OverDrive

52374_Unlessjpg

Unless

Carol Shields

AN E-BOOK EXCERPT FROM

To Ezra and Jay

If we had a keen vision and feeling of all ordinary human lifeit would be like hearing the grass grow and the squirrelrsquosheart beat and we should die of that roar which lies on theother side of silence

Unless_TOC_X 43002 1042 AM Page 1

Contents

EPIGRAPH

HerersquosNearlyOnceWhereinNeverthelessSoOtherwiseInsteadThusYetInsofar AsThereofEveryRegardingHence

Unless_TOC_X 43002 1042 AM Page 2

NextNotwithstandingThereuponDespiteThroughoutFollowingHardlySinceOnlyUnlessTowardWhateverAnyWhetherEverWhenceForthwithAsBeginning WithAlreadyHithertoNot Yet

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

THE WORK OF CAROL SHIELDS

CREDITS

ABOUT THE PUBLISHER

COVER IMAGE

COPYRIGHT

Unless_TOC_X 43002 1042 AM Page 3

Herersquos

It happens that I am going through a period of great unhappi-ness and loss just now All my life Irsquove heard people speak of finding themselves in acute pain bankrupt in spirit and

body but Irsquove never understood what they meant To lose Tohave lost I believed these visitations of darkness lasted only a fewminutes or hours and that these saddened people in betweenbouts were occupied as we all were with the useful monotonyof happiness But happiness is not what I thought Happiness isthe lucky pane of glass you carry in your head It takes all yourcunning just to hang on to it and once itrsquos smashed you have tomove into a different sort of life

In my new lifemdashthe summer of the year mdashI am attemptingto ldquocount my blessingsrdquo Everyone I know advises me to take upthis repellent strategy as though they really believe a dramatic losscan be replaced by the renewed appreciation of all one has beengiven I have a husband Tom who loves me and is faithful to meand is very decent looking as well tallish thin and losing his hairnicely We live in a house with a paid-up mortgage and our houseis set in the prosperous rolling hills of Ontario only an hourrsquos drivenorth of Toronto Two of our three daughters Natalie fifteenand Christine sixteen live at home They are intelligent and livelyand attractive and loving though they too have shared in the lossas has Tom

And I have my writingldquoYou have your writingrdquo friends say A murmuring chorus But

you have your writing Reta No one is crude enough to suggest that

my sorrow will eventually become material for my writing butprobably they think it

And itrsquos true There is a curious and faintly distasteful comfortat the age of forty-three forty-four in September in contemplat-ing what I have managed to write and publish during thoseimpossibly childish and sunlit days before I understood the mean-ing of grief ldquoMy Writingrdquo this is a very small poultice to hold upagainst my damaged self but better I have been persuaded thanno comfort at all

Itrsquos June the first year of the new century and herersquos what Irsquove written so far in my life Irsquom not including my old schoolgirlsonnets from the seventiesmdashSatin-slippered April you glidethrough time And lubricate spring days de dum de dummdashandmy dozen or so fawning book reviews from the early eighties Iam posting this list not on the screen but on my consciousness afar safer computer tool and easier to access

A translation and introduction to Danielle Westermanrsquos bookof poetry Isolation April one month before our daughterNorah was born a home birth naturally a midwife you couldalmost hear the guitars plinking in the background except we did not feast on the placenta as some of our friends were doing at the time My French came from my Queacutebeacutecoise mother and my acquaintance with Danielle from the University of Torontowhere she taught French civilization in my student days She wasa poor teacher hesitant and in awe I think of the tanned healthystudents sitting in her classroom taking notes worshipfully andstretching their small suburban notion of what the word civiliz-

ation might mean She was already a recognized writer of kinetictough-corded prose both beguiling and dangerous Her mannerwas to take the reader by surprise In the middle of a flattenedrambling paragraph deceived by warm stretches of reflectionyou came upon hard cartilage

I am a little uneasy about claiming Isolation as my own writingbut Dr Westerman doing one of her hurrying over-the-headgestures insisted that translation especially of poetry is a creative

act Writing and translating are convivial she said not opposi-tional and not at all hierarchical Of course she would say thatMy introduction to Isolation was certainly creative though since I had no idea what I was talking about

I hauled it out recently and while I read it experienced theBurrowing of the Palpable Worm of Shame as my friend LynnKelly calls it Pretension is what I see now The part about arttransmuting the despair of life to the ldquomerely frangiblerdquo andpoetryrsquos attempt to ldquorepair the gap between ought and naughtrdquomdashwhat on earth did I mean Too much Derrida might be theproblem I was into all that pretty heavily in the early eighties

After that came ldquoThe Brightness of a Starrdquo a short story thatappeared in An Anthology of Young Ontario Voices (Pink Onion Press) Itrsquos hard to believe that I qualified as ldquoa young voicerdquo in but in fact I was only twenty-nine mother of Norah agedfour her sister Christine aged two and about to give birth toNataliemdashin a hospital this time Three daughters and not eventhirty ldquoHow did you find the timerdquo people used to chorus and inthat query I often registered a hint of blame was I neglecting mydarling sprogs for my writing career Well no I never thought interms of career I dabbled in writing It was my macrameacute my knit-ting Not long after however I did start to get serious and joineda local ldquowritersrsquo workshoprdquo for women which met every secondweek for two hours where we drank coffee and had a good timeand deeply appreciated each otherrsquos company and that led to

ldquoIconrdquo a short story rather Jamesian Gwen Reidmanthe only published author in the workshop group was our leaderThe Glenmar Collective (an acronym of our first namesmdashnot veryoriginal) was what we called ourselves One day Gwen said mov-ing a muffin to her mouth that she was touched by the ldquoauster-ityrdquo of my short storymdashwhich was based but only roughly on myresponse to the Russian icon show at the Art Gallery of OntarioMy fictional piece was a case of art ldquoembracingrepudiating artrdquoas Gwen put it and then she reminded us of the famous ldquoOn FirstLooking Into Chapmanrsquos Homerrdquo and the whole aesthetic of art

begetting art art worshipping art which I no longer believe in bythe way Either you do or you donrsquot The seven of us GwenLorna Emma Allen Nan Marcella Annette and I (my name isReta Wintersmdashpronounced Ree-tah) self-published our pieces in avolume titled Incursions and Interruptions throwing in fifty dollarseach for the printing bill The five hundred copies sold quickly inthe local bookstores mostly to our friends and families Publishingwas cheap we discovered What a surprise We called ourselvesthe Stepping Stone Press and in that name we expressed our mildembarrassment at the idea of self-publishing but also the hopethat we would ldquosteprdquo along to authentic publishing in the verynear future Except Gwen of course who was already there AndEmma who was beginning to publish op-ed pieces in the Globe

and Mail

Alive (Random House ) a translation of Pour Vivre vol-ume one of Danielle Westermanrsquos memoirs I may appear to beclaiming translation as an act of originality but as I have alreadysaid it was Danielle in her benign way wrinkling her disorderlyforehead who had urged me to believe that the act of shufflingelegant French into readable and stable English is an aestheticperformance The book was well received by the critics and evensold moderately well a dense but popular book offered withoutshame and nary a footnote The translation itself was slammed inthe Toronto Star (ldquoclumsyrdquo) by one Stanley Harold Howard butDanielle Westerman said never mind the man was un maquereau

which translates crudely as something between a pimp and aprick

I then wrote a commissioned pamphlet for a series put outby a press calling itself Encyclopeacutedie de lrsquoart The press producedtiny hold-in-the-hand booklets each devoted to a single artsubject covering everything from Braque to Calder to Klee toMondrian to Villon The editor in New York operating out of aphone booth it seemed to me and knowing nothing of my igno-rance had stumbled on my short story ldquoIconrdquo and believed me tobe an expert on the subject He asked for three thousand words

for a volume (volumette really) to be called Russian Icons pub-lished finally in It took me a whole year to do what withTom and the three girls and the house and garden and meals andlaundry and too much inwardness They published my ldquotextrdquosuch a cold jellied word along with a series of coloured plates inboth English and French (I did the French as well) and paid mefour hundred dollars I learned all about the schools of Suzdal andVladimir and what went on in Novgorod (a lot) and how imagesof saints made medieval people quake with fear To my knowl-edge the book was never reviewed but I can read it today with-out shame It is almost impossible to be pseudo when writingabout innocent paintings that obey no rules of perspective andthat are done on slabs of ordinary wood

I lost a year after this which I donrsquot understand since allthree girls had started school though Natalie was only in morningkindergarten I think I was too busy thinking about the business ofbeing a writer about being writerly and fretting over whetherTomrsquos ego was threatened and being in Daniellersquos shadow nevermind Derrida and needing my own writing space and turningthirty-five and feeling older than Irsquove ever felt since My agemdashthirty-fivemdashshouted at me all the time standing tall and wide inmy head and blocking access to what my life afforded Thirty-fivenever sat down with its hands folded Thirty-five had no compo-sure It was always humming mean terse tunes on a piece offolded cellophane (ldquoI am composedrdquo said John Quincy Adams onhis deathbed How admirable and enviable and beyond belief Iloved him for this)

This anguish of mine was unnecessary Tomrsquos ego was unchal-lenged by my slender publications He turned out to be one ofthose men we were worried about in the seventies and eightieswho might shrivel in acknowledgment of his own insignificanceOrdinary was what he wanted to be an ordinary man embeddedin a family he loved We put a skylight in the box room bought a used office desk installed a fax and a computer and I sat downon my straight-from-a-catalogue Freedom Chair and translated

Danielle Westermanrsquos immense Les femmes et le pouvoir the Eng-lish version published in volume two of her memoirs InEnglish the title was changed to Women Waiting which onlymakes sense if yoursquove read the book (Women possess power butit is power that has yet to be seized ignited and released and soforth) This time no one grumped about my translation ldquoSpark-ling and full of easerdquo the Globe said and the New York Times wentone better and called it ldquoan achievementrdquo

ldquoYou are my true sisterrdquo said Danielle Westerman at the timeof publication Ma vraie soeur I hugged her back Her craving forphysical touch has not slackened even in her eighties thoughnowadays it is mostly her doctor who touches her or me with myweekly embrace or the manicurist Dr Danielle Westerman isthe only person I know who has her nails done twice a weekTuesday and Saturday ( just a touch-up) beautiful long nail bedsmatching her long quizzing eyes

I was giddy All at once translation offers were arriving in themail but I kept thinking I could maybe write short stories eventhough our Glenmar group was dwindling what with Emmataking a job in Newfoundland Annette getting her divorce andGwen moving to the States The trouble was I hated my shortstories I wanted to write about the overheard and the glimpsedbut this kind of evanescence sent me into whimsy mode andalthough I believed whimsicality to be a strand of the humanpersonality I was embarrassed at what I was pumping into mynew Apple computer sitting there under the clean brightness ofthe skylight Pernicious precious my moments of recognitionAhahmdashand then she realized I was so fetching with my ldquoEllen wassetting the table and she knew tonight would be differentrdquo Alittle bug sat in my ear and buzzed Who cares about Ellen andher woven placemats and her hopes for the future

I certainly didnrsquot careBecause I had three kids everyone said I should be writing

kiddy lit but I couldnrsquot find the voice Kiddy lit screeched in mybrain Talking ducks and chuckling frogs I wanted something

sterner and more contained as a task which is how I came to writeShakespeare and Flowers (San Francisco Cyclone Press ) Thecontract was negotiated before I wrote one word Along came alittle bundle of cash to start me off with the rest promised on pub-lication I thought it was going to be a scholarly endeavour but Iended up producing a wee ldquogiftierdquo book You could send this bookto anyone on your list who was maidenly or semi-academic orwhom you didnrsquot know very well Shakespeare and Flowers wassold in the kind of outlets that stock greeting cards and stuffedbears I simply scanned the canon and picked up references to saythe eglantine (A Midsummer Nightrsquos Dream) or the blackberry(Troilus and Cressida) and then I puffed out a little description of theflower and conferenced on the phone (twice) with the illustratorin Berkeley and threw in lots of Shakespearean quotes A sweetlittle book excellent slick paper US$ At sixty-eight pages it fits in a small mailer Two hundred thousand copies and stillselling though the royalty rate is scandalous Theyrsquod like me to do something on Shakespeare and animals and I just might

