suddenly
very
beautiful, and he didn’t let the question trouble him unduly.
T he bed sagged, and creaked, and sprung loose wires, and was too small for two, but even so he fell deeply asleep.
When Arjun woke, Ruth was sitting on the side of the bed, still pulling her stockings on, and Marta stood in the open door, her arms folded, watching them sadly. It was early morning, cold and bright.
“Another sister lost to another ghost?”
Ruth shook her head fiercely. “You won’t lose me, Marta.”
“Maybe,” Marta said. “Who knows?”
“I
know.”
“No one knows.”
Arjun sat up. “Low sisters, please. I don’t want to bring you any harm. You saved my life, and I stole from you, and ran from you. I want to make amends.”
Ruth said, “You don’t owe us anything.”
“How are you going to repay us?” Marta asked.
“I lost myself out there. I have forgotten my name, my purpose, why I came to this city. The Mountain is barred to me. The Beast islocked away and I cannot reach it. There are terrible memories gathering behind me; I can’t make sense of my own life. I need a purpose. I’ve learned something about myself: I cannot live without a purpose. Let me work for you.”
Ruth had crossed to the dresser. She was clothed again and affixing her earrings. Her back was to him and she watched in the mirror as Marta stepped into the room.
“We have work for ghosts,” Marta said. “If you’re stuck here you can make yourself useful.”
“Anything.”
“Then bring back our sister.”
Arjun, surprised, looked to Ruth’s face in the mirror. Her dark eyes watched him from the glass, pleading and urgent and hopeful.
An Unconventional Understanding
of Time-A Prophecy Confirmed?-
“Come Back One More Time”-
Some Inauspicious Predecessors-
Secret Societies
A rjun would not presume to criticize the Low sisters. All that he would say was that their understanding of time was …
unconventional.
They believed, unshakably, that everything in Ararat first started to go sour when Ivy left them. Before that was light, and warmth, and the shops on Carnyx Street were filled with wonders; back when Ivy had sat in her shop at No. 43 and tended her old records and her music-machines. And not
just
music-machines, Ruth said. Ivy’s place was full of old devices of all kinds, scavenged from dumps, from attics, from the rubble of demolished buildings; half broken, rusting, often of obscure purpose, so that it was hard to tell what was a device in its own right and what was only a long-lost part of some larger apparatus. Ivy used to sit cross-legged on the floor among her machines, her hands full of screws and wires, grease streaking her fingers and her furrowed brow. She got it from the Dad—that fascination with machines, with the secrets in them.
After the Dad left things had been hard for a time, but Ivy was the last straw.
She’d been the most beautiful of the Low sisters by far, Ruth said, there was no question, and when she’d emerged from the world of things and machines she could make men do anything forher, as if they were just more wind-up toys, but she rarely bothered. In her own way she was a very innocent creature. Without Ruth and Marta she might have forgotten to eat for days on end. Scattered all around her shop were devices that spun and clattered and counted off numbers, and things that cast light, and things that cast shadows, and things that walked on tiny tottering metal legs. She was the most brilliant of the sisters. After she and the Dad came back from …
“Yes,” Marta said. “That’s enough, Ruth.” And Ruth went to busy her restless hands making tea.
“The machines are gone,” Marta said. When Ivy went away, she left the music and music-makers behind, having never cared for music, having never in fact quite forgiven the Dad for leaving the music shop to her and burdening her life with noise; having always suspected that the man was trying to make some sort of joke at her
very
beautiful, and he didn’t let the question trouble him unduly.
T he bed sagged, and creaked, and sprung loose wires, and was too small for two, but even so he fell deeply asleep.
When Arjun woke, Ruth was sitting on the side of the bed, still pulling her stockings on, and Marta stood in the open door, her arms folded, watching them sadly. It was early morning, cold and bright.
“Another sister lost to another ghost?”
Ruth shook her head fiercely. “You won’t lose me, Marta.”
“Maybe,” Marta said. “Who knows?”
“I
know.”
“No one knows.”
Arjun sat up. “Low sisters, please. I don’t want to bring you any harm. You saved my life, and I stole from you, and ran from you. I want to make amends.”
Ruth said, “You don’t owe us anything.”
“How are you going to repay us?” Marta asked.
“I lost myself out there. I have forgotten my name, my purpose, why I came to this city. The Mountain is barred to me. The Beast islocked away and I cannot reach it. There are terrible memories gathering behind me; I can’t make sense of my own life. I need a purpose. I’ve learned something about myself: I cannot live without a purpose. Let me work for you.”
Ruth had crossed to the dresser. She was clothed again and affixing her earrings. Her back was to him and she watched in the mirror as Marta stepped into the room.
“We have work for ghosts,” Marta said. “If you’re stuck here you can make yourself useful.”
“Anything.”
“Then bring back our sister.”
Arjun, surprised, looked to Ruth’s face in the mirror. Her dark eyes watched him from the glass, pleading and urgent and hopeful.
An Unconventional Understanding
of Time-A Prophecy Confirmed?-
“Come Back One More Time”-
Some Inauspicious Predecessors-
Secret Societies
A rjun would not presume to criticize the Low sisters. All that he would say was that their understanding of time was …
unconventional.
They believed, unshakably, that everything in Ararat first started to go sour when Ivy left them. Before that was light, and warmth, and the shops on Carnyx Street were filled with wonders; back when Ivy had sat in her shop at No. 43 and tended her old records and her music-machines. And not
just
music-machines, Ruth said. Ivy’s place was full of old devices of all kinds, scavenged from dumps, from attics, from the rubble of demolished buildings; half broken, rusting, often of obscure purpose, so that it was hard to tell what was a device in its own right and what was only a long-lost part of some larger apparatus. Ivy used to sit cross-legged on the floor among her machines, her hands full of screws and wires, grease streaking her fingers and her furrowed brow. She got it from the Dad—that fascination with machines, with the secrets in them.
After the Dad left things had been hard for a time, but Ivy was the last straw.
She’d been the most beautiful of the Low sisters by far, Ruth said, there was no question, and when she’d emerged from the world of things and machines she could make men do anything forher, as if they were just more wind-up toys, but she rarely bothered. In her own way she was a very innocent creature. Without Ruth and Marta she might have forgotten to eat for days on end. Scattered all around her shop were devices that spun and clattered and counted off numbers, and things that cast light, and things that cast shadows, and things that walked on tiny tottering metal legs. She was the most brilliant of the sisters. After she and the Dad came back from …
“Yes,” Marta said. “That’s enough, Ruth.” And Ruth went to busy her restless hands making tea.
“The machines are gone,” Marta said. When Ivy went away, she left the music and music-makers behind, having never cared for music, having never in fact quite forgiven the Dad for leaving the music shop to her and burdening her life with noise; having always suspected that the man was trying to make some sort of joke at her
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