London, England

Abstract

Last night my younger sister called me, reverse charges, from London. 'I'm coming home,' she says. The line crackles a little, then I start to exclaim, but her voice cuts in: 'I need money.' I don't question her need, just take down the necessary details: Five hundred dollars - into this account, at that bank. Tomorrow ... And don't tell Mum and Dad ... Please. She sounds older somehow, though it has only been a few months since our last telephone conversation. She sounds older, my pale will'o'the wisp sister. Perhaps it's just the connection. I ask her if she's okay. She tells me they've been desperately poor - can't get work. Someone is holding their passports, waiting to be paid for something or other. But everything's okay now, everything's fine. Honestly. Don't worry. Be home in two weeks - can't wait. Gotta go.