Coy
Part Twenty-Three
"Old New England Traits"
(A)
“A Ridiculous Judgment”
The
door did stick. Then opened
inward. Then stuck again...
against something stopping its ‘opening’ progress from behind this door. It opened enough so that “We can get
in.” Said Helen.
Because
the hall outside the open door was dark and enclosed... I’d already ‘adapted to
conditions’. This was enhanced by
my personal ‘in my element’ state... I’d switched on (‘become’).
WHO
CARES if it is a ‘perfect’ mid October day outside; high, dry pressure of
rolling puffy clouds ranging across deep blue sky with falling leaf swirls in
mid air and leaf scurry racing under foot across the ...driveway ...leading to
the front steps... of the Savage Mansion.
WHO
CARES when it is I who rides the lawn tractor INTO a locked, dark, silent,
still and ‘never’ ‘seen’... by ANY... ‘one’... “OUTSIDE OF THE FAMILY THAT I
KNOW OF”. Said Helen... WHILE
Helen goes before me and pries up the gravestones BLOCKING the lawn tractor...
and pitches them ‘into the sea’.
Or... is it I before HER with SHE on the lawn tractor ‘so we can get it
(the lawn tractor) in’ and I ...the ‘pry up’ the gravestones and ‘pitch them’
into the sea? (Part Six [A])
Is
it THAT? WE are DESTROYING something...
by Helen turning the old key in the old door lock and pushing her bare feet and
clothed-in-her-still “I KNOW SUMMERS OVER BUT I DON’T CARE” floral dress...
against the door. Helen is ahead
of me? SO I AM riding the lawn
tractor? Or do I come to her aid
from behind when SHE riding the lawn tractor must stop because “HERE’S ANOTHER
ONE”. I step forward and slam my
steel pry bar deep into the soft sand soil and push DOWN so that my leverage
point PUSHES UP to... “DO THEY just POP FREE?”
“DAMN
THEY DO!” of another one that with my work gloves on and tossing the bar to the
side I ROLL... the gravestone INTO... the... SEA (shore) ‘below’.
“GOOD
ENOUGH.” said Helen when I volunteered by action to ‘move’ ‘whatever it is’
‘back’ “FROM BLOCKING THE DOOR”.
I
said.
Realizing
TOO
LATE
THAT
I
HAD
(just) DESTROYED
“The
continent of North America?” I hear myself say out loud as my head goes upward
to see the dark ceiling and its walled room cornered edges ...lining the wall
tops with bookcases... “FULL” of... ‘old books’. Helen is ahead of me to one of two windows draped SHUT with
only a four inch BLINDING radiant glow outlining the darkest green
rolling-ton-of-fabric velvet (?) BLOCKING ‘out anything’ “THE WINDOWS DON’T
OPEN”. Helen says but... starts to
endeavor to pull to a side that window’s drape.
“NO.”
I command and startle myself... “Just leave it. Dark. Now.” I
recover.
I
recover.
I
did just almost drive the lawn tractor into the sea at the edge of the
continent of North America to NEVER RECOVER
It?
I?
“The
room?”
to
it’s ‘was’.
“Again?”
OH
WAS THAT A CLOSE ONE.
All
of this roaring mind swirl juxtaposition of our entrance to ‘the room’ is from
chapter six [A] where I had stood to see first hand ‘a pitch’. Of gravestones... into the sea... at
the edge of the continent... of North America. I HEAR THIS ‘the room’ HISSING NOW: “GO TO HELL”.
But
I stopped before I got there (Hell).
I
stopped before I ‘did that’. Helen
stopped before she let any more light in.
We stood for four seconds maybe in the only air in that room. The only light in that room. The only noise in that room.
WAS
NO NOISE AT ALL.
I
could ‘see’ now. Everything. In the dark.”
“THIS
IS SORT OF...” began Helen “THE LIBRARY and the OFFICE. WELL IT WAS ONCE BUT I DON’T USE IT
EVER. I never come in HERE EXCEPT
like THIS.”
“I
can see that.” I said ineffectively.
I think I said that. I may
just have thought that. I was
roving the dark. I ... “let me
move that (“It’s a desk; a lady’s writing desk”) back where it was. I...” am
saying.
“THAT
IS ALWAYS BLOCKING. IF YOU MOVE
IT... it BLOCKS SOMETHING ELSE.”
Behind
this lady’s letter desk was another desk.
This desk pushed back against a third desk. That desk is actually an oversized Empire style ...glass
door topped... ‘secretary’... that is fitted against the wall. That wall is full lined with
bookcases... full of ... ‘old books’... as are all the other walls. The secretary blocks the old books on
the shelves from view where it was ‘pushed back against them’. The other walls of bookcases had
...either small book cases, small tables or other desks... of some sort...
pushed against them... too. The
room’s wall against the outside of the mansion, with the two draped windows
glowing in outline, had book shelves on each side and in the center between the
windows. Small ‘stands’ (little
tables with one drawer) were ...fitted... against them. At the center shelf... two thirds of
the way ‘up’ to ‘the ceiling’ I... notice... “A MIRROR”?
“With
a cloth over it?”
“A
mourning shroud?”
“NO. NOT POSSIBLE” I said all out loud to
myself. “THAT is TOO OLD; 18th
century.”
“THAT
IS.” I hear Helen saying for she
HAD FOLLOWED my gaze... “COVERED... from when ONE JOHN DIED. THEY SAID they could SEE HIS FACE in
THAT MIRROR. So they COVERED
IT. IT’S ALWAYS BEEN LIKE THAT.”
“A
mourning shroud?” I hear myself say.
“NO. They left his body in here OVERNIGHT
before BURIAL. IN THIS ROOM. WELL... ONE OF THEM: They said they SAW HIS FACE in THAT
mirror LOOKING AT THEM. SO...
that’s WHY they covered IT. I KNOW
they used to DO THAT. It’s always
been covered. It’s a RIDICULOUS.”
Judgment?
*** From Part Six (A): “In one’s thoughts of New England, it
is a ridiculous judgment for one to forget this. Or not know of this.
Those that have the privilege of ‘forgetting’ are a much smaller group
than those who... ‘not know of this’.”
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