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Authors: Claudia Casper
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our coats closed, and pushed forward toward a new establishment announced in the news banners. We stopped under the viaduct for relief from the dust and wind. Our clothes and hair were covered. I blew sand out of Ruby’s eyelashes and she did the same for me.
I pointed out the putty-coloured man. She smiled and ran over to another painting of a window frame with fish swimming through it, placed one hand as though on the ledge, and turned and faced the fish so they seemed to be about to swim around her.
I can’t believe it, I said. I’m standing here with Mary Poppins in a sidewalk chalk drawing.
She pirouetted over to the giant, so that the large figure looked down at her with one eye and up at her with the other one.
Who’s Mary Poppins? This is excellent down here, Quincy. This one’s like Humpty Dumpty, but he’s not sure he wants to get back up on that wall. Who’s painting them? Where do they get the paint?
We walked back out into the driving airborne desert and continued forward. When we passed the old post office, we saw there was some kind of new indoor market happening. Plastic sheeting was tacked up over the broken windows near the ceiling, and it snapped and cracked like a rodeo whip in the wind. We went inside and wandered down the aisles, Hump and Stump and Twinkletoes, and looked at all the stalls where people sold or traded clothes, crockery, kitchenware, home-brewed beer, baked goods, dried herbs, teas, home gadgetry, wood-working.
Ruby started to get excited. Flowers! Scones! She pulled me over to a stall. Look at this dress! I could create a piece around this. She smelled the armpits and crinkled her face. I don’t own enough perfume to cover that. She turned it inside out looking for a label. McQueen, she whispered to herself. How much? The woman in the stall turned around and looked Ruby up and down. She was missing two teeth. A mole near the corner of her mouth had sprouted several long hairs. She touched the hem of the garment lightly, gently rubbing the fabric between her thumb and forefinger, a slight tremor revealing itself when her hand stilled.
A movie star wore that exact same dress. One of the exotics. Was it Tilda Swinton?
Is it washable?
I don’t know. You can have it. A gift. The woman looked at me and winked. The only clothes I could imagine getting excited about when it came to Ruby was no clothes, but I was glad she was happy.
Ruby’s manner, usually so direct and self-possessed, had changed. A girlish side had surfaced. It was sweet but overdone and strained—like a daughter trying too hard to charm her father, not manipulatively but because she loves him and doesn’t know how else to connect. It surprised and touched me. As we walked together she began to dash about, exclaiming over everything and returning, eyes sparkling, putting her hands on my sleeve. I began to feel like a crab with a kitten.
I stopped walking and pretended to brush her hair out of her face, looking deep into her eyes to get past the bubbly manner. She was in there, looking out at me, uncertain, excited, on the edge of being happy. I pulled her to me and kissed her there, among the hurly burly, and she stilled for the duration of the kiss, but when it ended she ran over to a table of fresh herbs.
At the far end of the hall a line-up had formed. I asked a woman standing with her young daughter, who was dressed in some kind of ratty ballet dress, what the line-up was for. Ice cream! I couldn’t believe it. It was like hearing Ruby’s high heels. Years had gone by without ice cream. I told Ruby, You keep exploring and I’ll buy us ice cream cones. If they have flavours, what would you like?
She looked around her and suddenly shrank into herself. It’s too much, she said. Let’s leave. She pulled at my wrist. I scanned the room for anything that might have set her off.
You’re sure you don’t want an ice cream cone? After all these years? The line’s moving pretty fast. We might never get
I pointed out the putty-coloured man. She smiled and ran over to another painting of a window frame with fish swimming through it, placed one hand as though on the ledge, and turned and faced the fish so they seemed to be about to swim around her.
I can’t believe it, I said. I’m standing here with Mary Poppins in a sidewalk chalk drawing.
She pirouetted over to the giant, so that the large figure looked down at her with one eye and up at her with the other one.
Who’s Mary Poppins? This is excellent down here, Quincy. This one’s like Humpty Dumpty, but he’s not sure he wants to get back up on that wall. Who’s painting them? Where do they get the paint?
We walked back out into the driving airborne desert and continued forward. When we passed the old post office, we saw there was some kind of new indoor market happening. Plastic sheeting was tacked up over the broken windows near the ceiling, and it snapped and cracked like a rodeo whip in the wind. We went inside and wandered down the aisles, Hump and Stump and Twinkletoes, and looked at all the stalls where people sold or traded clothes, crockery, kitchenware, home-brewed beer, baked goods, dried herbs, teas, home gadgetry, wood-working.
Ruby started to get excited. Flowers! Scones! She pulled me over to a stall. Look at this dress! I could create a piece around this. She smelled the armpits and crinkled her face. I don’t own enough perfume to cover that. She turned it inside out looking for a label. McQueen, she whispered to herself. How much? The woman in the stall turned around and looked Ruby up and down. She was missing two teeth. A mole near the corner of her mouth had sprouted several long hairs. She touched the hem of the garment lightly, gently rubbing the fabric between her thumb and forefinger, a slight tremor revealing itself when her hand stilled.
A movie star wore that exact same dress. One of the exotics. Was it Tilda Swinton?
Is it washable?
I don’t know. You can have it. A gift. The woman looked at me and winked. The only clothes I could imagine getting excited about when it came to Ruby was no clothes, but I was glad she was happy.
Ruby’s manner, usually so direct and self-possessed, had changed. A girlish side had surfaced. It was sweet but overdone and strained—like a daughter trying too hard to charm her father, not manipulatively but because she loves him and doesn’t know how else to connect. It surprised and touched me. As we walked together she began to dash about, exclaiming over everything and returning, eyes sparkling, putting her hands on my sleeve. I began to feel like a crab with a kitten.
I stopped walking and pretended to brush her hair out of her face, looking deep into her eyes to get past the bubbly manner. She was in there, looking out at me, uncertain, excited, on the edge of being happy. I pulled her to me and kissed her there, among the hurly burly, and she stilled for the duration of the kiss, but when it ended she ran over to a table of fresh herbs.
At the far end of the hall a line-up had formed. I asked a woman standing with her young daughter, who was dressed in some kind of ratty ballet dress, what the line-up was for. Ice cream! I couldn’t believe it. It was like hearing Ruby’s high heels. Years had gone by without ice cream. I told Ruby, You keep exploring and I’ll buy us ice cream cones. If they have flavours, what would you like?
She looked around her and suddenly shrank into herself. It’s too much, she said. Let’s leave. She pulled at my wrist. I scanned the room for anything that might have set her off.
You’re sure you don’t want an ice cream cone? After all these years? The line’s moving pretty fast. We might never get
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