“The silly chemachen had spent minutes observing Damo, till Unni chased him away. Now he’s too busy gawking at Baby Mol to recall why he’s there, until Big Ammachi asks him about the ledger. His childlike eyes turn uncomprehendingly to her. “That thing under your sweaty armpit,” she says, pointing. He hands it over. “What’s wrong with the little one?” he asks solicitously. She jerks up, following his gaze to where Baby Mol sits on her bench, as she does for hours each day, her legs keeping time.”
