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.” She touches my scarf lightly.It had happened the day before my marriage.She’d opened an old trunk to take out a silver cup I used to drink from when I was a baby.It was valuable, and she wanted to give it to me for my children-to-come.But my eyes had been caught by the scarf, balled into a corner.I’d lifted it up and its silver threads had shimmered the way a web might, if spiders danced on it.“Can I have this?”She hesitated.Then she said, “This old thing? Why ever would you want it?”Because it’s from your other life, I wanted to say, the one that’s magic, the one you won’t let me enter.But I didn’t want to spoil the moment.Besides, it wasn’t all her fault.If I’d had the gift, the way she did, nothing could have kept me out.She had handed the dupatta over, with a smile and a shake of her head.She did that sometimes, as though my actions were mysterious beyond fathoming.When all along it was she who was unfathomable.All this I’d forgotten, the way we forget so many things without knowing what we’ve lost.“Where’s my granddaughter?” my mother is asking.I tell her that Sonny was supposed to drop her off at the studio before the show opened.But of course he’s late.“He probably has a reason,” she says.“Yeah, it’s always the same one: me, myself and I.”My mother purses her lips.I know she thinks I’m too hard on Sonny.But then she doesn’t know what happened that night.A champagne bubble of a smile forms inside me and bursts before it reaches the surface, leaving a bitter aftertaste.Well, Mom, I guess I do have my own unfathomability, after all.All of a sudden the room is full of chatter and laughter.A few people are acquaintances, but there are many I don’t know.I’m torn between the desire to eavesdrop and the fear that they might be saying my work is no good.Or—worse still—maybe they’ll be discussing the weather or their holiday plans.Then I spot him in the far corner, alone, looking intently at a painting.The man from the eucalyptus grove.I can’t see his face from here, but I’m sure it’s him.The build, the way he holds his body.The white jacket.There’s a quietness around him even here, in the middle of this bustle.I start toward him, but a whirling dervish hurtles into me, almost making me spill my champagne.“Jona!” I kiss her runaway curls, which Sonny-the-delinquent-dad has obviously not thought to comb.“Mom, you look great! And all your paintings are up on the walls! Cool! How many did you sell so far?”I find myself grinning.“Do they look okay?” Some of my nervousness melts as I hug my daughter and take another sip of champagne.I’m glad that I arranged for her to come and share this special evening with me, even though Kathryn had expressed some concern at having a child present.“Can I try some?” Jona asks.“No, sweetheart.It has alcohol.Come with me to Auntie Belle.She’ll get you some apple juice.”“Apple juice! Yuck.Yours looks much more interesting.Why can’t I have just a little bit? Sonny lets me—” She sees my face and backtracks.“Only sometimes, of course.”I take a deep breath and hold on to my smile.Later, Sonny-boy.Later.“So, how is it Dad was so late getting you here?”“He couldn’t find parking.Oh, there’s Gramma!”I start to say that he didn’t need to find parking—all he had to do was drop her at the door.But she’s gone.A terrible thought comes to me and, along with it, a prickling at the nape of my neck.I turn slowly toward the entrance, and there he is, even though I have expressly not-asked him to come.He looks good, I’m forced to admit—far better than someone with his degenerate lifestyle has any right to look.That slightly tousled, boyish look, as though he just got out of bed, the full lips that remind me— much as I would like to forget—of how they felt on various parts of my body.Except he’s not smiling that crooked, half-mocking smile that I’ve come to expect of him.He’s standing there, lean-hipped in black pants and a form-fitting black silk shirt that shows off his muscles, and he’s looking at me with dark sympathy [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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.” She touches my scarf lightly.It had happened the day before my marriage.She’d opened an old trunk to take out a silver cup I used to drink from when I was a baby.It was valuable, and she wanted to give it to me for my children-to-come.But my eyes had been caught by the scarf, balled into a corner.I’d lifted it up and its silver threads had shimmered the way a web might, if spiders danced on it.“Can I have this?”She hesitated.Then she said, “This old thing? Why ever would you want it?”Because it’s from your other life, I wanted to say, the one that’s magic, the one you won’t let me enter.But I didn’t want to spoil the moment.Besides, it wasn’t all her fault.If I’d had the gift, the way she did, nothing could have kept me out.She had handed the dupatta over, with a smile and a shake of her head.She did that sometimes, as though my actions were mysterious beyond fathoming.When all along it was she who was unfathomable.All this I’d forgotten, the way we forget so many things without knowing what we’ve lost.“Where’s my granddaughter?” my mother is asking.I tell her that Sonny was supposed to drop her off at the studio before the show opened.But of course he’s late.“He probably has a reason,” she says.“Yeah, it’s always the same one: me, myself and I.”My mother purses her lips.I know she thinks I’m too hard on Sonny.But then she doesn’t know what happened that night.A champagne bubble of a smile forms inside me and bursts before it reaches the surface, leaving a bitter aftertaste.Well, Mom, I guess I do have my own unfathomability, after all.All of a sudden the room is full of chatter and laughter.A few people are acquaintances, but there are many I don’t know.I’m torn between the desire to eavesdrop and the fear that they might be saying my work is no good.Or—worse still—maybe they’ll be discussing the weather or their holiday plans.Then I spot him in the far corner, alone, looking intently at a painting.The man from the eucalyptus grove.I can’t see his face from here, but I’m sure it’s him.The build, the way he holds his body.The white jacket.There’s a quietness around him even here, in the middle of this bustle.I start toward him, but a whirling dervish hurtles into me, almost making me spill my champagne.“Jona!” I kiss her runaway curls, which Sonny-the-delinquent-dad has obviously not thought to comb.“Mom, you look great! And all your paintings are up on the walls! Cool! How many did you sell so far?”I find myself grinning.“Do they look okay?” Some of my nervousness melts as I hug my daughter and take another sip of champagne.I’m glad that I arranged for her to come and share this special evening with me, even though Kathryn had expressed some concern at having a child present.“Can I try some?” Jona asks.“No, sweetheart.It has alcohol.Come with me to Auntie Belle.She’ll get you some apple juice.”“Apple juice! Yuck.Yours looks much more interesting.Why can’t I have just a little bit? Sonny lets me—” She sees my face and backtracks.“Only sometimes, of course.”I take a deep breath and hold on to my smile.Later, Sonny-boy.Later.“So, how is it Dad was so late getting you here?”“He couldn’t find parking.Oh, there’s Gramma!”I start to say that he didn’t need to find parking—all he had to do was drop her at the door.But she’s gone.A terrible thought comes to me and, along with it, a prickling at the nape of my neck.I turn slowly toward the entrance, and there he is, even though I have expressly not-asked him to come.He looks good, I’m forced to admit—far better than someone with his degenerate lifestyle has any right to look.That slightly tousled, boyish look, as though he just got out of bed, the full lips that remind me— much as I would like to forget—of how they felt on various parts of my body.Except he’s not smiling that crooked, half-mocking smile that I’ve come to expect of him.He’s standing there, lean-hipped in black pants and a form-fitting black silk shirt that shows off his muscles, and he’s looking at me with dark sympathy [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]