The photograph had been discovered under a dying man’s pillow. After he and the bedding were removed, the small black and white photograph lay alone. The words “my mother” were written on the back. The pencil marks defied time and left the family with a challenge of epic proportions.
The man’s eldest son pocketed the photograph and did not share it with his siblings. It took another twenty years for him to reveal it, and then, he only showed it to his son. This son worked in advertising and was a gifted photographer; he was given to retouching photographs as if he were painting. Under his hands, the woman’s face remained untouched, but her clothing, hands, and ornamentation all went through something of a transformation as he made copies for various relatives. Before long, different members of the family had variously come to believe or disbelieve in the photo and its significance.
