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I can remember her saying it.’ He stops rubbing China, leans forward to put his elbows on his knees, rubs his hands together, looks away. ‘But I can’t remember her voice’ he says. ‘I know the exact words she said, can see us sitting there by her lap, but all I can hear is my voice saying it, not hers.’
I want to say that I know her voice. I want to open my mouth and have her voice slide out of me like an impression, to speak Mama alive for him as I hear her. But I can’t.
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