Val’s mother was acting strangely.  She still sat at her bedside, but now she began mumbling to herself about something--if anything. Val noticed her mother would leave home late in the night, not returning until the sun rose the next day. Once she came back with an old musty book. Val asked about it, but her mother refused to say anything. Her mother kept it by her side while she sat by her bed. Val saw her flick through the pages. Slowly, methodically. She tried to catch a peek of what the book was about, but when Val did, her mother whipped her with the back of her hand. This had become a common experience. Her mother’s episodes seemed to have become pervasive. Val kept her distance.