most people. So different that even if she werenât blind or her sight were (now) to be restored, she wouldnât become confused. All light, all that she could see, would be true. Diddy no longer angry. Sheâd told him the truth as she knew it. And though Hester was mistaken about some of the facts, and though she might never be persuaded she was in error, there was a prodigious truth she did know. And that truth Diddy the Incomplete wanted to learn; to possess it alongside his own truth. No one should venture into the dark alone.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
Upon arriving at our common destination, feverish Diddy carried his own light suitcase and the suitcases and parcels belonging to Hester and her aunt off the train. Pushed ahead of some other passengers waiting to engage a redcap, and half bullied the man into taking their things first. Then escorted the two women through the old-fashioned station. With its extravagantly high-ceilinged main waiting room. Walls surfaced in marble. Neo-Roman columns. World War I memorial statue of the frail wounded doughboy caught up, just as he went limp and was about to fall, in the robust arms of the Republic: a large stern woman who gazes resolutely over the head of the dying youth. A railroad station is public space, open to anybody. Though promiscuous meeting and transit may be difficult for Diddy at this time, that lofty ceiling he especially approved of; the more space, the better. But as on every trip upstate to the plant in recent years, Diddy canât help marking the steady deterioration of the surfaces and furniture of this station. On each arrival the floor, walls, columns, bronze statue, information booth, clock, ticket windows, newspaper stand, wooden benches look more indelibly stained and grimier and more thickly littered. Not only mere negligence is at work here, surely. A question of policy or principle. Only a matter of time before the wreckerâs ball gets around to undoing this generous space, so that something smaller can be put up in its stead. But isnât there a good deal to be said for keeping a doomed place clean and in decent repair? The claims of dignity, for instance. Especially since nemesis is proving to be somewhat dilatory in paying its anticipated call.
Following some twenty feet behind the redcap taking their luggage on a dolly; Diddy and the aunt on either side of Hester, steering through the crowd. Between the neo-Roman columns flanking the main entrance out to the sidewalk. Diddy tips the man, then stands off the curb trying to estimate their chances of getting two taxis in the next few minutes if they remain where they are. But these services didnât seem enough, and he dreaded letting the girl vanish from his life. Standing on the sidewalk, well back from the curb; patiently allowingâor so it seemed to Diddyâone arm to be held in her auntâs protective, unnecessary, unrelenting embrace. Diddy looking for some signal from the girl, not finding one. And not knowing what to look for.
He was startled, too, by the depressing look of the city. Heavy, gray, uncoordinated. And terribly noisy. A furious bluster of noise, hard to sort out. Not at all like the insistent, demanding, authoritative sounds of the train. Did the girl mind noises when she couldnât interpret them?
Longish wait. When a taxi pulled up, Diddy, who hadnât known thatâs what he intended to do, got in with the two women and accompanied them to the Warren Institute. âBut itâs out of your way, Mr. Harron. We donât want to put you to any trouble.â Doesnât matter, doesnât matter. All the street lights were on, but the buildings looked like two-dimensional drawings of themselves. The hospital no different. âHold the flag, driver. Iâll be right with you. Now, Mrs. Nayburn, Hester, please tell me.â¦â After being assured that the girlâs room was waiting for her and that the aunt had a
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
Upon arriving at our common destination, feverish Diddy carried his own light suitcase and the suitcases and parcels belonging to Hester and her aunt off the train. Pushed ahead of some other passengers waiting to engage a redcap, and half bullied the man into taking their things first. Then escorted the two women through the old-fashioned station. With its extravagantly high-ceilinged main waiting room. Walls surfaced in marble. Neo-Roman columns. World War I memorial statue of the frail wounded doughboy caught up, just as he went limp and was about to fall, in the robust arms of the Republic: a large stern woman who gazes resolutely over the head of the dying youth. A railroad station is public space, open to anybody. Though promiscuous meeting and transit may be difficult for Diddy at this time, that lofty ceiling he especially approved of; the more space, the better. But as on every trip upstate to the plant in recent years, Diddy canât help marking the steady deterioration of the surfaces and furniture of this station. On each arrival the floor, walls, columns, bronze statue, information booth, clock, ticket windows, newspaper stand, wooden benches look more indelibly stained and grimier and more thickly littered. Not only mere negligence is at work here, surely. A question of policy or principle. Only a matter of time before the wreckerâs ball gets around to undoing this generous space, so that something smaller can be put up in its stead. But isnât there a good deal to be said for keeping a doomed place clean and in decent repair? The claims of dignity, for instance. Especially since nemesis is proving to be somewhat dilatory in paying its anticipated call.
Following some twenty feet behind the redcap taking their luggage on a dolly; Diddy and the aunt on either side of Hester, steering through the crowd. Between the neo-Roman columns flanking the main entrance out to the sidewalk. Diddy tips the man, then stands off the curb trying to estimate their chances of getting two taxis in the next few minutes if they remain where they are. But these services didnât seem enough, and he dreaded letting the girl vanish from his life. Standing on the sidewalk, well back from the curb; patiently allowingâor so it seemed to Diddyâone arm to be held in her auntâs protective, unnecessary, unrelenting embrace. Diddy looking for some signal from the girl, not finding one. And not knowing what to look for.
He was startled, too, by the depressing look of the city. Heavy, gray, uncoordinated. And terribly noisy. A furious bluster of noise, hard to sort out. Not at all like the insistent, demanding, authoritative sounds of the train. Did the girl mind noises when she couldnât interpret them?
Longish wait. When a taxi pulled up, Diddy, who hadnât known thatâs what he intended to do, got in with the two women and accompanied them to the Warren Institute. âBut itâs out of your way, Mr. Harron. We donât want to put you to any trouble.â Doesnât matter, doesnât matter. All the street lights were on, but the buildings looked like two-dimensional drawings of themselves. The hospital no different. âHold the flag, driver. Iâll be right with you. Now, Mrs. Nayburn, Hester, please tell me.â¦â After being assured that the girlâs room was waiting for her and that the aunt had a
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