Here is Helena Neufeld’s contribution:
Instead of describing one definite, finite, event, I’ll describe an on-going struggle in all of our experiences: that of not itching your skin off. Yesterday on the bus, I lazily counted up the bites on my legs, careful not to touch them, and ended up with a solid 150—between 70 and 80 on each leg. As crafty and cruel mosquitos, flies, and chiggers are, I appreciate their sense of equality.
Everyone else is in a similar state. Clapping games have become a popular distraction to keep from scratching, often without words or definite motions. A rule has immerged where if you see someone itching, you count to three and they have to stop—it has a success rate of about 50 percent. At night, though, once we are full of dinner and exhausted and the boots come off, all control is lost and my clusters of bites turn into constellations of scabs, and the sound of fingernails mingle with other nocturnal rainforest sounds which lull into sleep.
