The man and woman and boy came to a clearing a few feet above the stream. It was just twilight, and the air was a muted, peaceful blue, and the stream was wide and quiet, no current at all. The three of them stood on a slate-colored slab of rock for a few moments, looking out over the stream, and then the woman bent over and picked up a flat chuck of stone and flung it sidearm into the stream. The stone skipped across the surface of the water, long leaps at first, two, three, four of them, then shorter hops, five, six, seven, eight, before disappearing.

“Your mother is an expert stone skipper,” the man said. “See if you can find some good rocks for her.”

Most of the rocks were the wrong shape, too round, or the wrong size, too big and heavy, too small and light. But amid the pebbles the boy discovered some stones that looked okay. He handed them to his mom.

“These might work,” she said with a smile. She sidearmed one gracefully across the water. It skipped and skipped. So quiet was the evening, the boy thought he could still hear the little plips long after the stone had disappeared from sight. “A new record,” the woman said. “You’re a good stone picker-upper.”

“Can I try one?” the boy asked.

Trying to emulate his mother, the boy gave the rock a mighty sidearm heave. With a plop it surrendered to the river. “Try another,” the woman said. The same thing happened. The river gulped it down.

“It takes practice,” the woman said.

“Or maybe you’re meant to be a gatherer,” the man said.

“You try some more,” the boy said to the woman.

“No, we have to be getting back now,” the man said.

“Why?” the boy asked.

The man was already walking out of the clearing.

“It’s getting dark,” the woman said. “The others will miss us. Come along now.”

My mother was sitting up in bed reading a book. It was a little bed, like the kind a girl might have. My mother’s tummy was so big and round—probably no more than a month until I would be born. She was happy. Content. Maybe I had just kicked her. I think she had a good feeling about me. I remember her hair was dark and thick. It’s quite different now, thin and silvery gray. She put her hand on her belly, and that made me feel good. I could feel the comfort of her hand from the inside and out. The other hand kept her place in the book. I was curious what it was she was reading, but I couldn’t tell.

What about the birth?

No, nothing much. A somewhat flat metal tray, like the kind a doctor would put the surgical instruments in after they’d been used. The doctor turned away and put a metal instrument into the tray. That’s all I could remember about that. I don’t think it was a knife. Something dull. I didn’t like it.

But you were there, that’s the main thing.

Is it? I don’t know. I mean when he asked me to remember a pleasant meal I’d eaten recently, I couldn’t. Of course the food here is a joke.

But you’re eating okay?

The less said the better.

Okay. Did you go back further? Into any past lives?

We tried to. I don’t know if it really worked. It was interesting, though. I found out I don’t feel relaxed going down stairs.

What happened? What did you see?

I was wading through a stream. There were small animals about. Or maybe just the threat of them. Snakes and rats. Jaguars waiting in trees.

Was this the same stream as before?

No, I don’t think so. It was more of a swamp. Not a murky swamp, but the river was brown. Lots of mud. And it was hot and sunny. Quiet but for the buzz of insects. I could feel the water below my waist. Cool and pleasant. And the sun on my back and shoulders. I didn’t have any clothes. My hair was dark and thick. Ropy and wild. When I waded, the water would make my ... my penis roll and slosh. It felt good. I didn’t tell the doctor that. About my penis. Just that I had been wading along, and now I was stopped.