His mother had wanted to be where his father had died, his body never really found, just bits of bone and teeth and ash, and her health had been compromised; she had broken bones. And there was the baby to think about it; she couldn’t afford to lose the baby—it was all that was left of him. Lil said she could understand this; she said it the first time he ever told her, and yet it is only now he feels he understands. How many times had he heard the story, how his mother’s life had been spared by Frank’s baby brother filling her womb and pressing on her bladder? She was six months pregnant but still discreet in her dress. She had said a person would have needed to stare rudely to see what was going on, and she had worn a full coat, which was the style anyway. It was out of character for his mother to leave home, but she did, and she was excited about the trip and bringing his father home, excited about the new baby.

The sun is hot as he picks his way down the tracks, careful of his footing. His eyes are tuned to the ground, but all he sees is litter—broken glass, scraps of fast-food wrappers. The collar of his shirt is wet, and he stops and pulls out a handkerchief to wipe his face. O my heart of my mother! O my heart of my mother! O my heart of my different forms. When he had students select and annotate from the Book of the Dead, spell 30b was by far the most popular selection. It was one of the easiest to memorize—he knew this was likely why—but he never discouraged it, perhaps because taking the time to imagine the judgment of one’s own heart is not such a bad thing to do. Undergraduates often compiled a list of drunken brawls and sex with strangers and cheating on tests, which made for interesting reading, even if not worthy of a grade above a C.

“Could we weigh my paper one more time?” a stoned-looking smart aleck once asked, and Frank said sure, and pulled a feather from the drawer of his desk. He had done this many times, to the delight of all the others. He also had a small scale Lil had given him one Christmas years before, and he gently placed the feather on one side and waited.

O heart of my mother! O heart of my mother!