81 292
Ritual, 1969 [two stories]
81
top of his stove. He put it
on the counter top, then
nodded at it, which was
the cue for the woman to
pick it up. She wrapped
both hands around it.
Amanda decided that she
would ask her papa for a
few copper coins so that
she could buy some of the
flowers. Amanda, although
she was only nine years
old, sensed in a barely
understood way that she
wanted possession of two
or three of those strange
flowers so that she could
understand better the
woman who made them,
and
understand
too
Monsieur Arbot, and the
shortage of real flowers
and everything beyond
that;
everything
that
seems to radiate outwards
from the little flower shop
with its soft gas light that
turned the snow on the
pavement outside yellow.
‘Papa, please can I have
some money, so that I can
buy Mama a present to
cheer her up?’
Papa
smiled,
though
Amanda could see that
sadness hid somewhere
on his face – perhaps it was
in his eyes, or in the set of
his shoulders. He leaned
to one side in the winged
armchair by the fire, lifting
one hip so that he could
reach into his pockets for
the loose change he kept
there.
‘May I go tomorrow? May
I tell Julienne you said I
might?’ She was excited
now, and wanted time to
fly away; for the hands on
all the clocks to suddenly
give up their slow, barely
perceptible progress and
spin faster and faster until
it was morning.
‘Yes, yes,’ he said and