I can't. It's been seven years; God, onlyseven years. And already she'd fading from my memory, like newspaper usedto cover a closed-down shop's window..., yellowed and bleached by the sun.She was taller than me. Slender and inflexible, strong and healthy, likebamboo. That's what I remember. Her and me and a bamboo forest.The wind tore through that tall, rigid bamboo forest and surrounded uswith this otherworldly rustling, creaking sound--an old wooden shipcaught in a storm. We were hiding. Hiding. Concertina always had a fit when she her fiancée touched the piano. ‘Hi Val,’ laughed Concertina, waving rather simply at her chum. Val and Michele were standing at the bottom of the staircase, some 25 or 30 feet away from the spectacle. The spectacle by the piano, dear reader. ‘Isn’t she speaking to me?’ Michele asked, whispering to Valerie. Valerie was still waving at Concertina. Michele wondered if Valerie was capable of doing two tasks at once. ‘You took money from her, Michele.’ ‘I. More

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