And, in turn, he quietly memorized me, too. I knew he did, because one day I realized he had long ago stopped asking me how I took my tea and that we mysteriously always had a never-ending stock of raspberries, even though I knew he didn’t like them. And he would ask me, in quiet ways, about my life—always in the sleepy moments at the end of the day. Tell me about Serel. Tell me about your mother. Tell me about Nyzerene.
THE RASPBERRIES
