Elizabeth Smart – The Assumption of the Rogues & Rascals (страница 4)

I cannot bear the lilac tree now. Even while I look it goes brown. Before I have taken the path across the field it will never be summer again.

After I had given birth to my first child, I felt time and space come whorling back into the empty space where it had lain. And Einsteinian demons came rushing to attack me with the terrible nature of the naked truth. But now I sit in country kitchens, discussing the minor discomforts of childbirth, and the domestic details of love.

Was it for this that so many miracles came roaring like bombers across the wilderness of America?

Down the Pimlico Road and across Ebury Street, the buses cluster like vultures in the open spaces where already forgotten bombs brought disaster. But who listens to history? I too have chilblains and a faithless lover and trouble making ends meet, say the women in the fish and chip queues.

Over the uncooperative landscape, inertias and despairs find their way, make nests in every likely corner, so that none can hold a hopeful surprise which might, at the last trump, have come running with a golden solution held up in a happy finger.

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