He smiled — the kind of smile that lives in wrinkles. “ E mberego ,” he whispered.
“What was her name?” she asked.
She tilted her head. “That’s a strange name.” e mberego
The old man sat on the crumbling wall, watching the sun drip gold into the sea. His granddaughter knelt beside him, tracing patterns in the sand. He smiled — the kind of smile that lives in wrinkles
“No,” he said. “It’s what I say when I close my eyes. E mberego — I remember.” tracing patterns in the sand. “No