The lid on its brown had patches of yellow freckles. the hinges were small and black, and there was a keyhole that had no key. all this made the chest, simple in shape as it was, strange, and ancient, and almost frightening. and when he, or the grown-up with him, lifted the lid of the chest, an amazing smell rushed out--deeply sweet and musty, of mothballs and cedar, but that wasn't all of it. the smell seemed also to belong to the contents--lace tablecloths and wool blankets on top, but much more underneath. the full contents of the chest never came quite clear, perhaps because he didn't want to know. his parents' college diplomas seemed to be under the blankets, and other documents going back still farther, having to do with his grandparents, their marriage, or the marriage of someone beyond even them. there was a folded old piece of paper with drawn-on hearts and designs and words in german. his mother had once tried to explain the paper to him, but he hadn't wanted to listen.