Death and Nature "If you were to turn to page two hundred and sixty three, at the fifth paragraph." Deeper and deeper they went, the stench growing stronger. But to Father it was the rich aroma of sorghum wine, intoxicating, dizzying. He wanted to see Grandma as soon as possible, but the prospect also frightened him. The sorghum covering grew ever thinner, yet he felt the distance between him and Grandma increase. The final layer of stalks suddenly rustled loudly, wrenching shouts of alarm from some of the soldiers and striking others dumb with fear. Their faces were ashen, and only Granddad's insistence gave them the courage to peek down into the grave. "And toward the end." According to Father, Grandma emerged from 'the resplendent, aromatic grave as lovely as a flower, as in a fairy tale. But the faces of the Iron Society soldiers contorted whenever they described in gory detail, the hideous shape of her corpse and the suffocating stench issuing from the grave. Father called them liars. His senses were particularly . . . "Why do you think the gruesome details are being beautified?" Dr Holden was heard asking.