Eros Essays by Danielle Westerman translation by RetaWinters hastily translatedmdasheverything was hasty in those dayseverything still ismdashand published in Hugely successful aftera tiny advance We put the dog in a kennel and Tom and I andthe girls took the first translation payment and went to France fora month southern Burgundy a village called La Roche-Vineusewhere Danielle had grown up halfway between Cluny andMacirccon red-tiled roofs set in the midst of rolling vineyards incan-descent air Our rental house was built around a cobbled court-yard full of ancient roses and hydrangeas ldquoHow old is thishouserdquo we asked the neighbours who invited us in for an aperi-tif ldquoVery oldrdquo was all we got The stone walls were two feetthick The three girls took tennis lessons at lrsquoeacutecole drsquoeacuteteacute Tom wenthacking for trilobites happy under the French sun and I sat in awicker chair in the flower-filled courtyard shorts and halter andbare feet a floppy straw hat on my head reading novels day afterday and thinking I want to write a novel About something

happening About characters moving against a ldquothererdquo That waswhat I really wanted to do

Looking back I can scarcely believe in such innocence I didnrsquotthink about our girls growing older and leaving home and fallingaway from us Norah had been a good docile baby and then shebecame a good obedient little girl Now at nineteen shersquos sobrimming with goodness that she sits on a Toronto street cornerwhich has its own textual archaeology though Norah probablydoesnrsquot know about that She sits beneath the lamppost where thepoet Ed Lewinski hanged himself in and where MargheritaTolles burst out of the subway exit into the sunshine of heradopted country and decided to write a great play Norah sitscross-legged with a begging bowl in her lap and asks nothing ofthe world Nine-tenths of what she gathers she distributes at theend of the day to other street people She wears a cardboard signon her chest a single word printed in black markermdash

I donrsquot know what that word really means though words aremy business The Old English word wearth I discovered the otherday on the Internet means outcast the other English word itstwin its cancellation is worthmdashwe know what that means andknow to distrust it It is the word wearth that Norah has swal-lowed This is the place shersquos claimed a whole world constructedon stillness An easy stance says the condemning grievingmother easy to find and maintain given enough practice Asharper focus could be achieved by tossing in an astringent fluid apeppery sauce irony rebellion tattoos and pierced tongue andspiked purple hair but no Norah embodies invisibility and good-ness or at least she is on the pathmdashso she said in our last conver-sation which was eight weeks ago the eleventh of April Shewore torn jeans that day and a rough plaid shawl that was almostcertainly a car blanket Her long pale hair was matted Sherefused to look us in the eye but she did blink in acknowledge-mentmdashIrsquom sure of itmdashwhen I handed her a sack of cheesesandwiches and Tom dropped a roll of twenty-dollar bills in herlap Then she spoke in her own voice but emptied of connection

She could not come home She was on the path to goodness Atthat moment I her mother was more absent from myself thanshe I felt that She was steadfast She could not be diverted Shecould not ldquoberdquo with us

How did this part of the narrative happen We know it didnrsquotrise out of the ordinary plot lines of a life story An intelligent andbeautiful girl from a loving family grows up in OrangetownOntario her motherrsquos a writer her fatherrsquos a doctor and then shegoes off the track Therersquos nothing natural about her efflorescenceof goodness Itrsquos abrupt and brutal Itrsquos killing us What will reallykill us though is the day we donrsquot find her sitting on her chosensquare of pavement

But I didnrsquot know any of this when I sat in that Burgundygarden dreaming about writing a novel I thought I understoodsomething of a novelrsquos architecture the lovely slope of predica-ment the tendrils of surface detail the calculated curving upwardinto inevitability yet allowing spells of incorrigibility and thenthe ending a corruption of cause and effect and the gatheringtogether of all the characters into a framed operatic circle ofconsolation and ecstasy backlit with fibre-optic gold just for amoment on the second-to-last page just for an atomic particle oftime

I had an idea for my novel a seed and nothing more Twoappealing characters had suggested themselves a woman and aman Alicia and Roman who live in Wychwood which is a citythe size of Toronto who clamour and romp and cling to theisland that is their lifersquos predicamentmdashthey long for love butselfishly strive for self-preservation Roman is proud to be cholericin temperament Alicia thinks of herself as being reflective buther job as assistant editor on a fashion magazine keeps her toooccupied to reflect

And I had a title My Thyme Is Up It was a pun of coursefrom an old family joke and I meant to write a jokey novel Alight novel A novel for summertime a book to read while seatedin an Ikea wicker chair with the sun falling on the pages as faintly

and evenly as human breath Naturally the novel would have ahappy ending I never doubted but that I could write this noveland I did in mdashin a swoop alone during three dark wintermonths when the girls were away all day at school

The Middle Years the translation of volume three of Wester-manrsquos memoirs is coming out this fall Volume three exploresWestermanrsquos numerous love affairs with both men and womenand none of this will be shocking or even surprising to her read-ers What is new is the suppleness and strength of her sentencesAlways an artist of concision and selflessness she has arrived inher old age at a gorgeous fluidity and expansion of phrase Mytranslation doesnrsquot begin to express what she has accomplishedThe book is stark itrsquos also sentimental one balances and rescuesthe other strangely enough I can only imagine that those end-less calcium pills Danielle chokes down every morning and the vitamin E and the emu oil capsules have fed directly into hervein of language so that what lands on the page is larger morerapturous more self-forgetful than anything shersquos written beforeand all of it sprouting short swift digressions that pretend to be just careless asides little swoons of surrender to her ownexperience inviting us her readers to believe in the totality ofher abandonment

Either that or shersquos gone senile to good effect a grand loosen-ing of language in her old age The thought has more than onceoccurred to me

Another thought has drifted by silken as a breeze against alattice Therersquos something missing in these memoirs or so I thinkin my solipsistic view Danielle Westerman suffers she feels the pangs of existential loneliness the absence of sexual love thetreason of her own womanrsquos body She has no partner no one forwhom she is the first person in the world order no one to dependon as I do on Tom She does not have a child or any survivingblood connection for that matter and perhaps itrsquos this that makesthe memoirs themselves childlike They go down like good milkfoaming swirling in the glass

I shouldnrsquot mention Book Number Eleven since it is not afait accompli but I will Irsquom going to write a second novel asequel to My Thyme Is Up Today is the day I intend to begin Thefirst sentence is already tapped into my computer ldquoAlicia was notas happy as she deserved to berdquo

I have no idea what will happen in this book It is a mereabstraction at the moment something thatrsquos popped out of theground like the rounded snout of a crocus on a cold lawn Irsquovestumbled up against this idea in my clumsy manner and now the urge to write it wonrsquot go away This will be a book about lostchildren about goodness and going home and being happy andtrying to keep the poison of the printed page in perspective Irsquomdesperate to know how the story will turn out

Nearly

We are more than halfway through the year Toward the beginning of August Tomrsquos old friendColin Glass came to dinner one night driving out

from Toronto Over coffee he attempted to explain the theory ofrelativity to me

I was the one who invited him to launch into the subjectRelativity is a piece of knowledge Irsquove always longed to under-stand a big piece but the explainers tend to go too fast or elsethey skip over a step they assume their audience has alreadyabsorbed Apparently there was once a time when only oneperson in the world understood relativity (Einstein) then twopeople then three or four and now most of the high-school kidswho take physics have at least an inkling or so Irsquom told Howhard can it be And itrsquos passed according to Colin from crazyspeculation to confirmed fact which makes it even more impor-tant to understand Irsquove tried but my grasp feels tenuous So thespeed of light is constant Is that all

Ordinarily I love these long August evenings the splash ofamber light that falls on the white dining-room walls just beforethe separate shades of twilight take over The medallion leavesthat flutter their round ghost shadows All day Irsquod listened to the white-throated sparrows in the woods behind our house their song resembles the Canadian national anthem at least theopening bars Summer was dying but in pieces Wersquod be eatingoutside if it werenrsquot for the wasps Good food the company of agood friend what more could anyone desire But I kept thinking

of Norah sitting on her square of pavement and holding up thepiece of cardboard with the word and then I lost trackof what Colin was saying

E=mc Energy equals mass times the speed of light squaredThe tidiness of the equation raised my immediate suspicion Howcan massmdashthis solid oak dining table for instancemdashhave any con-nection with how fast light travels Theyrsquore two different thingsColin who is a physicist was patient with my objections Hetook the linen napkin from his lap and stretched it taut across thetop of his coffee cup Then he took a cherry from the fruit bowland placed it on the napkin creating a small dimple He tipped thecup slightly so that the cherry rotated around the surface of the napkin He spoke of energy and mass but already I had lost a critical filament of the argument I worried slightly about hiscoffee sloshing up onto the napkin and staining it and thoughthow seldom in the last few years I had bothered with clothnapkins Nobody except maybe Danielle Westerman does realnapkins anymore it was understood that modern professionalwomen had better things to do with their time than launder linen

By now I had forgotten completely what the cherry (more thanfour dollars a pound) represented and what the little dimple wassupposed to be Colin talked on and on and Tom who is a familyphysician and has a broad scientific background seemed to befollowing at least he was nodding his head appropriately Mymother-in-law Lois had politely excused herself and returned toher house next door she would never miss the ten-orsquoclock newsher watching of the ten-orsquoclock news helps the country of Canadato go forward Christine and Natalie had long since drifted fromthe table and I could hear the buzz and burst of TV noises in the den

Pet our golden retriever parked his shaggy self under thetable his whole dog body humming away against my footSometimes in his dreams he groans and sometimes he chortleswith happiness I found myself thinking about Marietta Colinrsquoswife who had packed her bags a few months ago and moved to

Calgary to be with another man She claimed Colin was toowrapped up in his research and teaching to be a true partner Abeautiful woman with a neck like a plant stem she hinted thatthere had been a collapse of passion in their marriage She had left suddenly coldly he had been shocked he had had no idea hetold us in the early days that she had been unhappy all theseyears but he found her diaries in a desk drawer and read themsick with realization that a gulf of misunderstanding separatedthem

Why would a woman leave such personal diaries behind To punish to hurt of course Colin for the most part a decentkind-hearted man used to address her in a dry admonitory wayas though she were a graduate student instead of his wife ldquoDonrsquottell me this is processed cheeserdquo he asked her once when we were having dinner at their house Another time ldquoThis coffee isundrinkablerdquo He loved pleasuremdashhe was that kind of manmdashandtook it for granted and couldnrsquot help his little yelps of outragewhen pleasure failed You could call him an innocent in his expec-tations almost naive on this particular August evening It was asthough he were alone in a vaulted chamber echoing with immen-sities while Tom and I stood attendance just outside the doorcatching the overflow the odd glimpse of his skewed but calmbrilliance Even the little pockets under his eyes were phlegmaticHe was not a shallow person but perhaps he suspected that wewere I had to stop myself interrupting with a joke I often do thisIrsquom afraid ask for an explanation and then drift off into my ownthoughts

How could he now be sitting at our table so calmly toyingwith cherries and coffee cups and rolling the edge of his strawplacemat and pressing this heft of information on us It was closeto midnight he had an hourrsquos drive ahead of him What did thetheory of relativity really matter to his ongoing life Colin withhis small specs and trim moustache was at ease with big ideas likerelativity As a theory relativity worked it held all sorts of impor-tant ldquoconceptsrdquo together with its precision and elegance Think of

glue lavishly applied he said helpfully about relativity think ofthe power of the shrewd guess Such a sweeping perspective hadbeen visionary at the beginning but had been assessed and re-inforced and it was moreover Colin was now insisting usefulIn the face of lifersquos uncertainties relativityrsquos weight could beassumed and then set aside part of the package of consciousness

