She is dead

​ Just then the footsteps of a guard patrol echoed outside the door. The woman froze for an instant, and then slipped back into her bed as quietly as a cat, lying perfectly still and softening her breath until it was almost inaudible. I made no sound, but my mind was churning with questions. What had she been trying to tell me? At the first light of day the slaves were herded back to their work areas. Gripping the rusty shovel, I mechanically scooped the rubble into the cart, while silently studying the mining compound: from the north entrance, black plumes of coal smoke rose into the sky as the male slaves, bent double, disappeared into the dark mouth of the mine, like ants swallowed into an abyss; and from the south entrance, from the south entrance, the black smoke rose into the sky as black clouds of coal rose into the sky. To the south, a barren field was strewn with broken stones and mining waste. Whenever the wind blew, it whipped coal dust and grit against our faces, stinging a