This great room is full of familiar things, precious things. Items I’ve spent years accumulating. Heavy, ornate frames feathery with green growth. Shining cups and bowls. A chandelier with crystal pendants—I remember how long it took me to drag that back from the wreck where I found it. I was nearly lunch for a giant squid. My fiddle is there, bracketed to the rocky wall. It will never play again, of course, but I used to like looking at it and imagining the sounds it might make. Now I know what a fiddle sounds like. I never have to wonder again. “How did you know about all this?” I say
...more