He finished awkwardly sat back in his chair with his two longarms extended ldquoSordquo Thatrsquos it he seemed to say or thatrsquos asmuch as I can do to simplify and explain so brilliant an idea Heglanced at his watch then sat back again exhausted pleased withhimself He wore a well-pressed cotton shirt with blue and yellowstripes neatly tucked into his black jeans He has no interest in clothes This shirt must go back to his married days chosen for him ironed for him by Marietta herself and put on a hangerperhaps a summer ago

The theory of relativity would not bring Colinrsquos wife hurryingback to the old stone house on Oriole Parkway It would notbring my daughter Norah home from the corner of Bathurst andBloor or the Promise Hostel where she beds at night Tom and I followed her one day we had to know how she managedwhether she was safe The weather would be turning cold soonHow does she bear it Cold concrete Dirt Uncombed hair

ldquoWould you sayrdquo I asked ColinmdashI had not spoken for severalminutesmdashldquothat the theory of relativity has reduced the weight ofgoodness and depravity in the worldrdquo

He stared at me ldquoRelativity has no moral position None what-everrdquo (ldquoThis coffee is undrinkablerdquo)

I looked to Tom for support but he was gazing with his mildeyes at the ceiling smiling I knew that smile

ldquoBut isnrsquot it possiblerdquo I said to Colin ldquoto think that goodnessor virtue if you like could be a wave or particle of energyrdquo

ldquoNordquo he said ldquoNo it is not possiblerdquoI made an abrupt move to clear the table I was suddenly

exhaustedStill I am thankful for the friendship and intellectual ardour of

such an unpretentious man as Colin Glass who despite his suffer-ing and shame really wanted me to understand a key concept ofthe twentieth century Or was he simply diverting himself for anhour This is what I must learn the art of diversion He said notone word about Marietta all evening long Tom and I understandthat he is reconstructing his life without her But a daughter issomething different A daughter of nineteen cannot be erased

Once

It was understood that I would do the publicity such as it was for Danielle Westermanrsquos third volume of memoirs Ateighty-five she was too old and too distinguished to handle

a day of interviews in Toronto even though she lives there I asthe translator could easily field questions from the press A verylight schedule was organized by the publisher since Dr Wester-man already possesses a long twilight of faithful readership

In early September I drove into Orangetown down its calmold-fashioned main street and into the countryside again The cityof Toronto monumental and lonely glowed in front of me Itsoutskirts are ragged though its numbered exits pretend at a kindof order Traffic was light I drove slowly by the corner of Bloorand Bathurst for a glimpse of Norah There she was as always onthe northeast corner seated on the ground near the subwayentrance with her bowl and cardboard sign even though it wasnot yet nine orsquoclock Had she had breakfast Did she have nits inher hair What is she thinking or is her mind a great blank

I parked the car and walked over to where she was ldquoHellodarling Norahrdquo I said setting down a plastic bag of food breadand cheese fruit and raw vegetables And in an envelope arecent photo of Pet with his straight proud muzzle and furry ruff Norah of all the girls doted on Pet and now I was bribingher shamelessly It was a chilly day and it iced my heart to see herunreadable immobility but I was glad to notice that she waswearing warm mittens Glad Me glad The least little signal willgladden my heart these days Today she looked not quite at me

and nodded Another wave of gladness struck I allow myself onlyone such glimpse a week since shersquos made it clear she doesnrsquotwant to see us

It is like watching her through plate glass All week I will drawexpensively on this brief moment of voyeurism at the same timetrying to blot it out with images of Norah on her bicycle Norahsitting at the kitchen table studying for exams Norah reaching forher green raincoat Norah trying on new school shoes Norahsleeping safe

After a while I went to have my eyebrows arched and tinted atSylviarsquos which calls itself a ldquospirit spardquo meaning it seemed thatwhile Madame Sylvia swiped at my brow with a little paintbrushshe murmured and sang into my ear It was now nine-thirty in themorning and I lay on a narrow table in a tiny white room ldquoYouare at the age when you must protect the fine skin around theeyesrdquo she warned ldquoA womanrsquos face falls it is inevitable but the eyes go on and on giving light You will be eighty ninety and your eyes will still charmrdquo

She knows nothing about my life Irsquove never been here beforeand have never thought of having an eyebrow tint I have per-fectly decent eyebrows nicely shaped and regular but I did lookinto a mirror a week or so ago and noticed that the small hairs atthe outside corners were coming in grey There was a little greyat the temples too but nothing to be surprised about not for a woman whose forty-fourth birthday is approaching not for awoman who has never even thought of herself as possessingldquotemplesrdquo such august body parts

ldquoAre you by any chance a Geminirdquo Madame Sylvia askedintimately Swish went the paintbrush She stopped peered at meclosely then swished again a deft little stroke

ldquoNordquo I said ashamed to acknowledge the astrological universeldquoMy birthdayrsquos in September Next week in factrdquo

ldquoI can tell yesrdquo She had a touch of the harridan in her voice ldquoIcan always tellrdquo

What could she tell

ldquoTwenty-four dollarsrdquo she said ldquoLet me give you my card Fornext timerdquo

Presumptuous but yes there will be a next time I calculatedquickly My face would make it through the next few weeks butby November I will probably be back in Madame Sylviarsquos hushedwhite cell I may well become a regular Eyebrows lashes fullfacials neck massage I have led a reflective life a life of thoughta writer a translator but all this is about to change The delicateskin around my eyes was demanding attention Has Tom noticedI donrsquot think so Christine and Natalie donrsquot really look at me inthat way they just see this watercolour blob that means motherwhich is rather how I see myself

ldquoA womanrsquos charm is with her for liferdquo Madame Sylvia saidldquobut you must pay attentionrdquo

No I thought an hour later no Irsquom sorry but I have no plansto be charming on a regular basis Anyone can be charming Itrsquosreally a cheap trick mere charm so astonishingly easy to per-form screwing up your face into sunbeams and spewing themforth The calculated lift of the wrist chin up thumb and fore-finger brought together to form a little feminine loop that trick of pretending to sit on a little glass chair that concentration ofradiance lrsquoesprit little sprinkles of it everywhere misting the airlike bargain scent Ingenue spritz Emma Allen calls it

I know that cheapness so intimatelymdashthe grainy sugary per-severing way charm enters a fresh mouth and rubs against themolars sticking there in soft wads promoting mouth ulcers or whatever it is thatrsquos the metaphoric projection of self-hatredOf all the social virtues charm is in the end the most unreward-ing And compared to goodness real goodness or the unmovableself-abnegation my daughter Norah practises charm is nothingbut crumpled tissue paper soiled from previous use

Sincerity No Sincerityrsquos over Sincerityrsquos lost whatever edge ithad Itrsquos fine fine matter but wasted on the press who all grew uppost-Holocaust devoted readers of Mad Magazine and wouldnrsquotrecognize a bar of willed innocence if it came wrapped in foil

Nor will I ever again be pointlessly endlessly polite I got overthat two years ago when I did my author tour It seems Irsquove lostlike a stream of pebbles leaving my hand the kind of endurancethat professional courtesy demands suck in your breath let yourface go numb listen to the interviewerrsquos questions registeroptimally let your breath out evaluate the feelings of those whodepend on you (agent publisher editor that nice Sheila personwho does publicity and of course Danielle Westerman) andperform again and again like the tuned-up athlete you are the fitphysical specimen that each new book demands then move on tothe next task

Mrs Winters who has just translated The Middle Years the un-

folding memoir of Holocaust survivor Danielle Westerman is a woman

of grace and charm whose thick brown hair is arranged into a bun

Putting down her coffee cup she shrugs off her beige raincoat and

Irsquove entered early middle age now and I have a nineteen-year-old daughter who lives on the street I no longer require a reputa-tion for charm those saving lilac shadows and contours Maybe Inever did I wonrsquotmdashnot nowmdashtuck the ends of my sentences intolittle licks of favour and the next time a journalist pins me downwith a personal question trolling for informationmdashTell me MrsWinters how are you able to balance your family and profes-sional lifemdashI will stare back hard with my newly practised stareHow do I balance my life Tinted eyebrows up Just what kind ofinquiry is this Wouldnrsquot you prefer Mrs Winters to pursue youown writing rather than translate Dr Westermanrsquos work Pleasenot that again How did you and your husband meet What doeshe think of your writing

I will in the future address my interviewer directly and saywith firmness ldquoThis interview is overrdquo There is nothing to loseRude and difficult people are more likely to be taken seriouslyCurmudgeons are positively adored Irsquove noticed this Even thefascinatingly unknowable earn respect

And when I read in the paper tomorrow that ldquoMrs Winterslooked all of her forty-three yearsrdquo and that ldquoMrs Winters with

her familiar overbite was reluctant to talk about her work sched-ulerdquo I will want to phone the editor and complain bitterly Thisfrom the pen of a small unattractive man almost entirely lip-less beneath a bony domineering nose sweating with minorambition head tilted like something carved out of yellow wax

He interviewed me in a cappuccino bar in mid-Toronto Achilly stooped round-headed man in his thirties or fortiesmdashitwas hard to tellmdashslow to smile pathetically in need of humanattention thinking his superior thoughts Fluff on his shouldersbegged to be picked off I on the other hand was wearing a softjade jacket of cashmere lined with silk which represented a raresplurge on my part but I could be sure this man would over-look this garment with its crystal buttons and mandarin collar andconcentrate instead on my drab raincoat beige and not quitepristine at the cuffs In print he will be certain to refer to mychignon as a bun Itrsquos taken me years to learn to do a glossy littlechignonmdashI can get my hair brushed back and securely pinned up each morning in a mere two and a half minutes and I considermy coiffure one of my major life accomplishments I really meanthis

Sheila from publicity had filled me in before the interview andI felt the information packet hovering what to do with it Thisyoungyoungish man was the newly appointed books columnistat Booktimes He was well known for holding pious opinions aboutthe literature of the Great North about his own role as advocateof a diverse new outpouring of Canadian voices the post-colonialcry of blaming anguish The stream of current fiction aboutmiddle-class people living in cities was diluting the authenticnational voice that rose from the landscape itself andmdash

Oh shut up shut upCappuccino foam dotted the corners of his undistinguished

mouth And just one more question Mrs WintersmdashOf course he didnrsquot call me Reta even though there might be

only a year or two between us The ldquoMrsrdquo gave him power overme that vexing r rucking things up in the middle and making one

think of such distractions as clotheslines and baking tins He wasthe barking terrier going at Mrs Wintersrsquos ankles shaking out hisfur and asking me to justify myself wanting me to explain thespluttering dying whimpering bonfire of my life which I wouldnot dream of sharing He seemed to forget he was interviewingme about Danielle Westermanrsquos new book

I understand yoursquore working on a second novel said heWell yesTakes nerveUh-huhActuallymdashactually well he had a novel on the go himselfReally What a surpriseAt the end of the hour he did not ask for the bill I asked for the

bill ldquoIrsquoll just put it on my Visardquo I said breaking a tenuous breadthof silence I announced this with all the majesty I could musterover a vinyl table like a grande dame adding twenty years to myage and feeling the vowels shifting in my beautifully mouldedthroat Such dignity I surprised myself with my own resonanceand I may have managed a pained smile displaying no doubtthat famous overbite He turned off the tape recorder at the wordldquoVisardquo

He had two young children at home he said Christ what aresponsibility although he loved the little bastards One of themwas quite quite gifted well they both were in their separateways But the work of raising kids Never enough time to read thebooks he had to review books all over the house with little mark-ers in them books he would never finish So much was expectedand of course like all journalists he was underpaid

Oh shut upThey also expected him to do a feature on the weekendUh-huhAnd last week hersquod actually broken the MacBunna storyReally Macumba MarimbaCongratulations said Mrs Reta Winters from OrangetownThanks

I should be getting on my way I said My parking meter Alunch date A long drive home

I understand you and your family live in a lovely old housenear Orangetown

And then slyly I understand one of your daughters now livesin Toronto and

Irsquove been here before There is something about having anestablished family a long-lasting spousal arrangement threedaughters in their teens a house in the country a suggestion ofimpermeability that draws the curiosity of others so that theycan as Tom says probe with probity

