Ashu has no surname and has never needed one. For eleven years he has been the man four hundred families rang at two in the morning, the one who could find the form that was refused and the ambulance that could not be found. Thirteen months after his uncle dies, a registered letter arrives, posted before that death and paid for in advance. Five letters, each with its own condition, and the fifth burns the others if he asks for it. The final wound closes the quintet on a single word written into a register.
