Child of God by Cormac McCarthy

They fell pregnant one by one. He beat them. The wife cried and cried. There were three births that summer. The house was filling up, both rooms, the trailer. People were sleeping everywhere. One brought home what she said was a husband but he only stayed a day or two and they never saw him again. The twelve year old began to swell. The air grew close. Grew rank and fetid. He found a pile of rags in a corner. Small lumps of yellow shit wrapped up and laid by. One day in the woods and kuzu jungles on the far side of the dump he came across two figures humping away. He watched from behind a tree until he recognized one of the girls. He tried to creep up on them but the boy was wary and leaped up and was away through th ewoods hauling up his britches as he went. The old man began to beat the girl with the stick he carried. She grabbed it. He overbalanced. They sprawled together in the leaves. Hot fishy reek of her freshened loins. Her peach drawers hung from a bush. The air about him grew electric. Next thing he knew his overalls were about his knees and he waas mounting her. Daddy quit, she said. Daddy. Oooh.
Did he dump a load in you?
No.
He pulled it out and gripped it and squirted his jissom on her thigh. Goddamn you, he said. He rose and hesited up his overalls and lumbered off toward the dump like a bear.