But no this man across the table will not be feeding on myflesh nor will his colleaguesmdashthough one can tell that he has nocolleagues there is no possibility of colleagues He has no contextfor friends or co-workers though there are the kids and therersquosthe wife hersquos referred to her three times now Nicola She has herprofessional life too he tells me as though the matter were indispute

I canrsquot resist ldquoDoes Nicolamdashis she a journalist toordquoldquoJournalistrdquoldquoLike you I meanrdquoHis hand jumps and for a moment I think hersquos going to turn

the tape recorder on again But no hersquos reaching into his pocketand now hersquos releasing two coins onto the table The tip They liethere moist from his hand Two dimes I focus on them withwhat I hope is a cool censorious gaze

But hersquos not looking at me Hersquos looking across the roomwhere a silver-haired man is seating himself gracefully at a tableldquoIrsquom not sure but I think thatrsquos Gore Vidalrdquo my interviewer whis-pers in a hungry voice ldquoHersquos here for the writersrsquo festival youknowrdquo

I rise and exit as though led by a brass quintetThe charming Mrs Winters slips on her comfortable beige rain-

coat

I would like to thank a number of others who in one way or another encouraged me in the writing of Unless SharonAllan Marjorie Anderson the late Joan Austen-Leigh JoanBarfoot Clare Boylan Marg Edmond Brown Joan ClarkAnne Collins Cynthia Coop Patrick Crowe Maggie DwyerDarlene Hammell Blanche Howard Isabel Huggan CarlLenthe Madeline Li Elinor Lipman Anna and Sylvie MatasMargaret Shaw-Mackinnon Don McCarthy Peter ParkerBella Pomer Christopher Potter Linda Rogers CaroleSabiston Floyd St Clair Eleanor Wachtel Cindi WarnerMindy Werner the John Simon Guggenheim Foundationand as always my family John Audrey Anne CatherineMeg Sara and especially Don

About the Author

Carol Shields is the author of eight novels and two collections of short stories

The Stone Diaries won the Pulitzer Prize and was shortlisted for the Booker

Prize Larryrsquos Party won the Orange Prize Born and brought up in Chicago

Carol Shields has lived in Canada since 1957

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 1

Others

Intersect

Coming to Canada

Larryrsquos Party

The Stone Diaries

The Republic of Love

A Celibate Season (with Blanche Howard)Swann

A Fairly Conventional Woman

Happenstance

The Box Garden

Small Ceremonies

Various Miracles

The Orange Fish

Dressing Up for the Carnival

Departures and Arrivals

Thirteen Hands

Fashion Power Guilt and the Charity of Families

(with Catherine Shields)Anniversary (with David Williamson)

Susanna Moodie Voice and Vision

Jane Austen

Dropped Threads What We Arenrsquot Told

(Edited with Marjorie Anderson)

Credits

Design by Julian HumphriesPhotographer by Michael CrouserDesigned by Dinah Drazin

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 2

If you enjoyed reading this excerpt please visitHarperCollins Publishers to find out where to buy thisand other PerfectBound e-books

Australiahttpwwwharpercollinscomau

Canadahttpwwwharpercanadacom

New Zealandhttpwwwharpercollinsconz

United Kingdomhttpwwwfireandwatercom

United Stateshttpwwwperfectboundcom

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 3

The Pajama Game Words and Music by Richard Adler Music

and Jerry Ross copy Richard Adler Music and J amp J Ross Co USA

WarnerChappell Music Ltd London w6 8bs

Reproduced by permission of International Music Publications

Ltd All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction Names characters places and incidents

either are the products of the authorrsquos imagination or are used

fictitiously Any resemblance to actual events locales organiza-

tions or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and

beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher

UNLESS Copyright copy 2002 by Carol Shields All rights

reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright

Conventions By payment of the required fees you have been

granted the non-exclusive non-transferable right to access and

read the text of this e-book on-screen No part of this text may

be reproduced transmitted down-loaded decompiled reverse

engineered or stored in or introduced into any information stor-

age and retrieval system in any form or by any means whether

electronic or mechanical now known or hereinafter invented

without the express written permission of PerfectBoundtrade

PerfectBound trade and the PerfectBoundtrade logo are trademarks

of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

Adobe Acrobat E-Book Reader edition v 1 May 2002

ISBN 0-06-052370-0

Print edition first published in 2002

by Forth Estate a division of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 4

Unless

Carol Shields

AN E-BOOK EXCERPT FROM

To Ezra and Jay

If we had a keen vision and feeling of all ordinary human lifeit would be like hearing the grass grow and the squirrelrsquosheart beat and we should die of that roar which lies on theother side of silence

Unless_TOC_X 43002 1042 AM Page 1

Contents

EPIGRAPH

HerersquosNearlyOnceWhereinNeverthelessSoOtherwiseInsteadThusYetInsofar AsThereofEveryRegardingHence

Unless_TOC_X 43002 1042 AM Page 2

NextNotwithstandingThereuponDespiteThroughoutFollowingHardlySinceOnlyUnlessTowardWhateverAnyWhetherEverWhenceForthwithAsBeginning WithAlreadyHithertoNot Yet

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

THE WORK OF CAROL SHIELDS

CREDITS

ABOUT THE PUBLISHER

COVER IMAGE

COPYRIGHT

Unless_TOC_X 43002 1042 AM Page 3

Herersquos

It happens that I am going through a period of great unhappi-ness and loss just now All my life Irsquove heard people speak of finding themselves in acute pain bankrupt in spirit and

body but Irsquove never understood what they meant To lose Tohave lost I believed these visitations of darkness lasted only a fewminutes or hours and that these saddened people in betweenbouts were occupied as we all were with the useful monotonyof happiness But happiness is not what I thought Happiness isthe lucky pane of glass you carry in your head It takes all yourcunning just to hang on to it and once itrsquos smashed you have tomove into a different sort of life

In my new lifemdashthe summer of the year mdashI am attemptingto ldquocount my blessingsrdquo Everyone I know advises me to take upthis repellent strategy as though they really believe a dramatic losscan be replaced by the renewed appreciation of all one has beengiven I have a husband Tom who loves me and is faithful to meand is very decent looking as well tallish thin and losing his hairnicely We live in a house with a paid-up mortgage and our houseis set in the prosperous rolling hills of Ontario only an hourrsquos drivenorth of Toronto Two of our three daughters Natalie fifteenand Christine sixteen live at home They are intelligent and livelyand attractive and loving though they too have shared in the lossas has Tom

And I have my writingldquoYou have your writingrdquo friends say A murmuring chorus But

you have your writing Reta No one is crude enough to suggest that

my sorrow will eventually become material for my writing butprobably they think it

And itrsquos true There is a curious and faintly distasteful comfortat the age of forty-three forty-four in September in contemplat-ing what I have managed to write and publish during thoseimpossibly childish and sunlit days before I understood the mean-ing of grief ldquoMy Writingrdquo this is a very small poultice to hold upagainst my damaged self but better I have been persuaded thanno comfort at all

Itrsquos June the first year of the new century and herersquos what Irsquove written so far in my life Irsquom not including my old schoolgirlsonnets from the seventiesmdashSatin-slippered April you glidethrough time And lubricate spring days de dum de dummdashandmy dozen or so fawning book reviews from the early eighties Iam posting this list not on the screen but on my consciousness afar safer computer tool and easier to access

A translation and introduction to Danielle Westermanrsquos bookof poetry Isolation April one month before our daughterNorah was born a home birth naturally a midwife you couldalmost hear the guitars plinking in the background except we did not feast on the placenta as some of our friends were doing at the time My French came from my Queacutebeacutecoise mother and my acquaintance with Danielle from the University of Torontowhere she taught French civilization in my student days She wasa poor teacher hesitant and in awe I think of the tanned healthystudents sitting in her classroom taking notes worshipfully andstretching their small suburban notion of what the word civiliz-

ation might mean She was already a recognized writer of kinetictough-corded prose both beguiling and dangerous Her mannerwas to take the reader by surprise In the middle of a flattenedrambling paragraph deceived by warm stretches of reflectionyou came upon hard cartilage

I am a little uneasy about claiming Isolation as my own writingbut Dr Westerman doing one of her hurrying over-the-headgestures insisted that translation especially of poetry is a creative

act Writing and translating are convivial she said not opposi-tional and not at all hierarchical Of course she would say thatMy introduction to Isolation was certainly creative though since I had no idea what I was talking about

I hauled it out recently and while I read it experienced theBurrowing of the Palpable Worm of Shame as my friend LynnKelly calls it Pretension is what I see now The part about arttransmuting the despair of life to the ldquomerely frangiblerdquo andpoetryrsquos attempt to ldquorepair the gap between ought and naughtrdquomdashwhat on earth did I mean Too much Derrida might be theproblem I was into all that pretty heavily in the early eighties

After that came ldquoThe Brightness of a Starrdquo a short story thatappeared in An Anthology of Young Ontario Voices (Pink Onion Press) Itrsquos hard to believe that I qualified as ldquoa young voicerdquo in but in fact I was only twenty-nine mother of Norah agedfour her sister Christine aged two and about to give birth toNataliemdashin a hospital this time Three daughters and not eventhirty ldquoHow did you find the timerdquo people used to chorus and inthat query I often registered a hint of blame was I neglecting mydarling sprogs for my writing career Well no I never thought interms of career I dabbled in writing It was my macrameacute my knit-ting Not long after however I did start to get serious and joineda local ldquowritersrsquo workshoprdquo for women which met every secondweek for two hours where we drank coffee and had a good timeand deeply appreciated each otherrsquos company and that led to

ldquoIconrdquo a short story rather Jamesian Gwen Reidmanthe only published author in the workshop group was our leaderThe Glenmar Collective (an acronym of our first namesmdashnot veryoriginal) was what we called ourselves One day Gwen said mov-ing a muffin to her mouth that she was touched by the ldquoauster-ityrdquo of my short storymdashwhich was based but only roughly on myresponse to the Russian icon show at the Art Gallery of OntarioMy fictional piece was a case of art ldquoembracingrepudiating artrdquoas Gwen put it and then she reminded us of the famous ldquoOn FirstLooking Into Chapmanrsquos Homerrdquo and the whole aesthetic of art

begetting art art worshipping art which I no longer believe in bythe way Either you do or you donrsquot The seven of us GwenLorna Emma Allen Nan Marcella Annette and I (my name isReta Wintersmdashpronounced Ree-tah) self-published our pieces in avolume titled Incursions and Interruptions throwing in fifty dollarseach for the printing bill The five hundred copies sold quickly inthe local bookstores mostly to our friends and families Publishingwas cheap we discovered What a surprise We called ourselvesthe Stepping Stone Press and in that name we expressed our mildembarrassment at the idea of self-publishing but also the hopethat we would ldquosteprdquo along to authentic publishing in the verynear future Except Gwen of course who was already there AndEmma who was beginning to publish op-ed pieces in the Globe

and Mail

Alive (Random House ) a translation of Pour Vivre vol-ume one of Danielle Westermanrsquos memoirs I may appear to beclaiming translation as an act of originality but as I have alreadysaid it was Danielle in her benign way wrinkling her disorderlyforehead who had urged me to believe that the act of shufflingelegant French into readable and stable English is an aestheticperformance The book was well received by the critics and evensold moderately well a dense but popular book offered withoutshame and nary a footnote The translation itself was slammed inthe Toronto Star (ldquoclumsyrdquo) by one Stanley Harold Howard butDanielle Westerman said never mind the man was un maquereau

which translates crudely as something between a pimp and aprick

I then wrote a commissioned pamphlet for a series put outby a press calling itself Encyclopeacutedie de lrsquoart The press producedtiny hold-in-the-hand booklets each devoted to a single artsubject covering everything from Braque to Calder to Klee toMondrian to Villon The editor in New York operating out of aphone booth it seemed to me and knowing nothing of my igno-rance had stumbled on my short story ldquoIconrdquo and believed me tobe an expert on the subject He asked for three thousand words

for a volume (volumette really) to be called Russian Icons pub-lished finally in It took me a whole year to do what withTom and the three girls and the house and garden and meals andlaundry and too much inwardness They published my ldquotextrdquosuch a cold jellied word along with a series of coloured plates inboth English and French (I did the French as well) and paid mefour hundred dollars I learned all about the schools of Suzdal andVladimir and what went on in Novgorod (a lot) and how imagesof saints made medieval people quake with fear To my knowl-edge the book was never reviewed but I can read it today with-out shame It is almost impossible to be pseudo when writingabout innocent paintings that obey no rules of perspective andthat are done on slabs of ordinary wood

