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234 A Face to Meet the Faces Gretel in the Tunnel Henrietta Goodman Brother, why must we enter? The mountain opens—in the night, a blacker hole. My shoes twist on gravel. This is the mouth of the monster in every dream: black teeth, the smell of rotten leaves. No light at the end. Without touching the walls, how will we know where the path bends? Is this a lesson—your gentle taunts, not-quite-hidden exasperation? Nothing to be afraid of, unless you’re afraid of nothing—this hole could devour us, press us flat, eyeless, like the fish that live deep in caves. At whose mercy are we? When we reach the threshold I want to be carried out into the lighter dark, because, truly, I have given myself to you. Without you I would run, panicked, headlong. Without you I wouldn’t be here at all. And when you sit on a rock under the blurry moon to rub the marks of my nails from your arm— don’t you know the only way home is to go back through? What will I make of the gift you offered, that I could not accept and could not refuse? ...

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