They shaved the hair from the dolls' scalps then stripped their tiny clothes to examine plastic bodies. Sometimes the bodies felt hard, sometimes rubbery. Their legs came off; their torsos were empty. When you pulled their heads from their necks, they just kept smiling. The children left pieces of bald, naked babies stuffed under pillows and hidden in cupboards. They dropped china. By accident at first and then on purpose. They stood on chairs. They stood on tables. Cups exploded on tiles. They loved that sound. Forbidden noise. No one slapped. No one threatened. No grandpa here, no judge, no mother. No deaf aunt to clean up your mess in silence.