Hamnet
When Eliza hears these claims, made in her presence by people in the street, by neighbours, by those to whom she sells gloves, she doesn’t pretend not to have heard. She stops in her tracks. She holds the eye of the gossip in question (she has an unnerving stare: this she knows – her brother has told her often enough; it is, he says, something to do with the purity of her eye-colour, the way she can open her eyes wide enough for the whole iris to be seen). She is only thirteen but she is tall for her age. She holds their gaze long enough for them to drop their stare, for them to shuffle off, chastised by her boldness, her silent severity. There is, she has found, great power to be had in silence. Which is something this brother of hers has never learnt.
From the archives
·
2004
Damned If I Do
“What in the world do you need a truck for?” Sarah asked. She stepped over to the counter and poured herself another cup of coffee, then sat back down at the table with Daniel.
“I’m not buying the truck. Well, I am buying a truck, but only because I need the truck for the decal. I’m buying the decal.”
“Decal?”
“Yes. This truck has a Confederate flag in the back window.”
“What?”
“I’ve decided that the rebel flag is my flag. My blood is Southern blood, right? Well, it’s my flag.”
Sarah put down her cup and saucer and picked up a cookie from the plate in the middle of the table. “You’ve flipped. I knew this would happen to you if you didn’t work. A person needs to work.”
“I don’t need money.”
“That’s not the point. You don’t have to work for money.” She stood and walked to the edge of the porch and looked up and down the street.
“I’ve got my books and my music.”
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Damned If I Do
“What in the world do you need a truck for?” Sarah asked. She stepped over to the counter and poured herself another cup of coffee, then sat back down at the table with Daniel.
“I’m not buying the truck. Well, I am buying a truck, but only because I need the truck for the decal. I’m buying the decal.”
“Decal?”
“Yes. This truck has a Confederate flag in the back window.”
“What?”
“I’ve decided that the rebel flag is my flag. My blood is Southern blood, right? Well, it’s my flag.”
Sarah put down her cup and saucer and picked up a cookie from the plate in the middle of the table. “You’ve flipped. I knew this would happen to you if you didn’t work. A person needs to work.”
“I don’t need money.”
“That’s not the point. You don’t have to work for money.” She stood and walked to the edge of the porch and looked up and down the street.
“I’ve got my books and my music.”
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WORDS TO LIVE BY
1986 ·
NON-FICTION
NEW MUSIC