a bright, breezy day on a clear turquoise lake, and above him the white sail of the boat billowing as he moved along in the brisk wind.
He was not aware of giving the memory; but suddenly he realized that it was becoming dimmer,
that it was sliding through his hand into the being of the newchild. Gabriel became quiet.
Startled, Jonas pulled back what was left of the memory with a burst of will.
He removed his hand from the little back and stood quietly beside the crib.
To himself, he called the memory of the sail forward again. It was still there, but the sky was less blue,
the gentle motion of the boat slower, the water of the lake more murky and clouded.
He kept it for a while, soothing his own nervousness at what had occurred, then let it go and returned to his bed.
Once more, toward dawn, the newchild woke and cried out. Again Jonas went to him.
This time he quite deliberately placed his hand firmly on Gabriel’s back, and released the rest of the calming day on the lake.
Again Gabriel slept. But now Jonas lay awake, thinking.
He no longer had any more than a wisp of the memory, and he felt a small lack where it had been.
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