You don’t look any different.
I was looking for the lilac tree in the garden, thinking of your poem. It’s over by the shed. It’s the white kind, not the lilac lilac. No bird in it of any colour in the middle of the night, but I looked at the blossom for a while. It’s turned brown, as if it’s been under a grill. I do notice some things.
Your touches around this place, I notice them, too. Thank you. You don’t know the difference you make. I never have been much good at telling you, have I? Maybe that’s something that will change.
With affection & gratitude
Arthur
I don’t know what to do about his letters. He writes page after page every night now and leaves them around the place, sometimes whole sheets scrawled on both sides but most often scraps, disjointed bursts of words thrown down and torn off and shed everywhere like fallen leaves. On these clear warm nights I open windows and doors, and in the currents of air and the tread of our feet they drift and mass against skirting boards and in the corners, so we walk the house as if following each other along a festooned path whitened by moonshine and rustling in a night breeze. I pick them up after him and stack them tidily so at least he’ll know I’ve read them.
Things may settle after a while. I won’t leave. I’ll look after him as before, and I’ll go on letting him know I’m here, by quiet observances and little signs: a footfall, a murmur, dishes done, floors swept, and windows opened to the moonlight. I hope it’ll go on being enough. We’ve got it working nicely now.
27 Cardigan Avenue
Dear Ruth
I think the time has come to acknowledge that we’re on something of a different footing now, you and me. A different plane you would say, going for an airy word over a solid one, but footing will do for me, always preferred terra firma, and that being so, let’s be clear about one thing. Which is-in one important way, of course, we’re not on any footing at all.
Because I know the reality of the situation, you only have to go back to my first letter to see that. I would hardly be talking about the flowers at the funeral if I didn’t, would I? By the way, that woman who got me writing the letters in the first place, she’s dropped off the radar, come to think of it. Thank God, one less. Can’t remember her name, doesn’t matter.
Also, I have been to the spot where it happened, some weeks ago now. Seen it with my own eyes. The Great Tony and Mrs. M took me, they doubted the wisdom etc, but I made them. And I made the police show me the photos of the bike. After, not before, I’m talking about. Plus I could hardly have gone through all the church and cemetery rigmarole and come out the other end not knowing the reality of the situation, could I? Strikingly obvious.
But you and I both know that doesn’t alter the other and equally obviously striking fact. Doesn’t mean what’s happening isn’t happening. You have come back.
Things are always happening, whether you know they are or not.
A thing can be true even if you don’t understand it.
I must say, that’s a very “you” remark! Doesn’t sound like me at all. Occurs to me I’ve been making your kind of remark a lot lately, because you weren’t here to say them anymore. Or so the Mrs. M’s of this world would have us believe.
And that’s the point isn’t it, that IS the point. You see? I’m perfectly au fait with the realities. But at the same time I’m quite au fait with the other reality, ie YOU ARE HERE.
You are here. Even if you aren’t actually saying anything.
I KNOW YOU ARE HERE. I have not taken leave of my senses, despite what Mrs. M and The Great Tony and bloody nurses might say. I am sick and tired of their opinions and interference. Narrow minds.
You may have noticed I’m doing more to protect myself from that kind of thing. I have to. I can’t have all and sundry turning up. Between them they’re capable of pushing a fellow close to the edge. It wouldn’t take much more than what I’m already putting up with to tip a sane person right over.
What they have all proved themselves consistently INCAPABLE of doing is grasping what’s really important. THEY refuse to see certain things, NOT ME!!! Something IS happening in this house and whenever I mention it, they purse their lips and start up again about leg bandages and casseroles and fluid intake and letting visitors in. All diversionary tactics, of course.
I won’t be put off.
Arthur
PS You could always leave me a few words, you know, just so I’ll be CERTAIN. I’m leaving this letter out. You could add a word… that would shut up THEM and any other doubting Thomases, this world is full of them!
27 Cardigan Avenue
Dear Ruth
Well. It didn’t seem so very much to ask. Still doesn’t. Just a word, plus signature would have done. Nurse showed up yesterday, saw her coming up drive, was just in time to hide. But legs more troublesome so I reconsidered and let her in.
It was the English one so no escaping the interrogation. The Pole at least just gets on with legs.
Not feeling very chatty today?
Not feeling like getting dressed today?
I’m not too busy today, would you like a hand getting dressed? Can I help you find some clothes? What did you have for breakfast today? Shall I get you a cup of tea?
Next thing she does amounts to assault. She’s sly about it of course, doesn’t let it LOOK like that.
She’s fiddling away at legs and she says, I just need to move your coat so I can get to the problem area here, oh look your papers they’re about to fall out, can we put these somewhere or maybe you want to hold them-voice dripping saccharine of course-and she GRABS THE PAPERS STICKING OUT OF MY POCKET.
I’m not so frail on the pins I can’t jump up, bandages or no bandages, and I told her where to get off. I told her these weren’t JUST PAPERS they were original writings, PRIVATE LETTERS TO MY LATE WIFE and her ORIGINAL WRITINGS. She missed the point but it was enough to see her off.
Later on:
here’s the POINT.
You’re not my late wife, you’re my wife. And very glad I am about that. Thank you dear, especially for the efforts you’ve been making since what happened to you in April.
I haven’t thought to ask if you get impatient in the same way as before, or if all that kind of thing changes after a person isn’t any longer-you know, any longer here in the usual way, present in their earthly body. It seems to me you’re everywhere, and always busy-so the spirit doesn’t seem to need to put their feet up for half an hour with the paper. You see I DO notice things!
With a grateful kiss
Arthur
After his return from the hospital I lost track, somewhat. It was as if I were waking from a dream of my life and realizing that the passing of the years had not been real. Time reeled me back and set me down at a stage that more properly belonged in childhood or adolescence, though I had not experienced then, nor at any period in my life since, what I was now feeling. I think it was adoration, simply.