I lost a year after this which I donrsquot understand since allthree girls had started school though Natalie was only in morningkindergarten I think I was too busy thinking about the business ofbeing a writer about being writerly and fretting over whetherTomrsquos ego was threatened and being in Daniellersquos shadow nevermind Derrida and needing my own writing space and turningthirty-five and feeling older than Irsquove ever felt since My agemdashthirty-fivemdashshouted at me all the time standing tall and wide inmy head and blocking access to what my life afforded Thirty-fivenever sat down with its hands folded Thirty-five had no compo-sure It was always humming mean terse tunes on a piece offolded cellophane (ldquoI am composedrdquo said John Quincy Adams onhis deathbed How admirable and enviable and beyond belief Iloved him for this)

This anguish of mine was unnecessary Tomrsquos ego was unchal-lenged by my slender publications He turned out to be one ofthose men we were worried about in the seventies and eightieswho might shrivel in acknowledgment of his own insignificanceOrdinary was what he wanted to be an ordinary man embeddedin a family he loved We put a skylight in the box room bought a used office desk installed a fax and a computer and I sat downon my straight-from-a-catalogue Freedom Chair and translated

Danielle Westermanrsquos immense Les femmes et le pouvoir the Eng-lish version published in volume two of her memoirs InEnglish the title was changed to Women Waiting which onlymakes sense if yoursquove read the book (Women possess power butit is power that has yet to be seized ignited and released and soforth) This time no one grumped about my translation ldquoSpark-ling and full of easerdquo the Globe said and the New York Times wentone better and called it ldquoan achievementrdquo

ldquoYou are my true sisterrdquo said Danielle Westerman at the timeof publication Ma vraie soeur I hugged her back Her craving forphysical touch has not slackened even in her eighties thoughnowadays it is mostly her doctor who touches her or me with myweekly embrace or the manicurist Dr Danielle Westerman isthe only person I know who has her nails done twice a weekTuesday and Saturday ( just a touch-up) beautiful long nail bedsmatching her long quizzing eyes

I was giddy All at once translation offers were arriving in themail but I kept thinking I could maybe write short stories eventhough our Glenmar group was dwindling what with Emmataking a job in Newfoundland Annette getting her divorce andGwen moving to the States The trouble was I hated my shortstories I wanted to write about the overheard and the glimpsedbut this kind of evanescence sent me into whimsy mode andalthough I believed whimsicality to be a strand of the humanpersonality I was embarrassed at what I was pumping into mynew Apple computer sitting there under the clean brightness ofthe skylight Pernicious precious my moments of recognitionAhahmdashand then she realized I was so fetching with my ldquoEllen wassetting the table and she knew tonight would be differentrdquo Alittle bug sat in my ear and buzzed Who cares about Ellen andher woven placemats and her hopes for the future

I certainly didnrsquot careBecause I had three kids everyone said I should be writing

kiddy lit but I couldnrsquot find the voice Kiddy lit screeched in mybrain Talking ducks and chuckling frogs I wanted something

sterner and more contained as a task which is how I came to writeShakespeare and Flowers (San Francisco Cyclone Press ) Thecontract was negotiated before I wrote one word Along came alittle bundle of cash to start me off with the rest promised on pub-lication I thought it was going to be a scholarly endeavour but Iended up producing a wee ldquogiftierdquo book You could send this bookto anyone on your list who was maidenly or semi-academic orwhom you didnrsquot know very well Shakespeare and Flowers wassold in the kind of outlets that stock greeting cards and stuffedbears I simply scanned the canon and picked up references to saythe eglantine (A Midsummer Nightrsquos Dream) or the blackberry(Troilus and Cressida) and then I puffed out a little description of theflower and conferenced on the phone (twice) with the illustratorin Berkeley and threw in lots of Shakespearean quotes A sweetlittle book excellent slick paper US$ At sixty-eight pages it fits in a small mailer Two hundred thousand copies and stillselling though the royalty rate is scandalous Theyrsquod like me to do something on Shakespeare and animals and I just might

Eros Essays by Danielle Westerman translation by RetaWinters hastily translatedmdasheverything was hasty in those dayseverything still ismdashand published in Hugely successful aftera tiny advance We put the dog in a kennel and Tom and I andthe girls took the first translation payment and went to France fora month southern Burgundy a village called La Roche-Vineusewhere Danielle had grown up halfway between Cluny andMacirccon red-tiled roofs set in the midst of rolling vineyards incan-descent air Our rental house was built around a cobbled court-yard full of ancient roses and hydrangeas ldquoHow old is thishouserdquo we asked the neighbours who invited us in for an aperi-tif ldquoVery oldrdquo was all we got The stone walls were two feetthick The three girls took tennis lessons at lrsquoeacutecole drsquoeacuteteacute Tom wenthacking for trilobites happy under the French sun and I sat in awicker chair in the flower-filled courtyard shorts and halter andbare feet a floppy straw hat on my head reading novels day afterday and thinking I want to write a novel About something

happening About characters moving against a ldquothererdquo That waswhat I really wanted to do

Looking back I can scarcely believe in such innocence I didnrsquotthink about our girls growing older and leaving home and fallingaway from us Norah had been a good docile baby and then shebecame a good obedient little girl Now at nineteen shersquos sobrimming with goodness that she sits on a Toronto street cornerwhich has its own textual archaeology though Norah probablydoesnrsquot know about that She sits beneath the lamppost where thepoet Ed Lewinski hanged himself in and where MargheritaTolles burst out of the subway exit into the sunshine of heradopted country and decided to write a great play Norah sitscross-legged with a begging bowl in her lap and asks nothing ofthe world Nine-tenths of what she gathers she distributes at theend of the day to other street people She wears a cardboard signon her chest a single word printed in black markermdash

I donrsquot know what that word really means though words aremy business The Old English word wearth I discovered the otherday on the Internet means outcast the other English word itstwin its cancellation is worthmdashwe know what that means andknow to distrust it It is the word wearth that Norah has swal-lowed This is the place shersquos claimed a whole world constructedon stillness An easy stance says the condemning grievingmother easy to find and maintain given enough practice Asharper focus could be achieved by tossing in an astringent fluid apeppery sauce irony rebellion tattoos and pierced tongue andspiked purple hair but no Norah embodies invisibility and good-ness or at least she is on the pathmdashso she said in our last conver-sation which was eight weeks ago the eleventh of April Shewore torn jeans that day and a rough plaid shawl that was almostcertainly a car blanket Her long pale hair was matted Sherefused to look us in the eye but she did blink in acknowledge-mentmdashIrsquom sure of itmdashwhen I handed her a sack of cheesesandwiches and Tom dropped a roll of twenty-dollar bills in herlap Then she spoke in her own voice but emptied of connection

She could not come home She was on the path to goodness Atthat moment I her mother was more absent from myself thanshe I felt that She was steadfast She could not be diverted Shecould not ldquoberdquo with us

How did this part of the narrative happen We know it didnrsquotrise out of the ordinary plot lines of a life story An intelligent andbeautiful girl from a loving family grows up in OrangetownOntario her motherrsquos a writer her fatherrsquos a doctor and then shegoes off the track Therersquos nothing natural about her efflorescenceof goodness Itrsquos abrupt and brutal Itrsquos killing us What will reallykill us though is the day we donrsquot find her sitting on her chosensquare of pavement

But I didnrsquot know any of this when I sat in that Burgundygarden dreaming about writing a novel I thought I understoodsomething of a novelrsquos architecture the lovely slope of predica-ment the tendrils of surface detail the calculated curving upwardinto inevitability yet allowing spells of incorrigibility and thenthe ending a corruption of cause and effect and the gatheringtogether of all the characters into a framed operatic circle ofconsolation and ecstasy backlit with fibre-optic gold just for amoment on the second-to-last page just for an atomic particle oftime

I had an idea for my novel a seed and nothing more Twoappealing characters had suggested themselves a woman and aman Alicia and Roman who live in Wychwood which is a citythe size of Toronto who clamour and romp and cling to theisland that is their lifersquos predicamentmdashthey long for love butselfishly strive for self-preservation Roman is proud to be cholericin temperament Alicia thinks of herself as being reflective buther job as assistant editor on a fashion magazine keeps her toooccupied to reflect

And I had a title My Thyme Is Up It was a pun of coursefrom an old family joke and I meant to write a jokey novel Alight novel A novel for summertime a book to read while seatedin an Ikea wicker chair with the sun falling on the pages as faintly

and evenly as human breath Naturally the novel would have ahappy ending I never doubted but that I could write this noveland I did in mdashin a swoop alone during three dark wintermonths when the girls were away all day at school

The Middle Years the translation of volume three of Wester-manrsquos memoirs is coming out this fall Volume three exploresWestermanrsquos numerous love affairs with both men and womenand none of this will be shocking or even surprising to her read-ers What is new is the suppleness and strength of her sentencesAlways an artist of concision and selflessness she has arrived inher old age at a gorgeous fluidity and expansion of phrase Mytranslation doesnrsquot begin to express what she has accomplishedThe book is stark itrsquos also sentimental one balances and rescuesthe other strangely enough I can only imagine that those end-less calcium pills Danielle chokes down every morning and the vitamin E and the emu oil capsules have fed directly into hervein of language so that what lands on the page is larger morerapturous more self-forgetful than anything shersquos written beforeand all of it sprouting short swift digressions that pretend to be just careless asides little swoons of surrender to her ownexperience inviting us her readers to believe in the totality ofher abandonment

Either that or shersquos gone senile to good effect a grand loosen-ing of language in her old age The thought has more than onceoccurred to me

Another thought has drifted by silken as a breeze against alattice Therersquos something missing in these memoirs or so I thinkin my solipsistic view Danielle Westerman suffers she feels the pangs of existential loneliness the absence of sexual love thetreason of her own womanrsquos body She has no partner no one forwhom she is the first person in the world order no one to dependon as I do on Tom She does not have a child or any survivingblood connection for that matter and perhaps itrsquos this that makesthe memoirs themselves childlike They go down like good milkfoaming swirling in the glass

I shouldnrsquot mention Book Number Eleven since it is not afait accompli but I will Irsquom going to write a second novel asequel to My Thyme Is Up Today is the day I intend to begin Thefirst sentence is already tapped into my computer ldquoAlicia was notas happy as she deserved to berdquo

I have no idea what will happen in this book It is a mereabstraction at the moment something thatrsquos popped out of theground like the rounded snout of a crocus on a cold lawn Irsquovestumbled up against this idea in my clumsy manner and now the urge to write it wonrsquot go away This will be a book about lostchildren about goodness and going home and being happy andtrying to keep the poison of the printed page in perspective Irsquomdesperate to know how the story will turn out

Nearly

We are more than halfway through the year Toward the beginning of August Tomrsquos old friendColin Glass came to dinner one night driving out

from Toronto Over coffee he attempted to explain the theory ofrelativity to me

I was the one who invited him to launch into the subjectRelativity is a piece of knowledge Irsquove always longed to under-stand a big piece but the explainers tend to go too fast or elsethey skip over a step they assume their audience has alreadyabsorbed Apparently there was once a time when only oneperson in the world understood relativity (Einstein) then twopeople then three or four and now most of the high-school kidswho take physics have at least an inkling or so Irsquom told Howhard can it be And itrsquos passed according to Colin from crazyspeculation to confirmed fact which makes it even more impor-tant to understand Irsquove tried but my grasp feels tenuous So thespeed of light is constant Is that all

