A boy finds himself by the side of the river, by himself. The boy has a father and two hands. The boy spilled the glass of milk to the ground and his father picked him and threw him into the wall. "You killed my wife and now you can't even the glass in your hands." The man had two wives. Each of them has died from sadness, by their own hands. Sometimes the boy called the first his mother and sometimes the second his mother. The man walked out of the room and it was almost empty. The boy looks at his own hands and then himself in the river. He has his mother hands and his mother's face. He doesn't know which one in which order. The boy look at his hands and then himself in the river. All he can see is the face of a stranger. The river whispers a lovely song. His hands disagree.