wall or a photo ofa terra cotta man two thousand years old, and I imagined the impossible: we would all be dead forever, though forever would end. The book dosed itselfin my hands. ...

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