" "What happened?" Ah Cum recounted the story of the sing-song girl. She leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. There never is much left for me. Was there anything at all in those locked rooms of her aunt’s mind? Were they fully furnished and only a little dusty and cobwebby and in need of an airing, or were they stark vacancy except, perhaps, for a cockroach or so or the gnawing of a rat? What was the mental equivalent of a rat’s gnawing? The image was going astray. “Like what, Lucy?” She saw the panic threaten to overtake him. Her favor was sought beyond all women’s favors. It was hard to meet that gaze. “Maybe someday I can look them up again, just to see how they are doing. She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet.
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