THE GLASS ORCHARD

In the north of the city, where the factories ended and the wind sounded like a spoon tapping a glass, stood an orchard whose trees bore translucent fruit. Each pear held a childhood afternoon. Each plum contained a voice. The largest apples were said to preserve entire marriages.

Irena worked as an apprentice gardener under Master Vale, who wore gloves to avoid remembering things he had not earned. Her mother had forgotten Irena's name before the winter frost. The orchard provided a medicine that made forgetting bearable, or so every bottle claimed.

One dawn Irena found a new fruit on a tree that had never flowered. Inside it she saw her mother laughing in a room with bright green walls. They had never lived in a green house. A second image flickered beneath the first: her mother begging a stranger not to let the orchard take another memory.

The fruit was tagged HARVEST IMMEDIATELY. Vale had told her never to question harvest orders. Irena could take the fruit to the records room and trace its origin, or break it open beneath the tree to hear what her mother had tried to say.