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33 THE ZOMBIE arrived in the mail along with a tin of tea leaves and a gold fabric bag holding a handful of dice for a game I don’t recognize. One roll turns up a nine of clubs, a suitless queen, and a blank. Did the one who sent them think I was a cipher? He asked “tell me something,” meaning anything. Now I take out these small gifts, and they seem rich with meaning, but I can’t make them speak out of their kraft paper wrapping. I think I like them more now that they don’t matter much. He and I can be both or neither: the black string zombie doll with a satiny red heart and a chain on his head or the bookmark sandalwood elephant. ...

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