[60] Evil wonder
Paul’s silence companions me. I’m out shopping or pushing Johnny’s pram down the quay, and I picture him working, or sitting there staring past his pipe and his three-fingered shooter in his parlour chair, or dandling Johnny in the air,…
[59] Beyond the reach of the senses
That first month, I’m always almost telling her, ‘Emma, there was a time ...’ But I never do. Better neither of us. Our first summer, she’s always asking me about day-to-day things, soaking them in, but about before we met, she has only…
[58] A seven-headed beast from the sea
One day, she may tell me how. The first night we spent together should have signalled me her nature – not the way she followed me into the forest without a word or look, not her first moment of swoon, or the firelight on her hair, or the way…
[57] Carious teeth that cannot spit
Art is a description without a place. I can handle a portrait easily enough, because the subject has to hold still, and I can sense what he would do if he moved, and that shows if I’ve painted him well. And I can handle an allegory, but that’s…
[56] History is in thrall to repetition
It’s happened once or twice a year since I met Paul – Emil approaches me wearing his deputation face some afternoon when Paul isn’t there and makes a prepared speech about how mommy wants me to get help for something. Which is how she…
[55] Not all our strange mother lost
That summer, Paul and I pull a bubble over ourselves, so that we can see out if we have to, but I don’t want to. We have a magnetic field in place, I can feel it by holding his hand, my life heightened by his touch. I don’t go back to Emilie’s…
[54] Blood and wounds that I saw now?
The next few months. I remember a lot, but it’s a ball of time. Emma can give you dates if you must. She has a head for dates that’s a magic trick. For anything with numbers. 1812, 1683, 1759, those ones are easy. But try 17 July 1907. No…
[53] O hear me, master of the silver bow
Her bedroom has stone walls, a ceiling lost in shadow, two high windows without curtains. A tall, well-stuffed bookcase and one soft day bed with a lamp. A huge bed. Everything is comfortable – it just doesn’t look that way.
‘Freddie…
[52] A dream sleep has fallen over the city
That’s the first thing I know about Paul that he doesn’t have to tell me – he has an older sister. When I wrap myself in her cape and step outside, she and her husband have galloped off. Five hundred metres down a path through woods bumpy…
[51] Weeps one moment and as quickly laughs
I don’t carry a watch. There’s usually a church close enough that I can count the bell. So that first sleep ends around twenty minutes before eight. I hear the hunting dogs coming, but let her sleep another ten minutes. When I hear the hooves…
[50] Words have made my eyes enebriate
I hadn’t planned this; her walk decided me. How she moved, how she didn’t stop when she could, how she shed her skin with the city, and how I could tell she’d never done that before and how she wanted to.
She’s watching me kindle…
[49] They eddy before the gate of the barons
After lunch, which doesn’t last long because Gus is a slave to his work though he never looks like he’s working, Paul asks me if I have the afternoon. That’s the only question he’ll ask all day. I tell him I do, though I don’t. Then…
[48] The fire must sting me first
I’d rather have the east wind. So would Paul. The east wind means sunlight for him, and then the west one moves in for a few days and the sky goes crash. A city like this, you can almost touch the sky on days like that, and it’s lead-coloured…
[47] I learned that those who undergo
The wind, the Eternal Third. A whisper beyond the horizon, a mysterious dialogue of the air. From the window, I watch them say goodbye. When Paul comes back upstairs, I’ve poured myself a last half-glass of Tokay. I’m watching the lamplight…
[46] Johnny’s Long Night
Stories – there are a few I can describe for you, the ones that Emma carries close enough that I always see her wearing them. About the night we mixed Johnny ... I know that one from watching her face when I can tell she’s remembering it.…
[45] Spontaneity’s funereal rites
About being Jewish, according to her grandfather, it’s hardly a religion any more, even for most Jews. From what I’ve seen, in this city it’s more like a club that people who don’t belong won’t let Emma quit. You grow up hearing from…
[44] Celestial forces strike the earth
‘I’m cruel to everyone but you,’ Paul says. No, he doesn’t say it but I can hear him thinking it. No, he isn’t thinking it, but I can tell he’d accept that thought if it occurred to him. In fact, probably none of that. I’m saying…
[43] We can only conquer ourselves
I did it, twenty-two days after our return. I admitted to myself what I had no choice about. I took the lift down to the carriage hallway and Johnny-walked two doors to the Swan for the afternoon and drank a row of long pulls and played bouncy…
[42] After me there will be no time
I’ve got insight into my condition, what they called it, the doctors. As if getting better was about getting their approval. Basically, you feel bad, and then you feel worse about feeling bad, and then you feel even worse about feeling worse,…
[41] Long buried memories of utopian dreams
Paul can sit down in a room with a book, or fall asleep on the couch, or fix a faucet drip, but not until after he’s back from somewhere. It’s as if the world – the thought of it – chews on him all day in the studio and he needs to go…
[40] The sublime and final city
Colours are something the world demands you see. If I was making the world, it wouldn’t be in colour. But it does have them, so I stare them down, and then for the relief, I work in black and white and add a touch of colour as if it was medicine…
[39] Blindness, madness, other terrors
There’s a game I play within my head – when Paul goes off somewhere, I don’t ask myself where. I blot out the question. Instead I wait for him to come back, and look at him and ask myself what he’s seen. He always shows me from the drawings…
[38] Mister Professor
On the boulevard, the speed of his walk leaves passers-by in his wake, draughts horsedrawn carts alongside him. Nothing is chasing him but much is pulling him forward. A narrower street would not contain him – he would bowl over pedestrians…
[37] To look down into the drained pool
Paul thinks I’ll go home after tonight and tear a strip from him, since I’ve done it enough. But no ... I’ll go home with Paul and Johnny, and close the door behind us, and tell myself, ‘This is ours.’ Our bed, Paul’s studio, the…
[36] A forest of thronging spirits
The Aaronsons have sent a cab for us, but on the street, where grandfather is waiting, Emma tells us, ‘I want to walk.’ With the air and the pavements clear, probably she can do it, with grandfather and me carrying Johnny in his bundle.…