asked us questions about our birthplace and our citizenship. When the train started up again, I stared at my reflection in the lighted window. Saw a serious, haggard face. I thought about the secrets in my life and the awful mystery of a world without God. I thought too of the young woman praying in the cathedral, and the man who had frightened me, and the dark lives of people in detective magazines. I thought of Chekhov writing in a room over thirty years ago, dipping his pen into the inkwell and pausing to imagine what would happen next to Gurov and Anna. After a while they turned out the lights and people began to settle into sleep. Or like me, stare out at the night.
Saturday, July 20 (9:20 a.m.)
I suppose I slept an hour or two, but I awakened at first light. Everyone else sleeping as we passed through green wooded hills and valleys, past farms and small towns. The clanging of bells at roadwaycrossings and the colourful American flag in front of post offices. The morning brightened and a highway ran alongside the tracks. I saw families in sedans and trucks and beyond the highway a broad river lay glittering in the sunlight. As we drew closer to the great city, we passed freight yards and apartment buildings that were so close to the tracks you could look in on people’s lives. In one apartment an enormous Negro woman, her fat bare arms on the sill, leaned out a window to watch us pass. Behind her was a man in an undershirt and suspenders. He was seated at a table, wearing a hat and eating his breakfast. The train had slowed down and we moved slowly past these people. But now we are just pulling into Pennsylvania Station, and I must put this away and find Nora among all these people.
Sunday, July 21 (10:30 a.m.)
Nora has left for church. She attends a Presbyterian church a few blocks away and was a little put out that I didn’t go along with her. But I said I was still too tired. In spite of her kindness and goodwill, Nora is in a state and from time to time I catch her looking at me in a peculiarly guarded way. It’s as if she is trying to understand how she could have been so wrong. In her eyes, I am not now what I had seemed to be, and for anyone that can be unsettling. Of course, she must think that I have a lover and she is waiting for me to talk about him. I’m not sure I can bring myself to tell her the truth.
It is good to be alone for a while. Everything about this visit is charged with a peculiar and understandable anxiety, but at the best of times, Nora gets on my nerves and leaves me longing for escape. She met me at the railroad station yesterday morning in her yellow dress and white shoes. How confidently she carries herself among all these strangers! Joking with the taxi driver as she gave him her address. Bare legs flashing, I watched a man looking at her legs as she climbed into the taxi. Her blonde hair is much shorter now. She looks younger and prettier than she did when she left Toronto.
After the hugs and sticky kisses she said, “We’ll have to get you some lighter things, Clara. My God, you’ll cook to death in that suit. It’s going to be ninety today.” It was already hot as we hurtled along in that taxi through the shadowy streets. At intersections there were bursts of sunlight and a glimpse of the sky.
Nora’s apartment is tiny but comfortable. She has three small fans going all the time in this heat. They hum away, a background noise along with sounds from the street. I suppose one gets used to all this. We talked until nearly midnight, but I was too tired even to be civil at times. Nora knew better than to press me for details surrounding my predicament. Our talk was mostly harmless reminiscences, recalling other nights when we lay awake as girls and worried over things I have long forgotten. Nora is growing increasingly sentimental about her childhood and the imaginary simplicities and virtues of village life. Another time I might have been impatient with this fondness for
Saturday, July 20 (9:20 a.m.)
I suppose I slept an hour or two, but I awakened at first light. Everyone else sleeping as we passed through green wooded hills and valleys, past farms and small towns. The clanging of bells at roadwaycrossings and the colourful American flag in front of post offices. The morning brightened and a highway ran alongside the tracks. I saw families in sedans and trucks and beyond the highway a broad river lay glittering in the sunlight. As we drew closer to the great city, we passed freight yards and apartment buildings that were so close to the tracks you could look in on people’s lives. In one apartment an enormous Negro woman, her fat bare arms on the sill, leaned out a window to watch us pass. Behind her was a man in an undershirt and suspenders. He was seated at a table, wearing a hat and eating his breakfast. The train had slowed down and we moved slowly past these people. But now we are just pulling into Pennsylvania Station, and I must put this away and find Nora among all these people.
Sunday, July 21 (10:30 a.m.)
Nora has left for church. She attends a Presbyterian church a few blocks away and was a little put out that I didn’t go along with her. But I said I was still too tired. In spite of her kindness and goodwill, Nora is in a state and from time to time I catch her looking at me in a peculiarly guarded way. It’s as if she is trying to understand how she could have been so wrong. In her eyes, I am not now what I had seemed to be, and for anyone that can be unsettling. Of course, she must think that I have a lover and she is waiting for me to talk about him. I’m not sure I can bring myself to tell her the truth.
It is good to be alone for a while. Everything about this visit is charged with a peculiar and understandable anxiety, but at the best of times, Nora gets on my nerves and leaves me longing for escape. She met me at the railroad station yesterday morning in her yellow dress and white shoes. How confidently she carries herself among all these strangers! Joking with the taxi driver as she gave him her address. Bare legs flashing, I watched a man looking at her legs as she climbed into the taxi. Her blonde hair is much shorter now. She looks younger and prettier than she did when she left Toronto.
After the hugs and sticky kisses she said, “We’ll have to get you some lighter things, Clara. My God, you’ll cook to death in that suit. It’s going to be ninety today.” It was already hot as we hurtled along in that taxi through the shadowy streets. At intersections there were bursts of sunlight and a glimpse of the sky.
Nora’s apartment is tiny but comfortable. She has three small fans going all the time in this heat. They hum away, a background noise along with sounds from the street. I suppose one gets used to all this. We talked until nearly midnight, but I was too tired even to be civil at times. Nora knew better than to press me for details surrounding my predicament. Our talk was mostly harmless reminiscences, recalling other nights when we lay awake as girls and worried over things I have long forgotten. Nora is growing increasingly sentimental about her childhood and the imaginary simplicities and virtues of village life. Another time I might have been impatient with this fondness for
Similar Books
