I press my lips against Elisa’s eyelids and lead her to the honeymoon chamber where I have dimmed the lights and washed the linen. Although my body is stuffed with the gauze of information and the soul has gone out of fashion, I still use plants to heal my wounds and pains. I put calendula ointments on my shins when I fall over and sip chamomile tea when I’m in shock, a flower the Egyptians dedicated to their gods. One day, when Elisa and I are long buried and have turned to dust, I hope a robot boy will find this document and correct my spelling mistakes with his silver fingers. Although he will look nothing like me, he too will be a son without a mother, his eyes open all night long.
A Note on the Author
Deborah Levy writes fiction, plays, and poetry. Her work has been staged by the Royal Shakespeare Company and widely broadcast on the BBC, including her dramatizations of two of Freud’s most iconic case histories, Dora and The Wolfman.
The author of highly praised novels including the Man Booker Prize — shortlisted Swimming Home, Beautiful Mutants, Swallowing Geography, and Billy and Girl, she lives in London.