"and then all the horses ran over my mother. with their hooves. my mother was an indian, anna says to me. i don’t say anything. she climbed over the fence to feed her horses, she says, and then he very own horses trampled her to death. just imagine, anna says to me. i imagine this, and then say to my friend: i think that’s a good way for an indian to die. i think so too, anna says."
~ jenny erpenbeck, the book of words