Magazine beauty and datingTeetering on security in uncertainty. Uncertainty about the fate of Edda S?lveig, uncertainty about myself. A person with a stone baby in her stomach. A key question unasked. That’s the way many lives end. Duncan pushed with his hands, his feet, his knees, but could find no purchase in the sucking mud. He was drawn down, his shoulders going under, as he frantically tried to keep his head above water, fighting the mud that wanted to swallow him. The water touched his chin, his lips, then the foul mix was in his mouth. Sputtering, choking, he made a final desperate twist that caused him to slip further, sending his head under. As he lost consciousness the teeth of the mud bit into his arm. What shocked me was how much Lewis was able to sound like my husband. Zen ich shall give you here brant-new biodynamische potatoes zat ich gazzered for zahmwahn elze. It’s here, our picnic spot, I say to Hei?ur. Stop, stop. Hei?ur grasps the steering wheel tightly as she navigates the curves down the slopes. She bites her thin lips as she works hard to counteract the wind. ~ ~ ~ I then took many photos of the puma with my iPhone, having read online that this could be done: all one needed was to then find a place that could print the photos passport-sized. So I took the modern technology object to a Staples, but they were unable to help, and then to a Kinko’s but they were unable to help, and so then I went back to the original FedEx office where the unacceptable passport photos had been taken; their passport photo camera equipment was broken. We then went to a souvenir and electronics and passport-photos-taken-here storefront. Working there was one immigrant from Bangladesh, one from Mexico, and one from Pakistan. They knew all about the issue of not having a parent’s hand or arm visible in the passport photo. They hid my hand behind a scarf and had me kneel down on the floor and then hold up the baby like a puppet in front of the white backdrop. I and the puma were both very hungry by this time. But the passport window was only open until 2:30 p.m., so we headed right over to the line. “Old or New Bristol, which one?” he repeated. in my heart a hailstorm. “What’s up with that guy?” I once asked my husband. “I mean are you two in love or what?” The blood could be washed off, though one would have to explain away the damage. How though? Surely he’d find a way, provided the dead man and his luggage were disposed of, provided they simply weren’t there any more. As if they’d never existed, neither the man nor his cases. “A Mr So-and-so?”—“No record of him here.”—“He travelled to Vienna?”—“Definitely not.”—“And he didn’t check in?”—“He didn’t check in anywhere.”—“Did he check out at the other end?”—“Yes, but didn’t arrive here.”—“When did he leave?”—“Tuesday.”—“Really? Time of arrival?”—“Eighteen thirty-five… at the Westbahnhof.”—“Yes, he should have been on that train, but the fact is he wasn’t…”—“What?”—“The drivers?”—“Yes, one of them… Yes, the porter said that… Yes, to the Bristol.”—“But that must’ve been someone else. Nobody by that name had checked in at the hotel…”—“What do you mean, nobody had checked in?…”—“He must’ve though, but…”—“What was the driver’s name?”—“Ferdinand Sponer.”—“I beg your pardon?”—“Yes, of course.”—“Yes, sir, certainly. We’ll bring him in for questioning.” Duncan looked at her with a dumbfounded expression. He knew only one captain who would speak of Shakespeare on the frontier.“Woolford. Patrick Woolford.” Hickey got to his feet and I got to mine. Everyone gravitated towards the head of the table, towards McGee. Laughter again only altogether different in quality. This was the shrill, unguarded laughter of disbelief.. |