Ordinarily I love these long August evenings the splash ofamber light that falls on the white dining-room walls just beforethe separate shades of twilight take over The medallion leavesthat flutter their round ghost shadows All day Irsquod listened to the white-throated sparrows in the woods behind our house their song resembles the Canadian national anthem at least theopening bars Summer was dying but in pieces Wersquod be eatingoutside if it werenrsquot for the wasps Good food the company of agood friend what more could anyone desire But I kept thinking

of Norah sitting on her square of pavement and holding up thepiece of cardboard with the word and then I lost trackof what Colin was saying

E=mc Energy equals mass times the speed of light squaredThe tidiness of the equation raised my immediate suspicion Howcan massmdashthis solid oak dining table for instancemdashhave any con-nection with how fast light travels Theyrsquore two different thingsColin who is a physicist was patient with my objections Hetook the linen napkin from his lap and stretched it taut across thetop of his coffee cup Then he took a cherry from the fruit bowland placed it on the napkin creating a small dimple He tipped thecup slightly so that the cherry rotated around the surface of the napkin He spoke of energy and mass but already I had lost a critical filament of the argument I worried slightly about hiscoffee sloshing up onto the napkin and staining it and thoughthow seldom in the last few years I had bothered with clothnapkins Nobody except maybe Danielle Westerman does realnapkins anymore it was understood that modern professionalwomen had better things to do with their time than launder linen

By now I had forgotten completely what the cherry (more thanfour dollars a pound) represented and what the little dimple wassupposed to be Colin talked on and on and Tom who is a familyphysician and has a broad scientific background seemed to befollowing at least he was nodding his head appropriately Mymother-in-law Lois had politely excused herself and returned toher house next door she would never miss the ten-orsquoclock newsher watching of the ten-orsquoclock news helps the country of Canadato go forward Christine and Natalie had long since drifted fromthe table and I could hear the buzz and burst of TV noises in the den

Pet our golden retriever parked his shaggy self under thetable his whole dog body humming away against my footSometimes in his dreams he groans and sometimes he chortleswith happiness I found myself thinking about Marietta Colinrsquoswife who had packed her bags a few months ago and moved to

Calgary to be with another man She claimed Colin was toowrapped up in his research and teaching to be a true partner Abeautiful woman with a neck like a plant stem she hinted thatthere had been a collapse of passion in their marriage She had left suddenly coldly he had been shocked he had had no idea hetold us in the early days that she had been unhappy all theseyears but he found her diaries in a desk drawer and read themsick with realization that a gulf of misunderstanding separatedthem

Why would a woman leave such personal diaries behind To punish to hurt of course Colin for the most part a decentkind-hearted man used to address her in a dry admonitory wayas though she were a graduate student instead of his wife ldquoDonrsquottell me this is processed cheeserdquo he asked her once when we were having dinner at their house Another time ldquoThis coffee isundrinkablerdquo He loved pleasuremdashhe was that kind of manmdashandtook it for granted and couldnrsquot help his little yelps of outragewhen pleasure failed You could call him an innocent in his expec-tations almost naive on this particular August evening It was asthough he were alone in a vaulted chamber echoing with immen-sities while Tom and I stood attendance just outside the doorcatching the overflow the odd glimpse of his skewed but calmbrilliance Even the little pockets under his eyes were phlegmaticHe was not a shallow person but perhaps he suspected that wewere I had to stop myself interrupting with a joke I often do thisIrsquom afraid ask for an explanation and then drift off into my ownthoughts

How could he now be sitting at our table so calmly toyingwith cherries and coffee cups and rolling the edge of his strawplacemat and pressing this heft of information on us It was closeto midnight he had an hourrsquos drive ahead of him What did thetheory of relativity really matter to his ongoing life Colin withhis small specs and trim moustache was at ease with big ideas likerelativity As a theory relativity worked it held all sorts of impor-tant ldquoconceptsrdquo together with its precision and elegance Think of

glue lavishly applied he said helpfully about relativity think ofthe power of the shrewd guess Such a sweeping perspective hadbeen visionary at the beginning but had been assessed and re-inforced and it was moreover Colin was now insisting usefulIn the face of lifersquos uncertainties relativityrsquos weight could beassumed and then set aside part of the package of consciousness

He finished awkwardly sat back in his chair with his two longarms extended ldquoSordquo Thatrsquos it he seemed to say or thatrsquos asmuch as I can do to simplify and explain so brilliant an idea Heglanced at his watch then sat back again exhausted pleased withhimself He wore a well-pressed cotton shirt with blue and yellowstripes neatly tucked into his black jeans He has no interest in clothes This shirt must go back to his married days chosen for him ironed for him by Marietta herself and put on a hangerperhaps a summer ago

The theory of relativity would not bring Colinrsquos wife hurryingback to the old stone house on Oriole Parkway It would notbring my daughter Norah home from the corner of Bathurst andBloor or the Promise Hostel where she beds at night Tom and I followed her one day we had to know how she managedwhether she was safe The weather would be turning cold soonHow does she bear it Cold concrete Dirt Uncombed hair

ldquoWould you sayrdquo I asked ColinmdashI had not spoken for severalminutesmdashldquothat the theory of relativity has reduced the weight ofgoodness and depravity in the worldrdquo

He stared at me ldquoRelativity has no moral position None what-everrdquo (ldquoThis coffee is undrinkablerdquo)

I looked to Tom for support but he was gazing with his mildeyes at the ceiling smiling I knew that smile

ldquoBut isnrsquot it possiblerdquo I said to Colin ldquoto think that goodnessor virtue if you like could be a wave or particle of energyrdquo

ldquoNordquo he said ldquoNo it is not possiblerdquoI made an abrupt move to clear the table I was suddenly

exhaustedStill I am thankful for the friendship and intellectual ardour of

such an unpretentious man as Colin Glass who despite his suffer-ing and shame really wanted me to understand a key concept ofthe twentieth century Or was he simply diverting himself for anhour This is what I must learn the art of diversion He said notone word about Marietta all evening long Tom and I understandthat he is reconstructing his life without her But a daughter issomething different A daughter of nineteen cannot be erased

Once

It was understood that I would do the publicity such as it was for Danielle Westermanrsquos third volume of memoirs Ateighty-five she was too old and too distinguished to handle

a day of interviews in Toronto even though she lives there I asthe translator could easily field questions from the press A verylight schedule was organized by the publisher since Dr Wester-man already possesses a long twilight of faithful readership

In early September I drove into Orangetown down its calmold-fashioned main street and into the countryside again The cityof Toronto monumental and lonely glowed in front of me Itsoutskirts are ragged though its numbered exits pretend at a kindof order Traffic was light I drove slowly by the corner of Bloorand Bathurst for a glimpse of Norah There she was as always onthe northeast corner seated on the ground near the subwayentrance with her bowl and cardboard sign even though it wasnot yet nine orsquoclock Had she had breakfast Did she have nits inher hair What is she thinking or is her mind a great blank

I parked the car and walked over to where she was ldquoHellodarling Norahrdquo I said setting down a plastic bag of food breadand cheese fruit and raw vegetables And in an envelope arecent photo of Pet with his straight proud muzzle and furry ruff Norah of all the girls doted on Pet and now I was bribingher shamelessly It was a chilly day and it iced my heart to see herunreadable immobility but I was glad to notice that she waswearing warm mittens Glad Me glad The least little signal willgladden my heart these days Today she looked not quite at me

and nodded Another wave of gladness struck I allow myself onlyone such glimpse a week since shersquos made it clear she doesnrsquotwant to see us

It is like watching her through plate glass All week I will drawexpensively on this brief moment of voyeurism at the same timetrying to blot it out with images of Norah on her bicycle Norahsitting at the kitchen table studying for exams Norah reaching forher green raincoat Norah trying on new school shoes Norahsleeping safe

After a while I went to have my eyebrows arched and tinted atSylviarsquos which calls itself a ldquospirit spardquo meaning it seemed thatwhile Madame Sylvia swiped at my brow with a little paintbrushshe murmured and sang into my ear It was now nine-thirty in themorning and I lay on a narrow table in a tiny white room ldquoYouare at the age when you must protect the fine skin around theeyesrdquo she warned ldquoA womanrsquos face falls it is inevitable but the eyes go on and on giving light You will be eighty ninety and your eyes will still charmrdquo

She knows nothing about my life Irsquove never been here beforeand have never thought of having an eyebrow tint I have per-fectly decent eyebrows nicely shaped and regular but I did lookinto a mirror a week or so ago and noticed that the small hairs atthe outside corners were coming in grey There was a little greyat the temples too but nothing to be surprised about not for a woman whose forty-fourth birthday is approaching not for awoman who has never even thought of herself as possessingldquotemplesrdquo such august body parts

ldquoAre you by any chance a Geminirdquo Madame Sylvia askedintimately Swish went the paintbrush She stopped peered at meclosely then swished again a deft little stroke

ldquoNordquo I said ashamed to acknowledge the astrological universeldquoMy birthdayrsquos in September Next week in factrdquo

ldquoI can tell yesrdquo She had a touch of the harridan in her voice ldquoIcan always tellrdquo

What could she tell

ldquoTwenty-four dollarsrdquo she said ldquoLet me give you my card Fornext timerdquo

Presumptuous but yes there will be a next time I calculatedquickly My face would make it through the next few weeks butby November I will probably be back in Madame Sylviarsquos hushedwhite cell I may well become a regular Eyebrows lashes fullfacials neck massage I have led a reflective life a life of thoughta writer a translator but all this is about to change The delicateskin around my eyes was demanding attention Has Tom noticedI donrsquot think so Christine and Natalie donrsquot really look at me inthat way they just see this watercolour blob that means motherwhich is rather how I see myself

ldquoA womanrsquos charm is with her for liferdquo Madame Sylvia saidldquobut you must pay attentionrdquo

No I thought an hour later no Irsquom sorry but I have no plansto be charming on a regular basis Anyone can be charming Itrsquosreally a cheap trick mere charm so astonishingly easy to per-form screwing up your face into sunbeams and spewing themforth The calculated lift of the wrist chin up thumb and fore-finger brought together to form a little feminine loop that trick of pretending to sit on a little glass chair that concentration ofradiance lrsquoesprit little sprinkles of it everywhere misting the airlike bargain scent Ingenue spritz Emma Allen calls it

I know that cheapness so intimatelymdashthe grainy sugary per-severing way charm enters a fresh mouth and rubs against themolars sticking there in soft wads promoting mouth ulcers or whatever it is thatrsquos the metaphoric projection of self-hatredOf all the social virtues charm is in the end the most unreward-ing And compared to goodness real goodness or the unmovableself-abnegation my daughter Norah practises charm is nothingbut crumpled tissue paper soiled from previous use

Sincerity No Sincerityrsquos over Sincerityrsquos lost whatever edge ithad Itrsquos fine fine matter but wasted on the press who all grew uppost-Holocaust devoted readers of Mad Magazine and wouldnrsquotrecognize a bar of willed innocence if it came wrapped in foil

Nor will I ever again be pointlessly endlessly polite I got overthat two years ago when I did my author tour It seems Irsquove lostlike a stream of pebbles leaving my hand the kind of endurancethat professional courtesy demands suck in your breath let yourface go numb listen to the interviewerrsquos questions registeroptimally let your breath out evaluate the feelings of those whodepend on you (agent publisher editor that nice Sheila personwho does publicity and of course Danielle Westerman) andperform again and again like the tuned-up athlete you are the fitphysical specimen that each new book demands then move on tothe next task

