My mother's eyes grew wide, more I think from the shock of hearing me speak such long words than from the notion itself.

"It's going to have a huge wheel to unwind the condemned man's guts. And I'm going to sell it to all the most fancy, civilized kings and princes of Europe. And you know what else?"

My mother's expression didn't alter. Not a flicker of her eye, or a twitch of her mouth. She just said, in a monotone: "I'm listening."

"Yes! That's right! Listening!"

"What?"

"People who pay for a good seat at an execution deserve to hear something better than a man screaming as he's disemboweled. They need music!"

"Music."

"Yes, music!" I said. I was completely besotted by the sound of my own voice now, not even certain what the next word out of my mouth was going to be, just trusting the inspiration of the moment. "Inside the great wheel there'll be another machine that will play some pretty tunes to please the ladies, and the louder the man's screams become the louder the music will play."

She still looked at me without so much as a twitch. "You've really thought about this?"

"Yes."

"And these writings of yours?"

"I was just noting down all the horrible thoughts in my head. For inspiration."

My Momma studied me for what seemed like hours, searching every inch of my face as though she knew the word LIAR was written there somewhere. But finally, her scrutiny ceased and she said: "You are a strange one, Jakabok."

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" I asked her.

"It depends on whether you like strange children," she replied.

"Do you?"

"No."

"Oh."

"But I gave birth to you, so I suppose I have to take some of the responsibility."

It was the sweetest thing she'd ever said. I might have shed a tear if I'd time, but she had orders for me.