Bornface Biology Book Review

“Bornface Omondi,” Marcus read. “Who’s that?”

Ms. Odhiambo finally looked at her. “Same way all books get here,” she said. “Someone returned it.”

She turned the page. Chapter Two: The Inheritance of Seizure Propensity. A pedigree chart filled half the spread. Lena’s family tree. Her grandmother’s epilepsy. Her cousin’s febrile convulsions. And at the bottom, labeled Proband L.K. : herself, marked with a black star and the notation Spontaneous mutation, de novo, fully penetrant by age 16.

Bornface hadn’t.

—Bornface

Marcus put a hand on her shoulder. “Lena. This book is insane. It’s probably some art project. A hoax.”

She opened it again, this time to the very first page—the one before the title, usually blank. In tiny handwriting, in blue ink, someone had written a note: bornface biology book

But Lena saw him.

“I don’t have epilepsy,” Lena said. But her hand shook.

“Who?”

She knew that face. She’d seen it in the hospital corridor the day of her biopsy, sitting on a bench outside the MRI suite, reading a newspaper. She’d assumed he was another patient’s father.

Lena clutched the book to her chest. Outside the library window, a man with close-cropped gray hair crossed the street. He wasn’t there a second ago. He didn’t look back.

The last entry: Omondi, B., as author, as subject, as witness. “Bornface Omondi,” Marcus read

“That’s impossible.”