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na's
om it. I stood on the other side of the desk with my hands at
e," Lucian explained. "I gathered them
the fir
of a small school near the harbor. A name had been scratched out in the third row, and the pen
evealed. "Somebody replaced it, a
the new name was a different shade from the rest of the row, su
t usually chan
somebody rewri
world apart, yet the registry sat between us as evidence that something had happene
r. The boy had thick black hair and grey eyes, and he held a brown dog in his arms. The
eleven," Lucian said. "T
dog. I knew the red door, the white ear, and the name. I had
e name
my face. "Why are you
nted him. I invented him l
eem angry. Instead, he turned the picture slightly, examining
what yo
was soft from years of use, and the corners had curled. I turned to a page near the middle
has a brown dog with one white ear, and the dog follows him everywhere.
r my shoulder without speaking. I could feel the warmth of him through
m," he admitted at last. "She painted it
wrote t
is exact. Even t
ers were careful, and they did not shake. The next page he
ff of our town," Lucian explained. "The
n I was thirteen. The lamp wa
spoke for several seconds. The similarities were too spe
ck every detai
e had a scar on his left knee from a fall on the harbor stairs, and I had given that scar to my boy in the story. He hated the tast
ame small habits, the same physical marks, the same childhood memories appeared in both places. Every disco
vily in his chair and pressed his hands against his face. I stayed on my feet, gr
from your pages," he s
ur life before
as are im
are sitting
him, he seemed younger than twenty. The photograph remained beside his elb
g," he muttered. "I did not know how he
now what to
anything. You only hav
ticked toward one o'clock, filling the silence between us. So
teps faded. His attention remained fixed on the doo
. "Nikos does not like it when
hat you have be
ws some
e stack had caught my eye. A corner of cream paper stuck out from
hand. It was an envelope with no name on
it. The color drained from his face, and
seen that en
in your
" he insisted. "I sti
someone had placed the envelope among his records without his knowled
in and creased, and the ink had faded to a soft bro
irst line, t
e I trusted what I was seeing. The slant of the letters was wrong in only one place. The t
times in my life. I had never fo
does it say?
nable to speak. He took it an
cords will show them the same wound. Then the one who forgot will remember,
ent comple
eyes came up to meet mine. I saw the q
u write
remember w
your hand
etter of it b
r of polished tin under the noon sun, shining so brightly that it hur
ter look that way in al
buzzed
ching the strap against the edge of the chair. I pulle
ved from a number
e only se
s house tonigh
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