She did not say anything, but he always knew when she had drifted away from him. He shook her by her shoulder, 'Are you angry?' She let herself be shaken like a wax doll. The same thing used to happen when they made love, her body would become malleable, and she would let him do what he liked with her, yield completely to him. Even when she sobbed, it seemed as if she had emerged, wrapped in sorrow and joy, from a third body which existed in some boundless present on which the future had cast no shadow. Perhaps that's where the thistle of ill-omen had begun to grow - can one simply refuse to look into the future? 'We should find out about the future,' she insisted, ' find out what's going to happen.' He folded her in h1s arms. Wondered what she saw in the dark which was invisible to him. 'You say there is nothing. Are you sure there is nothing, are you sure that nothing will happen?' She pushed him from her.
Verma, Nirmal, Terminal TRANSLATED FROM HINDI BY ALOK BHALLA, Kunapipi, 19(3), 1997.