Chapter Two: The Living

posing with two raised fingers after gallbladder surgery last year. More frighteningly, he remembered taking every picture. Two histories crowded into his skull. One Shen Zhou had grown up alone after twelve; another remembered his mother warming milk during his entrance exams. Grief and happiness passed through each other like two programs fighting for the same memory address. He gripped the desk as nausea rose. The phone rang. “So you do know how to answer,” his mother said, sleepy and irritated. “Do you know what time it is?” “Mom.” His voice barely worked. She paused. “What happened? Trouble at work?” He heard a pot lid rattle and the closing music of the midnight news.