In the beginning, when the world was just fifty centim-eters long, there was Jeanne’s inquiring face. A five-year-old face, flush up against the months-old fragment I then was, my opaque little mole eyes fumbling across this earliest of landscapes, my sister’s face watching me. She smiles, I smile. I smile, she smiles. She gives me a quick slap, I cry, she smiles, I smi…