writing.â
âIt could be a project,â Lydia said. âPerhaps they could get some money from the government. The Canadian government and the Americans too. They could preserve the house.â
âWell, that isnât for me to say.â He smiled; he shook his head. âI donât think so. No.â
He did not want any other worshippers coming to disturb him in his camp chair. She should have known that. What would this private pilgrimage of his be worth if other people got into the act, and signs were put up, leaflets printed; if this guest-house, which was now called Sea View, had to be renamed Shadows on the Rock? He would let the house fall down and the grass grow over it, sooner than see that.
A FTER LYDIAâS LAST ATTEMPT to call Duncan, the man she had been living with in Kingston, she had walked along the street in Toronto, knowing that she had to get to the bank, she had to buy some food, she had to get on the subway. She had to remember directions, and the order in which to do things: to open her checkbook, to move forward when it was her turn in line, to choose one kind of bread over another, to drop a token in the slot. These seemed to be the most difficult things she had ever done. She had immense difficulty reading the names of the subway stations, and getting off at the right one, so that she could go to the apartment where she was staying. She would have found it hard to describe this difficulty. She knew perfectly well which was the right stop, she knew which stop it came after; she knew where she was. But she could not make the connection between herself and things outside herself, so that getting up and leaving the car, going up the steps, going along the street, all seemed to involve a bizarre effort. She thought afterwards that she had been seized up, as machines are said to be. Even at the time she had an image of herself. She saw herself as something like an egg carton, hollowed out in back.
When she reached the apartment she sat down on a chair in the hall. She sat for an hour or so, then she went to the bathroom, undressed, put on her nightgown, and got into bed. In bed she felt triumph and relief, that she had managed all the difficulties and got herself to where she was supposed to be and would not have to remember anything more.
She didnât feel at all like committing suicide. She couldnât have managed the implements, or aids, she couldnât even have thoughtwhich to use. It amazed her to think that she had chosen the loaf of bread and the cheese, which were now lying on the floor in the hall. How had she imagined she was going to chew and swallow them?
A FTER DINNER Lydia sat out on the verandah with the woman who had cooked the meal. The womanâs husband did the cleaning up.
âWell, of course we have a dishwasher,â the woman said. âWe have two freezers and an oversize refrigerator. You have to make an investment. You get the crews staying with you, you have to feed them. This place soaks up money like a sponge. Weâre going to put in a swimming pool next year. We need more attractions. You have to run to stay in the same place. People think what an easy nice life. Boy.â
She had a strong, lined face, and long straight hair. She wore jeans and an embroidered smock and a manâs sweater.
âTen years ago I was living in a commune in the States. Now Iâm here. I work sometimes eighteen hours a day. I have to pack the crewâs lunch yet tonight. I cook and bake, cook and bake. John does the rest.â
âDo you have someone to clean?â
âWe canât afford to hire anybody. John does it. He does the laundryâeverything. We had to buy a mangle for the sheets. We had to put in a new furnace. We got a bank loan. I thought that was funny, because I used to be married to a bank manager. I left him.â
âIâm on my own now, too.â
âAre you? You canât be on your own forever.
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