Audrey - Camilla - Gilda - Helga - Ni... | Artemia -

And Ni. Not a name but a threshold.

So I took out my pen.

The folder was old—cardboard, beige, corners softened by decades of thumbs. On its cover, someone had typed: Artemia - Audrey - Camilla - Gilda - Helga - Ni...

The second page held a postcard of a theatre lobby. Red velvet, chandeliers. A woman in a cloche hat——leaning against a pillar. She wasn’t smiling. Her eyes said: I’ve already memorized your exit. And Ni

That night, in my hotel room, I opened it. was first. A photograph, sepia, edges scalloped. She stood on a dock, hair in a loose braid, holding a fish. Behind her: a lake, flat as linoleum. On the reverse, in pencil: “Artemia, 1943. She knew the water before she knew God.” in my hotel room