quot;Cannot be,quot; said my motime almost angrily. And to talk as if srying to remember  back to t  looking up to   a  t, ories of burnt bricks and o to to sleep in, really just a metal frame ted up at one corner. And a book, I dont knoeacup tle girl, I  doll, seeing it all alone in tore  it for me. It  could turn its legs and arms. t my family o my youngest niece, because s doll   doll, s ing togets ;

    toms bootares at my documents, t me briefly, and s stamps everyternly nods me along. And soon my fatcases. I feel lost and my father looks helpless.

    quot;Excuse me,quot; I say to a man ell me axi?quot;  sounds Swedisch.

    quot;Syau Yen! Syau Yen!quot; I  from be beret is ic bag filled rinkets. I guess srying to sell us somet my fataring do tiny sparroing into tle boy.

    quot;Aiyi! Aiyi!quot;—Auntie Auntie!—ly.

    quot;Syau Yen!quot; coos my great-aunt. I ts funny s called my fat;Little ild Goose.quot; It must be o discourage gs from stealing children.

    t aking turns saying, quot;Look at you! You are so old. Look ; t time, and I bite my lip, trying not to cry. Im afraid to feel t our arrival in Somorrow,  will feel.

    Nos to a Polaroid picture of my fat pictures one as sure to my fatter, my fatel once  to meet us. I ers  t.

    It is only t I remember t to take a picture of my fat t t. Its not too late.

    quot;and toget; I say, . Aiyi and my fatill stand close togeture, co form. t reverentially quiet. Aiyi is only five years olde