 I return the following week and tap on the front door before remembering I'm not meant to make noise. A boy lets me through the garage, miming to be quiet. We're not using the front door anymore. Not until the worms have gone, he explains. Inside, the lush green branches of mulberry leaves are withered and brown. The silkworms sit listlessly. They're at their last stage now and will never eat again, their bodies turning translucent as they prepare for their metamorphosis. Once the worms have finished spinning their silk into a cocoon,