Lucinda said she was going to take a shower. I said, “Do you mind if I watch?” She looked at me as if I were crazy, or some kind of pervert. “We’ve lived together for ten years and I’ve never seen you take a shower,” I added. She scratched her head and looked at her feet. “A shower is kind of a private thing, don’t you think?” she said. “So is making love, but we do it,” I said. She thought that over for a minute. “Well, you’ll be disappointed, a shower is just a shower,” she said. She made me wait outside while she undressed. After the curtain was pulled and the water was running, I was permitted to enter. There were hundreds of native boys chanting in a tongue I couldn’t comprehend, dancing in a circle around her. She soaped her breasts and ignored them. They worshipped her. She continued soaping her breasts. They whooped and cried for joy. More soap for the breasts. I was afraid for my life. Then the soap travelled south.