Had ice crusted on the insides of Sylvia’s windows? Had she huddled close to a ticking space heater with a blanket over it and her like a hot tent, and worried about setting herself on fire? If so, Anna could see why the kitchen stove had started to call to her, whisper that it was the warm answer. Sleeping, reading, eating, having sex, etc., etc., but mostly trying to keep warm. Except for the summer months, they’d spent most of the time in bed. So he’d leased space in an old warehouse on the lake for a studio, and since then, almost another year, they’d had the whole basketball court of an apartment to themselves. Eventually his metal sculptures outgrew it, though, went from enormous to dinosaurian, the ceiling wasn’t high enough for the really monstrous ones, they needed a barn of their own. They’d lived in a scruffy corner of it during the first year, the happy time, while he’d used the drafty rest for a studio. Her circumstances were worse, because that London winter of ’63 could not possibly have been any colder than Buffalo after a blizzard in early April-early April, for God’s sake-and poor Sylvia’s flat couldn’t have been any icier than the windy, rattling loft Jay had left Anna to huddle in by herself while he cavorted with the voluptuous Nicole, whose apartment had a fireplace and central heat. But it did help to think that she and Sylvia-she called her Sylvia that’s how bonded Anna felt-shared a context, a setting. She tried to lift her situation out of the excessively banal by imagining she had a connection with Sylvia Plath. Then again, two times probably made a soap opera, not a pattern. Either way, it didn’t help that at this late date a theme was taking shape, a motif or whatever you called it, a pattern, consisting of Anna walking in on trusted loved ones in bed with each other. Or maybe it evened out and what she was now was a relativist, a contingency artist. She was always of two minds, the hopeful half versus the skeptic, optimist against pessimist. The problem, one of them, was that circumstances Warm chocolate and hazelnut, oh, what a luscious.Īcknowledgments About the Author By Patricia Gaffney Praise for Patricia GaffneyĬredits Cover Copyright About the Publisher Anna hadn’t spent so much uninterrupted time in. Rose saw Mason leaning against the decorative splitrail. “You have got to do something about Carmen. Anna’s and Mason’s sweaty hands stuck together. “I’ve always had a strong connection to the crumbling. Theo’s hair on top was hot from the sun, cool underneath. “Child,” Aunt Iris greeted Anna, “oh, look at you. Anna’s third interview for the line cook’s job didn’t. “What’s this, Rose? A suggestion box? I didn’t know we. Stop staring, Rose told herself, but it wasn’t easy. Anna went dead calm the minute she saw Rose. Iris called while Rose was drying her hair. The problem, one of them, was that circumstances. OSCAR WILDEĬontents E-book extras: Keeping Good Company: An Interview with Patricia Gaffney Books by Patricia Gaffney Epigraph 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 After a good dinner, one can forgive anybody, even one’s own relations.
0 kommentar(er)
