| 2:39a |
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Beside one flipper I printed the words
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Beside one flipper I printed the words FAIR
SALVAGE
The images rose in my mind, clearer and clearer,
as if they had been waiting all these years to be
liberated, and I wondered briefly if every
painting (and every implement used to make them),
from those on the walls of caves in central Asia
to the Mona Lisa, held such hidden memories of
their making and makers, encoded in their strokes
like DNA
Swim n kick til I say stop
I added Elizabeth to the picture of Diving Daddy,
standing up to her chubby knees in the water,
Noveen tucked under her armLibbit almost could
have been the doll-girl in the sketch Ilse had
demanded - the one I had titled The End of the
Game
And after he saw all those things, he hug me hug
me hug me
I made a hurried little sketch of John Eastlake
doing just that, his facemask pushed up on top of
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his headThe picnic basket was nearby, on a
blanket, and the speargun was resting on top of it
He hug me hug me hug me
Draw her, a voice whisperedDraw Elizabeth's fair
salvageI was afraid of what I might see
And what it might do to me
And what about Daddy? What about John? How much
had he known?
I flipped through her drawings to the picture of
John Eastlake screaming, with blood running from
his nose and one eye
Probably too late, but he had known
What exactly had happened to Tessie and Lo-Lo?
And to Perse, to shut her up for all those years?
What exactly was she? Not a doll, that much seemed
sure
I could have gone on - a picture of Tessie and Lo-
Lo running down a path, some path, hand-in-hand,
was already asking to be drawn - but I was
beginning to come out of my half-trance and was
scared almost to deathBesides, I thought I knew
enough to be going on with; Wireman could help me
figure out the rest, I was almost sure of itI
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closed my sketch-padI put down that long-gone
little girl's brown pencil - now just a nubbin -
and realized I was hungryBut
that kind of hangover wasn't new to me, and there
was plenty to eat in the refrigerator
vi
I went downstairs slowly, my head spinning with
images - an upside-down heron with blue gimlet
eyes, the smiling horses, the boat-size swim-fins
on Daddy's feet - and I didn't bother with the
living room lightsThere was no need to; by April
I could have navigated the route from the foot of
the stairs to the kitchen in pitch blacknessBy
then I had made that solitary house with its chin
jutting over the edge of the water my own, and in
spite of everything, I couldn't imagine leaving it
Halfway across the room I stopped, looking out
through the Florida room to the |