Once, in Beijing, a young girl in a red gown huddled in a doorway. She thought red would be more appropriate than black. After all, she wasn't going to the funeral. She would have her own at home, remembering him as he was a week ago right there with her. He had greeted her where she now sat, kissed her blushing birdstone cheek. He was handsome then, his black hair like starling feathers nestled against her as they embraced.

But now it was time to think of those who had died. Not just him, but all the pantheon of people...

Maggie came to Heathrow airport on a white pony she had purchased along the Thames. She was hoping to board the next blind flight to Asia. Perhaps it might take her to Tibet, but you never know with those sort of flights. She had packed a variety of items in her wicker basket, which she always looped to the brass hooks above the seats on the plane. The basket had a vertical fold-out tray, where she had assembled her afternoon tea: a cup of Earl Grey and four cucumber cream cheese sandwiches.
She got in the security line at sector...