plumb the boy’s memories, and see if he can recall anything that you or I know or knew.
There is a child’s song about a man in a marsh who is sinking out of sight. Do you remember it? I used to sing it sometimes, even though the tune is dreadful.
The man is sinking slowly out of sight and a woman who is passing sees him. She is too far to save him, but she asks for his hat, and then asks for his shirt, and for his watch and watch chain. The man throws his hat to dry ground and his shirt and his watch and watch chain. But he cannot come himself and he cannot be saved. The woman says something like:
if I’d a length of rope, I’d throw it you,
and drag you out right quick—
but i can’t and so
instead you should
throw me your walking stick…
Then the man says,
if you’d a length of rope, you’d throw it me
and save my life right quick—
but you can’t and so
as i sink i throw
to you my walking stick
Ezra, am I sinking? Or are you?
yours,
l.
PS I remain confused about what it would mean if the boy IS you. Would then the things about him that are unfamiliar to me be things that were true about you, but that changed over time, so that when you met me they had all vanished? In that sense, would I now be discovering the last of you—to find a whole that had always been lost to me?
One day before the Fourth Visit is to happen, a knock comes at the door. It is Stan’s mother, and she is carrying a long metal box full of needles.
—Come in, said Loring. It was to be raining, but apparently it is not.
—It isn’t raining at all, agreed Stan’s mother.
The two stood looking at each other. Finally, Stan’s mother spoke.
—I wondered, could you tell me how Stan is doing? I didn’t want to ask you when he is around. This is the first time he’s really been away from home for any length of time, and certainly the first he’s been with a stranger.
—I’m not really a stranger, said Loring. Not to him.
—No, of course not. Of course not. But I was wondering…
—Yes, well, he is a…
At this point it occurred to Loring that this was her chance to learn things about Stan that he himself did not know, or would not tell. But, which to ask first?
—…he is a shy one. I wonder, do you know, does he get on well with other children?
—Not well at all. They like him well enough, but he won’t bother with them. He would rather sit indoors and read.
—And his father, said Loring. What’s their relationship?
—Good, said Stan’s mother curtly. Do you have any reason to suppose it’s not?
—No, no. No, no, no. I am just trying to think of the boy, to know him better so that I can teach him properly.
Stan’s mother nodded her head slightly, still not entirely reassured.
—Does he have any particular objects he likes to keep around himself?
—Well, a chess set that we bought him, and a whitish colored stick.
—A whitish colored stick?
—Yes.
—How long is it?
—About this long.
—And you say it’s a stick.
—Yes. He put marks in it and he uses it as a ruler, to poke things, and to reach things that are high up. It’s kind of hooked on the end.
—Like a bird talon?
—I don’t know, said Stan’s mother. I don’t know that. Anyway, is he learning or not? How is his chess?
—It is…
There was another knock at the door, very slight, and then another louder, and then a tumult of banging and shouting. The door, which actually had not been properly closed, swung open, spilling three or four boys and a girl or two onto the hall carpet. These were the selfsame ones who had been following Stan’s mother before. Now, here they were again.
—What are you doing? she asked.
—Just waiting for you, they said. We got impatient.
—If you are going to wait, then wait. If you are going to be impatient, there is a glue factory that way. That’s where orphans go, and not to work, either.
They all laughed a hearty laugh together at that.
—We are ready for you to come
There is a child’s song about a man in a marsh who is sinking out of sight. Do you remember it? I used to sing it sometimes, even though the tune is dreadful.
The man is sinking slowly out of sight and a woman who is passing sees him. She is too far to save him, but she asks for his hat, and then asks for his shirt, and for his watch and watch chain. The man throws his hat to dry ground and his shirt and his watch and watch chain. But he cannot come himself and he cannot be saved. The woman says something like:
if I’d a length of rope, I’d throw it you,
and drag you out right quick—
but i can’t and so
instead you should
throw me your walking stick…
Then the man says,
if you’d a length of rope, you’d throw it me
and save my life right quick—
but you can’t and so
as i sink i throw
to you my walking stick
Ezra, am I sinking? Or are you?
yours,
l.
PS I remain confused about what it would mean if the boy IS you. Would then the things about him that are unfamiliar to me be things that were true about you, but that changed over time, so that when you met me they had all vanished? In that sense, would I now be discovering the last of you—to find a whole that had always been lost to me?
One day before the Fourth Visit is to happen, a knock comes at the door. It is Stan’s mother, and she is carrying a long metal box full of needles.
—Come in, said Loring. It was to be raining, but apparently it is not.
—It isn’t raining at all, agreed Stan’s mother.
The two stood looking at each other. Finally, Stan’s mother spoke.
—I wondered, could you tell me how Stan is doing? I didn’t want to ask you when he is around. This is the first time he’s really been away from home for any length of time, and certainly the first he’s been with a stranger.
—I’m not really a stranger, said Loring. Not to him.
—No, of course not. Of course not. But I was wondering…
—Yes, well, he is a…
At this point it occurred to Loring that this was her chance to learn things about Stan that he himself did not know, or would not tell. But, which to ask first?
—…he is a shy one. I wonder, do you know, does he get on well with other children?
—Not well at all. They like him well enough, but he won’t bother with them. He would rather sit indoors and read.
—And his father, said Loring. What’s their relationship?
—Good, said Stan’s mother curtly. Do you have any reason to suppose it’s not?
—No, no. No, no, no. I am just trying to think of the boy, to know him better so that I can teach him properly.
Stan’s mother nodded her head slightly, still not entirely reassured.
—Does he have any particular objects he likes to keep around himself?
—Well, a chess set that we bought him, and a whitish colored stick.
—A whitish colored stick?
—Yes.
—How long is it?
—About this long.
—And you say it’s a stick.
—Yes. He put marks in it and he uses it as a ruler, to poke things, and to reach things that are high up. It’s kind of hooked on the end.
—Like a bird talon?
—I don’t know, said Stan’s mother. I don’t know that. Anyway, is he learning or not? How is his chess?
—It is…
There was another knock at the door, very slight, and then another louder, and then a tumult of banging and shouting. The door, which actually had not been properly closed, swung open, spilling three or four boys and a girl or two onto the hall carpet. These were the selfsame ones who had been following Stan’s mother before. Now, here they were again.
—What are you doing? she asked.
—Just waiting for you, they said. We got impatient.
—If you are going to wait, then wait. If you are going to be impatient, there is a glue factory that way. That’s where orphans go, and not to work, either.
They all laughed a hearty laugh together at that.
—We are ready for you to come
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