The Winter Vault - Anne Michaels [120]
White patches of snow floated, icebergs, clouds, in the black fields. But nothing shone white in the blackness of the river, as it flowed past them, driving past.
Avery and Jean stood in the lobby on Clarendon Avenue. It was almost 2 a.m. In the Great Temple at Abu Simbel there had been stars on the painted ceiling and now, five thousand years and half a globe apart, Avery realized how ancient this desire. To replicate the sky. To hold beyond reach.
– At the cemetery, said Jean, nearby to Elisabeth's grave was the grave of another child. There someone had left a magnificent garden of plastic flowers. Ferns grew lush out of a thick square of florists' foam, and in the foliage stood two painted china dogs. Each plastic flower had been carefully chosen; roses, hyacinths, tulips, lily of the valley. There was love in each moulded crevice of leaves and petals.
I remember when I was young looking at plastic flowers in a shop. I heard someone say, ‘They're not real’ and I couldn't understand what they meant – I was holding one in my hand, of course they were real.
The child's garden rested on its thick green foam above the cold spring ground. It was as real as anything. A child would have thought that garden beautiful.
Everything that has been made from love is alive.
Avery spread a blanket on Jean's bedroom floor. He sat with his back to her. The desert was almost completely gone from his skin.
Beside Jean was a cup of water and Avery's paintbox. She drew the brush across his pale, thin back.
Regret is not the end of the story; it is the middle of the story.
When Jean was done, she knew how careful she had to be. Not to erase, but to wash away.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
“As pines keep the shape of the wind … so words guard the shape of a man.” – George Seferis
Many histories of Egypt, Sudan, Abu Simbel, Poland, and the St. Lawrence Seaway were consulted during the writing of this novel, but I wish to acknowledge two sources above all: The Salvage of the Abu Simbel Temples: Concluding Report (Arab Republic of Egypt and Ministry of Culture, Vattenbyggnadsbyran [VBB] Sweden) and Hassan Dafalla's The Nubian Exodus. It is my hope especially that Hassan Dafalla's memory is honoured by the account I have made here. I am grateful to the Lost Villages Museum near Cornwall, Ontario; to Marian Wenzel's House Decoration in Nubia for the poem written on the wall; to David Crowley's Warsaw; and to the Guardian Weekly, where I came across the term “petrichor.”
Especial, long-standing thanks to John Berger, Joe McBride, Janis Freedman Bellow, Sam Solecki, and Gareth Evans.
Many thanks to Ellen Seligman, as always as deeply astute and generous an editor as one could wish. To Marilyn Biderman for her acuity and kindness. To Liz Calder, Sonny Mehta, Robbert Ammerlaan, Roberta Mazzanti, Arnulf Conradi, and Elisabeth Ruge. To Helen Garnons-Williams, Diana Coglianese, Deborah Garrison, Anita Chong, and Heather Sangster.
Thanks to Dr. Elaine Gordon and Dr. S.J. Batarseh for confirming details regarding treatment of a still-birth in late pregnancy, in the time and place in which this event is set in the novel. And to Dr. Lorraine Chrisomalis Valasiadis for her advice.
Thanks to Margaret and Chris Cochran for the extraordinary tour of Wellington, New Zealand. Thanks to Andrew Wylie, Simon McBurney, Stephen and Mary Camarata, Mark Strand, Wallace Shawn and Deborah Eisenberg, Dan Gretton, Jack Diamond, David Sereda, Eve Egoyan. Thanks to Rebecca and Evan. Thanks to Zbysiu, Marzena, Dennis, Jeff, Luigi and Nan, the entire Freedman family, Arlen and Jan, Jane and Andrew. Special thanks to Sheila and Robin for invaluable gifts of time.
The beginning scenes of the book, set on the houseboat, were first read publicly at various venues in Canada and the United States in 1997. My thanks to these book-sellers and festivals. And special thanks to the Elliott Bay Book Shop, A Different Drummer Books, and The Flying Dragon Bookshop.
This book remembers Rose Kornblum, Rubye Halpern, Ida Rosen, Robert Mirvish, Robert Muma, Professor Michael