Mrs Winters who has just translated The Middle Years the un-

folding memoir of Holocaust survivor Danielle Westerman is a woman

of grace and charm whose thick brown hair is arranged into a bun

Putting down her coffee cup she shrugs off her beige raincoat and

Irsquove entered early middle age now and I have a nineteen-year-old daughter who lives on the street I no longer require a reputa-tion for charm those saving lilac shadows and contours Maybe Inever did I wonrsquotmdashnot nowmdashtuck the ends of my sentences intolittle licks of favour and the next time a journalist pins me downwith a personal question trolling for informationmdashTell me MrsWinters how are you able to balance your family and profes-sional lifemdashI will stare back hard with my newly practised stareHow do I balance my life Tinted eyebrows up Just what kind ofinquiry is this Wouldnrsquot you prefer Mrs Winters to pursue youown writing rather than translate Dr Westermanrsquos work Pleasenot that again How did you and your husband meet What doeshe think of your writing

I will in the future address my interviewer directly and saywith firmness ldquoThis interview is overrdquo There is nothing to loseRude and difficult people are more likely to be taken seriouslyCurmudgeons are positively adored Irsquove noticed this Even thefascinatingly unknowable earn respect

And when I read in the paper tomorrow that ldquoMrs Winterslooked all of her forty-three yearsrdquo and that ldquoMrs Winters with

her familiar overbite was reluctant to talk about her work sched-ulerdquo I will want to phone the editor and complain bitterly Thisfrom the pen of a small unattractive man almost entirely lip-less beneath a bony domineering nose sweating with minorambition head tilted like something carved out of yellow wax

He interviewed me in a cappuccino bar in mid-Toronto Achilly stooped round-headed man in his thirties or fortiesmdashitwas hard to tellmdashslow to smile pathetically in need of humanattention thinking his superior thoughts Fluff on his shouldersbegged to be picked off I on the other hand was wearing a softjade jacket of cashmere lined with silk which represented a raresplurge on my part but I could be sure this man would over-look this garment with its crystal buttons and mandarin collar andconcentrate instead on my drab raincoat beige and not quitepristine at the cuffs In print he will be certain to refer to mychignon as a bun Itrsquos taken me years to learn to do a glossy littlechignonmdashI can get my hair brushed back and securely pinned up each morning in a mere two and a half minutes and I considermy coiffure one of my major life accomplishments I really meanthis

Sheila from publicity had filled me in before the interview andI felt the information packet hovering what to do with it Thisyoungyoungish man was the newly appointed books columnistat Booktimes He was well known for holding pious opinions aboutthe literature of the Great North about his own role as advocateof a diverse new outpouring of Canadian voices the post-colonialcry of blaming anguish The stream of current fiction aboutmiddle-class people living in cities was diluting the authenticnational voice that rose from the landscape itself andmdash

Oh shut up shut upCappuccino foam dotted the corners of his undistinguished

mouth And just one more question Mrs WintersmdashOf course he didnrsquot call me Reta even though there might be

only a year or two between us The ldquoMrsrdquo gave him power overme that vexing r rucking things up in the middle and making one

think of such distractions as clotheslines and baking tins He wasthe barking terrier going at Mrs Wintersrsquos ankles shaking out hisfur and asking me to justify myself wanting me to explain thespluttering dying whimpering bonfire of my life which I wouldnot dream of sharing He seemed to forget he was interviewingme about Danielle Westermanrsquos new book

I understand yoursquore working on a second novel said heWell yesTakes nerveUh-huhActuallymdashactually well he had a novel on the go himselfReally What a surpriseAt the end of the hour he did not ask for the bill I asked for the

bill ldquoIrsquoll just put it on my Visardquo I said breaking a tenuous breadthof silence I announced this with all the majesty I could musterover a vinyl table like a grande dame adding twenty years to myage and feeling the vowels shifting in my beautifully mouldedthroat Such dignity I surprised myself with my own resonanceand I may have managed a pained smile displaying no doubtthat famous overbite He turned off the tape recorder at the wordldquoVisardquo

He had two young children at home he said Christ what aresponsibility although he loved the little bastards One of themwas quite quite gifted well they both were in their separateways But the work of raising kids Never enough time to read thebooks he had to review books all over the house with little mark-ers in them books he would never finish So much was expectedand of course like all journalists he was underpaid

Oh shut upThey also expected him to do a feature on the weekendUh-huhAnd last week hersquod actually broken the MacBunna storyReally Macumba MarimbaCongratulations said Mrs Reta Winters from OrangetownThanks

I should be getting on my way I said My parking meter Alunch date A long drive home

I understand you and your family live in a lovely old housenear Orangetown

And then slyly I understand one of your daughters now livesin Toronto and

Irsquove been here before There is something about having anestablished family a long-lasting spousal arrangement threedaughters in their teens a house in the country a suggestion ofimpermeability that draws the curiosity of others so that theycan as Tom says probe with probity

But no this man across the table will not be feeding on myflesh nor will his colleaguesmdashthough one can tell that he has nocolleagues there is no possibility of colleagues He has no contextfor friends or co-workers though there are the kids and therersquosthe wife hersquos referred to her three times now Nicola She has herprofessional life too he tells me as though the matter were indispute

I canrsquot resist ldquoDoes Nicolamdashis she a journalist toordquoldquoJournalistrdquoldquoLike you I meanrdquoHis hand jumps and for a moment I think hersquos going to turn

the tape recorder on again But no hersquos reaching into his pocketand now hersquos releasing two coins onto the table The tip They liethere moist from his hand Two dimes I focus on them withwhat I hope is a cool censorious gaze

But hersquos not looking at me Hersquos looking across the roomwhere a silver-haired man is seating himself gracefully at a tableldquoIrsquom not sure but I think thatrsquos Gore Vidalrdquo my interviewer whis-pers in a hungry voice ldquoHersquos here for the writersrsquo festival youknowrdquo

I rise and exit as though led by a brass quintetThe charming Mrs Winters slips on her comfortable beige rain-

coat

I would like to thank a number of others who in one way or another encouraged me in the writing of Unless SharonAllan Marjorie Anderson the late Joan Austen-Leigh JoanBarfoot Clare Boylan Marg Edmond Brown Joan ClarkAnne Collins Cynthia Coop Patrick Crowe Maggie DwyerDarlene Hammell Blanche Howard Isabel Huggan CarlLenthe Madeline Li Elinor Lipman Anna and Sylvie MatasMargaret Shaw-Mackinnon Don McCarthy Peter ParkerBella Pomer Christopher Potter Linda Rogers CaroleSabiston Floyd St Clair Eleanor Wachtel Cindi WarnerMindy Werner the John Simon Guggenheim Foundationand as always my family John Audrey Anne CatherineMeg Sara and especially Don

About the Author

Carol Shields is the author of eight novels and two collections of short stories

The Stone Diaries won the Pulitzer Prize and was shortlisted for the Booker

Prize Larryrsquos Party won the Orange Prize Born and brought up in Chicago

Carol Shields has lived in Canada since 1957

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 1

Others

Intersect

Coming to Canada

Larryrsquos Party

The Stone Diaries

The Republic of Love

A Celibate Season (with Blanche Howard)Swann

A Fairly Conventional Woman

Happenstance

The Box Garden

Small Ceremonies

Various Miracles

The Orange Fish

Dressing Up for the Carnival

Departures and Arrivals

Thirteen Hands

Fashion Power Guilt and the Charity of Families

(with Catherine Shields)Anniversary (with David Williamson)

Susanna Moodie Voice and Vision

Jane Austen

Dropped Threads What We Arenrsquot Told

(Edited with Marjorie Anderson)

Credits

Design by Julian HumphriesPhotographer by Michael CrouserDesigned by Dinah Drazin

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 2

If you enjoyed reading this excerpt please visitHarperCollins Publishers to find out where to buy thisand other PerfectBound e-books

Australiahttpwwwharpercollinscomau

Canadahttpwwwharpercanadacom

New Zealandhttpwwwharpercollinsconz

United Kingdomhttpwwwfireandwatercom

United Stateshttpwwwperfectboundcom

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 3

The Pajama Game Words and Music by Richard Adler Music

and Jerry Ross copy Richard Adler Music and J amp J Ross Co USA

WarnerChappell Music Ltd London w6 8bs

Reproduced by permission of International Music Publications

Ltd All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction Names characters places and incidents

either are the products of the authorrsquos imagination or are used

fictitiously Any resemblance to actual events locales organiza-

tions or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and

beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher

UNLESS Copyright copy 2002 by Carol Shields All rights

reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright

Conventions By payment of the required fees you have been

granted the non-exclusive non-transferable right to access and

read the text of this e-book on-screen No part of this text may

be reproduced transmitted down-loaded decompiled reverse

engineered or stored in or introduced into any information stor-

age and retrieval system in any form or by any means whether

electronic or mechanical now known or hereinafter invented

without the express written permission of PerfectBoundtrade

PerfectBound trade and the PerfectBoundtrade logo are trademarks

of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

Adobe Acrobat E-Book Reader edition v 1 May 2002

ISBN 0-06-052370-0

Print edition first published in 2002

by Forth Estate a division of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 4

To Ezra and Jay

If we had a keen vision and feeling of all ordinary human lifeit would be like hearing the grass grow and the squirrelrsquosheart beat and we should die of that roar which lies on theother side of silence

Unless_TOC_X 43002 1042 AM Page 1

Contents

EPIGRAPH

HerersquosNearlyOnceWhereinNeverthelessSoOtherwiseInsteadThusYetInsofar AsThereofEveryRegardingHence

Unless_TOC_X 43002 1042 AM Page 2

NextNotwithstandingThereuponDespiteThroughoutFollowingHardlySinceOnlyUnlessTowardWhateverAnyWhetherEverWhenceForthwithAsBeginning WithAlreadyHithertoNot Yet

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

THE WORK OF CAROL SHIELDS

CREDITS

ABOUT THE PUBLISHER

COVER IMAGE

COPYRIGHT

Unless_TOC_X 43002 1042 AM Page 3

Herersquos

It happens that I am going through a period of great unhappi-ness and loss just now All my life Irsquove heard people speak of finding themselves in acute pain bankrupt in spirit and

body but Irsquove never understood what they meant To lose Tohave lost I believed these visitations of darkness lasted only a fewminutes or hours and that these saddened people in betweenbouts were occupied as we all were with the useful monotonyof happiness But happiness is not what I thought Happiness isthe lucky pane of glass you carry in your head It takes all yourcunning just to hang on to it and once itrsquos smashed you have tomove into a different sort of life

In my new lifemdashthe summer of the year mdashI am attemptingto ldquocount my blessingsrdquo Everyone I know advises me to take upthis repellent strategy as though they really believe a dramatic losscan be replaced by the renewed appreciation of all one has beengiven I have a husband Tom who loves me and is faithful to meand is very decent looking as well tallish thin and losing his hairnicely We live in a house with a paid-up mortgage and our houseis set in the prosperous rolling hills of Ontario only an hourrsquos drivenorth of Toronto Two of our three daughters Natalie fifteenand Christine sixteen live at home They are intelligent and livelyand attractive and loving though they too have shared in the lossas has Tom

And I have my writingldquoYou have your writingrdquo friends say A murmuring chorus But

you have your writing Reta No one is crude enough to suggest that

my sorrow will eventually become material for my writing butprobably they think it

And itrsquos true There is a curious and faintly distasteful comfortat the age of forty-three forty-four in September in contemplat-ing what I have managed to write and publish during thoseimpossibly childish and sunlit days before I understood the mean-ing of grief ldquoMy Writingrdquo this is a very small poultice to hold upagainst my damaged self but better I have been persuaded thanno comfort at all

Itrsquos June the first year of the new century and herersquos what Irsquove written so far in my life Irsquom not including my old schoolgirlsonnets from the seventiesmdashSatin-slippered April you glidethrough time And lubricate spring days de dum de dummdashandmy dozen or so fawning book reviews from the early eighties Iam posting this list not on the screen but on my consciousness afar safer computer tool and easier to access

A translation and introduction to Danielle Westermanrsquos bookof poetry Isolation April one month before our daughterNorah was born a home birth naturally a midwife you couldalmost hear the guitars plinking in the background except we did not feast on the placenta as some of our friends were doing at the time My French came from my Queacutebeacutecoise mother and my acquaintance with Danielle from the University of Torontowhere she taught French civilization in my student days She wasa poor teacher hesitant and in awe I think of the tanned healthystudents sitting in her classroom taking notes worshipfully andstretching their small suburban notion of what the word civiliz-

ation might mean She was already a recognized writer of kinetictough-corded prose both beguiling and dangerous Her mannerwas to take the reader by surprise In the middle of a flattenedrambling paragraph deceived by warm stretches of reflectionyou came upon hard cartilage

