Shouting to his companion, even as they passed by where I hid myself, he called out that he thought to find you at the convent. She was enchanted by the beauty of the other girls, who were magically transformed into fairies and elves by makeup into seemingly unfamiliar yet glamorous new people. As her belly swelled, so did he. Your mother, for instance, couldn’t. She opened her suitcase—new and smelling strongly of leather—and took out of it a book, dogeared and precariously held together, bound in faded blue cloth and bearing the inscription: The Universal Handbook. “You’re not a virgin, are you?” It was as much an accusation as a question.
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