For the short story reader. Updated every Monday.

The Short Form

“The Breast Giver”

Mahasweta Devi


One afternoon the boy, driven by lust, attacked the cook and the cook, since her body was heavy with rice, stolen fishheads and turnip greens, and her body languid with sloth, lay back, saying, “Yah, do what you like.” Thus did the incubus of Bagdad get off the boy’s shoulders and he wept repentant tears, mumbling, “Auntie, don’t tell.” The cook—saying, “What’s there to tell?”—went quickly to sleep.