My parents wake me up, both of them together in the doorway of my room, their faces wrinkled by concern and slightly shiny because of the sunlight streaming through the windows.

My father says, 'Morning, Daven. Why don't you get up now? I think we should all go to church, don't you?' as if the softness of his voice hides the fact that this is not really an open question.

I roll over to the window and the sound of paper crinkles in the pillowcase. It means the letter is still there, the pictures are still there, and that I did actually meet Zhou's father early yesterday morning while I was stretching before my run. His eyes were bloated and still red behind his metal-rimmed glasses. He said nothing and didn't even attempt a smile. He just handed me the envelope with the letters and the pictures, and stood there for a moment trembling before he stepped away and back to his idling car. I didn't go for a run that morning. I went upstairs and looked at the pictures, read the letters, reread the letters and then looked at the pictures again. And then I slipped them into my pillowcase, buried my head in the pillow and began to cry.

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'Dance Cadaverous' will be printed in full in Granta 97: Best of Young American Novelists 2. To subscribe to Granta and receive the entire issue free, or to buy a copy of Granta 97, click here.