I went to her bedside and sat down again. I leaned back, closed my eyes, and tried to compose myself, the mention of Raymond’s name still ringing in my ears. Finally, I sat up straight.

”Since you can’t hear me anyway, I’m going to tell you what he did,” I said. ”At least it’ll give me the chance to finally get it off my chest.”

I leaned forward, rested my elbows on my knees, and clasped my hands.

”I was eight years old. Sarah was nine. You and Grandma and Grandpa had gone out-it was a Friday evening-and you left Sarah and me at Grandma’s house with Raymond. He was sixteen, I think.

”I remember watching a baseball game on TV. I must have dozed off, because when I woke up, it was dark. The only light in the house was the light from the television. I remember sitting up and rubbing my eyes, and then I heard this noise. It scared me, because it sounded like a cry for help, but I got up off of the couch and started walking towards the noise, more scared every step I took. I was tiptoeing.

”As I got closer, I could make out some words, something like ‘No! Stop it!’ I knew it was Sarah’s voice, coming from Uncle Raymond’s bedroom. I pushed the door open just a little and I could make out Uncle Raymond in the lamplight. He was naked on his knees in the bed with his back to me. Sarah’s voice was coming from underneath him.”

I stopped and took a deep breath, the image of my naked uncle looming over my sister burning in my mind’s eye. ”Can you hear me, Ma?” I said. ”Are you getting this?” I noticed my voice was shaky. Ma was still staring at the ceiling.

”Sarah kept saying, ‘It hurts. Stop it!’ I didn’t know what was going on. I didn’t know anything about sex. But there was so much pain, so much fear in Sarah’s voice that I knew it was bad. I finally managed to say, ‘What’s going on?’ I remember being surprised that my voice worked.