My Father Told Us Stories. . .

    My father told us stories every night about strange little animals

    that came out in the dark. When my father was away，

    my mother read us fairy tales that always ended in marriage.

    Sometimes， when I missed my father， I slept under my bed in

    mourning¹ and the mice crawled² all around me.

    I stand at the window of a bridal shop where huge dresses

    hang ghostly in the dark. At the back is a collection of veils³

    like a row of sleeping jellyfish. One whole wall of the shop is

    a mass of white cloth. The wedding dresses are enormous⁴.

    They are twice as big as me， and bigger than any woman on the street.

    This is the year that everyone is trying to fly around the world

    in a balloon. I don't know why.