Once, when building a loft-bed in my loft in Chinatown, NY, I had to hammer wood unto a wall. I used long nails. I managed to break through the wood and the brick wall with a few, very strong strokes. But a second time, while building a contraption, it took a while to hammer two pieces of wood together. Too strong a hit could break the wood. So I had to be careful.

In this case a few blows could do the job, but hard blows would cause unwanted damage, they could split the wood apart effectively ending the crucifixion.

That's why I had to take my time and Camille had to struggle with that.

Only three or four times in her now short life had Leticia witnessed a crucifixion. She mostly heard of the horrors, but those few times she saw it first hand.

One of those moments was appearing in her delirium. It was a thief, a foreigner, who was condemned to the cross, he was first stoned by the crowds who were angry after losing so much of their goods. Perhaps he was not the only thief guilty of the many crimes he was accused of, but for the crowds he would do.

He was nailed hand and feet to a cross and while he hanged he begged to be killed, his cries went unheard until she, Leticia, the young bride, intervened. She paid a soldier to put an end to the man's misery.

As she held the coins out she looked into the soldiers eyes.

The soldier avoided her piercing look and kept hammering her hand to the wood.

The moment she had hoped would arrive soon was now in front of her and she was feeling guilty and sorry. She had hoped for a quick execution of her mistress to end her own misery.

From that first moment when she was raised to hang from her cross, she counted the hours and saw the sun and the moon pass three times over her head.

Each day was received with hope, the hope of seeing the soldiers bringing her mistress, and each day arrived with nothing but more torture to her body.

Each morning a soldier took his lance, a wet sponge traversed by it's sharp tip and raised it to her dry lips. It was the best moist she ever had touch her mouth, like the kiss of a lover, like the kiss of a god.

She pressed her feet against the wood, to push herself up a little, overcoming her weakness and her weight. She stretched her head out making the chain around her arms and shoulder to cut more into her skin.

But the pain and effort were worth the precious liquid.

The soldier let her savor her moment out of pity but also knowing that the more they gave her something to drink the better it was for her to live to see the execution of her mistress.

The ploy worked.

I didn't faint when I broke my leg long ago, even if the pain was so terrible I could hardly stand it. I recall that all through the time from the moment I fell and the moment I went into the hospital for traction, I was conscious. I was conscious of the pain and I was or I think I was screaming all the time and yes, at moments my mind was trying to make a connection to some experience of the past, some experience that I could relate that moment to.