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his mother, the only immediate family he had, had ceased to exist, was quite another. He broke down, shielding his face with his hands, and then Anna’s body was against his, holding him.
    “I know,” she whispered into his hair.
    Minutes passed. When he disentangled himself and looked at her, her face was stark and unfamiliar.
    “Did I get to say good-bye?”
    “Yes. It happened very quickly. But you were there with her. You sat by her bed until the very end.”
    It was all he could bear to ask. Soon he began to accept that hismother was gone, but he found it difficult to get used to the idea that Anna knew things about her that now he didn’t: how she had aged, her last words. The thought of it made him feel guilty, as if he had abandoned his mother, appointing a stranger to remember her.
    A few days later, watching as Anna put the leash on the dog to walk him, he asked, “Was she early or late?”
    “Hmm? What do you mean?”
    “My mother. If you had to describe her habits, was she generally on time or late?”
    “Always late. She was like that even when you were a kid, right?”
    “What was her favorite color?”
    He could hear the coldness in his voice. Anna studied him in silence.
    “Is this a test?” She leaned against the door, holding his gaze before she answered. “Blue. She wore it all the time because it matched her eyes. They were blue but sometimes they looked gray, and near the end she couldn’t see very well. She had three different pairs of glasses but she could never find any of them. She was very proud and wouldn’t take anything from anyone. Called you to tell you jokes, but sometimes missed your birthday.”
    “Okay. Stop.”
    “Your birthday: born prematurely, January 29, 1964.” She was speaking rapidly now, and for the first time Samson noticed a hint of a lisp, something in her speech left over from childhood. “Nobody remembers your first words. The first day of nursery school you climbed onto the rocking horse and screamed when anyone came near you. You wanted to be an astronaut.”
    “Okay, Anna. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
    “How about this: the first time you got a hard-on was just before your twelfth birthday. You went—yes, I remember now, you said you went swimming and then you were lying in the sun in your shorts. The dog was leaning against you.”
    He stared at her, horrified. It was like making contact with aliens only to find they’d been watching you for years. His own mind may have been a clean slate, but whatever terrible and shameful things he had done or said and forgotten now, she would remember.
    “I think I’ve heard enough.”
    “I don’t think so. There’s much more, it goes on and on, see?” She gripped his wrist hard and he winced. “And what do you know about me? You want a test, here’s a test: tell me what the hell you know about me.”
    “I don’t know.”
    She threw his hand down. “You don’t know.
You don’t know!”
she shouted, her voice breaking. “And the most awful part of it is that
I still love you.
I’ve lost you and yet you’re still here.
To taunt me.
Can you understand? Do you have any empathy at all for what it’s like?”
    A sob that seemed to come from someplace animal shook her body. Samson took her hand. He rubbed her knee and patted her back, but it only made her cry harder. He fluttered around her, searching for where to put his arms, placing a hand delicately around her waist, the other on her head, drawing her toward him until somehow he was holding her in his arms. He felt her tears against his neck, but her shaking subsided and her breath became steadier as he rocked her. He was surprised at how easily she fit herself against him, how warm and small her body felt.
    “When did I meet you?” he asked quietly.
    “It’s been almost ten years.”
    “You were only twenty-one?”
    “Yes. You were twenty-six.”
    “What did you like about me? In the beginning.”
    Anna pulled away and looked up at