above the bed he hung a yellowed
sketch his mother made of him when he was a boy
she drew a man a strange man whose eyes were turned aside in
the way a big cats eyes would look as it crouched above its kill a handsome man in whose face lurked a melancholy
silence a silence tempered with humour
and intelligence which shone in the strong angle of his jaw robust furrows
around his mouth
he didnt recognise himself
his mother told him that when he became
a man he would see that she was right
looking at it reminded him of how
vulnerable he felt as she sketched him and overwhelmed him imagining
that this likeness had appeared to her twenty years earlier
the paper she sketched him on
came from a large bound album she recorded family recipes in she wrote in Polish and her personality was
apparent in her lines and letters the sensitive drawings that crowded its
margins
she penciled and colouredin flowers exotic and fantastic birds animals strange fruit dramatic eyes disembodied hands mouths poised naked body parts that
seemed alive onto themselves
he loved her drawings recognised themwho they were but the words she wrote made him uneasy they were as queer as those in her Latin
Bible that lay on her nightstand
neither the Bible or album made
any sense
yet every evening she sat in her
rocking chair deliberately paging through themreading them under her breath made strange sounds mysterious sounds incantations and when she stopped and laid them on the side
table her cheeks were flush her countenance
peaceful
he was horrified when she
abruptly tore a page from the album and asked him to sit so she could sketch
him
he almost ran
she asked again
Please. it seemed to mean a great deal to her
they were alone
he sat on the porcelain drainboard
beside the kitchen sink
the windows above it were
open he could smell the hot metal of the screensthe beginnings of rust on the breath of the wind that came up he
smelled warm apples pears the turnedearth in the garden mulched with leaves grass cuttings
the late afternoon sun washed
across his back
he forgot his fear
his mother sat across the kitchen
table from him and crushed her first attempts into tight little balls
absently strewed them across
the table
then finally pleased with what
was revealing itself she drew easily and talked to him
he didnt remember what she talked
about
he didnt listenhe was caughtup in
a thing that seemed to pierce him body and
soul a pride arousing himswelling in him
it sucking his Adamsapple deep into his throat
she was capturing on paper from an album she reveredthat she spent
so much time with committing the delicacies of her life
when she finished the sky and the
kitchen were darkening
she told him to hop down from the
sink look at the sketch
she turned it around slipped it
to his side of the table then leaned back
in her chair exhausted
gingerly he picked it updidnt
want to appear too anxious
after looking for a moment
he said Mother It doesnt look like me
with effort she lifted herself
from the chair and came around behind him
crossing her arms over his she hugged
himkissed the top of his head I can see
you very plainly, Joe.
resting her cheek on his head she
began to weep
she stroked his arms
This is yours. I drew it for you. pausing she composed herself May I hold it for you?
she pressed her lips to his hair smelling him
as she did the first time just after he was born she whispered You can have it when I no longer need it.
14 February
1990
1146, day-between-2-Ts, 19 7.
23
