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When I found Daddy, his face was blue as the alley snow piled around him. His eyes were frozen puddles with the color gone under the ice. He was a building nobody lives in, with windows nobody looks out of. That was what struck me most: the nobody-ness and nowhere-ness of him. Dead people, I saw, have no name or address in the world.
I stayed with him for a long time, kneeling in the snowbank where he’d fallen at the mouth of the alley, thinking that, if I warmed him, he might come back into his body. I covered his legs and chest with snow because he’d taught me it’s the wind that kills and that, if I ever got caught in a blizzard, I should burrow in like animals do. His nose stuck out like some great beak. I’d forgotten how big it was. You get used to faces, and only when they’re dea