I am a little uneasy about claiming Isolation as my own writingbut Dr Westerman doing one of her hurrying over-the-headgestures insisted that translation especially of poetry is a creative

act Writing and translating are convivial she said not opposi-tional and not at all hierarchical Of course she would say thatMy introduction to Isolation was certainly creative though since I had no idea what I was talking about

I hauled it out recently and while I read it experienced theBurrowing of the Palpable Worm of Shame as my friend LynnKelly calls it Pretension is what I see now The part about arttransmuting the despair of life to the ldquomerely frangiblerdquo andpoetryrsquos attempt to ldquorepair the gap between ought and naughtrdquomdashwhat on earth did I mean Too much Derrida might be theproblem I was into all that pretty heavily in the early eighties

After that came ldquoThe Brightness of a Starrdquo a short story thatappeared in An Anthology of Young Ontario Voices (Pink Onion Press) Itrsquos hard to believe that I qualified as ldquoa young voicerdquo in but in fact I was only twenty-nine mother of Norah agedfour her sister Christine aged two and about to give birth toNataliemdashin a hospital this time Three daughters and not eventhirty ldquoHow did you find the timerdquo people used to chorus and inthat query I often registered a hint of blame was I neglecting mydarling sprogs for my writing career Well no I never thought interms of career I dabbled in writing It was my macrameacute my knit-ting Not long after however I did start to get serious and joineda local ldquowritersrsquo workshoprdquo for women which met every secondweek for two hours where we drank coffee and had a good timeand deeply appreciated each otherrsquos company and that led to

ldquoIconrdquo a short story rather Jamesian Gwen Reidmanthe only published author in the workshop group was our leaderThe Glenmar Collective (an acronym of our first namesmdashnot veryoriginal) was what we called ourselves One day Gwen said mov-ing a muffin to her mouth that she was touched by the ldquoauster-ityrdquo of my short storymdashwhich was based but only roughly on myresponse to the Russian icon show at the Art Gallery of OntarioMy fictional piece was a case of art ldquoembracingrepudiating artrdquoas Gwen put it and then she reminded us of the famous ldquoOn FirstLooking Into Chapmanrsquos Homerrdquo and the whole aesthetic of art

begetting art art worshipping art which I no longer believe in bythe way Either you do or you donrsquot The seven of us GwenLorna Emma Allen Nan Marcella Annette and I (my name isReta Wintersmdashpronounced Ree-tah) self-published our pieces in avolume titled Incursions and Interruptions throwing in fifty dollarseach for the printing bill The five hundred copies sold quickly inthe local bookstores mostly to our friends and families Publishingwas cheap we discovered What a surprise We called ourselvesthe Stepping Stone Press and in that name we expressed our mildembarrassment at the idea of self-publishing but also the hopethat we would ldquosteprdquo along to authentic publishing in the verynear future Except Gwen of course who was already there AndEmma who was beginning to publish op-ed pieces in the Globe

and Mail

Alive (Random House ) a translation of Pour Vivre vol-ume one of Danielle Westermanrsquos memoirs I may appear to beclaiming translation as an act of originality but as I have alreadysaid it was Danielle in her benign way wrinkling her disorderlyforehead who had urged me to believe that the act of shufflingelegant French into readable and stable English is an aestheticperformance The book was well received by the critics and evensold moderately well a dense but popular book offered withoutshame and nary a footnote The translation itself was slammed inthe Toronto Star (ldquoclumsyrdquo) by one Stanley Harold Howard butDanielle Westerman said never mind the man was un maquereau

which translates crudely as something between a pimp and aprick

I then wrote a commissioned pamphlet for a series put outby a press calling itself Encyclopeacutedie de lrsquoart The press producedtiny hold-in-the-hand booklets each devoted to a single artsubject covering everything from Braque to Calder to Klee toMondrian to Villon The editor in New York operating out of aphone booth it seemed to me and knowing nothing of my igno-rance had stumbled on my short story ldquoIconrdquo and believed me tobe an expert on the subject He asked for three thousand words

for a volume (volumette really) to be called Russian Icons pub-lished finally in It took me a whole year to do what withTom and the three girls and the house and garden and meals andlaundry and too much inwardness They published my ldquotextrdquosuch a cold jellied word along with a series of coloured plates inboth English and French (I did the French as well) and paid mefour hundred dollars I learned all about the schools of Suzdal andVladimir and what went on in Novgorod (a lot) and how imagesof saints made medieval people quake with fear To my knowl-edge the book was never reviewed but I can read it today with-out shame It is almost impossible to be pseudo when writingabout innocent paintings that obey no rules of perspective andthat are done on slabs of ordinary wood

I lost a year after this which I donrsquot understand since allthree girls had started school though Natalie was only in morningkindergarten I think I was too busy thinking about the business ofbeing a writer about being writerly and fretting over whetherTomrsquos ego was threatened and being in Daniellersquos shadow nevermind Derrida and needing my own writing space and turningthirty-five and feeling older than Irsquove ever felt since My agemdashthirty-fivemdashshouted at me all the time standing tall and wide inmy head and blocking access to what my life afforded Thirty-fivenever sat down with its hands folded Thirty-five had no compo-sure It was always humming mean terse tunes on a piece offolded cellophane (ldquoI am composedrdquo said John Quincy Adams onhis deathbed How admirable and enviable and beyond belief Iloved him for this)

This anguish of mine was unnecessary Tomrsquos ego was unchal-lenged by my slender publications He turned out to be one ofthose men we were worried about in the seventies and eightieswho might shrivel in acknowledgment of his own insignificanceOrdinary was what he wanted to be an ordinary man embeddedin a family he loved We put a skylight in the box room bought a used office desk installed a fax and a computer and I sat downon my straight-from-a-catalogue Freedom Chair and translated

Danielle Westermanrsquos immense Les femmes et le pouvoir the Eng-lish version published in volume two of her memoirs InEnglish the title was changed to Women Waiting which onlymakes sense if yoursquove read the book (Women possess power butit is power that has yet to be seized ignited and released and soforth) This time no one grumped about my translation ldquoSpark-ling and full of easerdquo the Globe said and the New York Times wentone better and called it ldquoan achievementrdquo

ldquoYou are my true sisterrdquo said Danielle Westerman at the timeof publication Ma vraie soeur I hugged her back Her craving forphysical touch has not slackened even in her eighties thoughnowadays it is mostly her doctor who touches her or me with myweekly embrace or the manicurist Dr Danielle Westerman isthe only person I know who has her nails done twice a weekTuesday and Saturday ( just a touch-up) beautiful long nail bedsmatching her long quizzing eyes

I was giddy All at once translation offers were arriving in themail but I kept thinking I could maybe write short stories eventhough our Glenmar group was dwindling what with Emmataking a job in Newfoundland Annette getting her divorce andGwen moving to the States The trouble was I hated my shortstories I wanted to write about the overheard and the glimpsedbut this kind of evanescence sent me into whimsy mode andalthough I believed whimsicality to be a strand of the humanpersonality I was embarrassed at what I was pumping into mynew Apple computer sitting there under the clean brightness ofthe skylight Pernicious precious my moments of recognitionAhahmdashand then she realized I was so fetching with my ldquoEllen wassetting the table and she knew tonight would be differentrdquo Alittle bug sat in my ear and buzzed Who cares about Ellen andher woven placemats and her hopes for the future

I certainly didnrsquot careBecause I had three kids everyone said I should be writing

kiddy lit but I couldnrsquot find the voice Kiddy lit screeched in mybrain Talking ducks and chuckling frogs I wanted something

sterner and more contained as a task which is how I came to writeShakespeare and Flowers (San Francisco Cyclone Press ) Thecontract was negotiated before I wrote one word Along came alittle bundle of cash to start me off with the rest promised on pub-lication I thought it was going to be a scholarly endeavour but Iended up producing a wee ldquogiftierdquo book You could send this bookto anyone on your list who was maidenly or semi-academic orwhom you didnrsquot know very well Shakespeare and Flowers wassold in the kind of outlets that stock greeting cards and stuffedbears I simply scanned the canon and picked up references to saythe eglantine (A Midsummer Nightrsquos Dream) or the blackberry(Troilus and Cressida) and then I puffed out a little description of theflower and conferenced on the phone (twice) with the illustratorin Berkeley and threw in lots of Shakespearean quotes A sweetlittle book excellent slick paper US$ At sixty-eight pages it fits in a small mailer Two hundred thousand copies and stillselling though the royalty rate is scandalous Theyrsquod like me to do something on Shakespeare and animals and I just might

Eros Essays by Danielle Westerman translation by RetaWinters hastily translatedmdasheverything was hasty in those dayseverything still ismdashand published in Hugely successful aftera tiny advance We put the dog in a kennel and Tom and I andthe girls took the first translation payment and went to France fora month southern Burgundy a village called La Roche-Vineusewhere Danielle had grown up halfway between Cluny andMacirccon red-tiled roofs set in the midst of rolling vineyards incan-descent air Our rental house was built around a cobbled court-yard full of ancient roses and hydrangeas ldquoHow old is thishouserdquo we asked the neighbours who invited us in for an aperi-tif ldquoVery oldrdquo was all we got The stone walls were two feetthick The three girls took tennis lessons at lrsquoeacutecole drsquoeacuteteacute Tom wenthacking for trilobites happy under the French sun and I sat in awicker chair in the flower-filled courtyard shorts and halter andbare feet a floppy straw hat on my head reading novels day afterday and thinking I want to write a novel About something

happening About characters moving against a ldquothererdquo That waswhat I really wanted to do

Looking back I can scarcely believe in such innocence I didnrsquotthink about our girls growing older and leaving home and fallingaway from us Norah had been a good docile baby and then shebecame a good obedient little girl Now at nineteen shersquos sobrimming with goodness that she sits on a Toronto street cornerwhich has its own textual archaeology though Norah probablydoesnrsquot know about that She sits beneath the lamppost where thepoet Ed Lewinski hanged himself in and where MargheritaTolles burst out of the subway exit into the sunshine of heradopted country and decided to write a great play Norah sitscross-legged with a begging bowl in her lap and asks nothing ofthe world Nine-tenths of what she gathers she distributes at theend of the day to other street people She wears a cardboard signon her chest a single word printed in black markermdash

I donrsquot know what that word really means though words aremy business The Old English word wearth I discovered the otherday on the Internet means outcast the other English word itstwin its cancellation is worthmdashwe know what that means andknow to distrust it It is the word wearth that Norah has swal-lowed This is the place shersquos claimed a whole world constructedon stillness An easy stance says the condemning grievingmother easy to find and maintain given enough practice Asharper focus could be achieved by tossing in an astringent fluid apeppery sauce irony rebellion tattoos and pierced tongue andspiked purple hair but no Norah embodies invisibility and good-ness or at least she is on the pathmdashso she said in our last conver-sation which was eight weeks ago the eleventh of April Shewore torn jeans that day and a rough plaid shawl that was almostcertainly a car blanket Her long pale hair was matted Sherefused to look us in the eye but she did blink in acknowledge-mentmdashIrsquom sure of itmdashwhen I handed her a sack of cheesesandwiches and Tom dropped a roll of twenty-dollar bills in herlap Then she spoke in her own voice but emptied of connection

She could not come home She was on the path to goodness Atthat moment I her mother was more absent from myself thanshe I felt that She was steadfast She could not be diverted Shecould not ldquoberdquo with us

How did this part of the narrative happen We know it didnrsquotrise out of the ordinary plot lines of a life story An intelligent andbeautiful girl from a loving family grows up in OrangetownOntario her motherrsquos a writer her fatherrsquos a doctor and then shegoes off the track Therersquos nothing natural about her efflorescenceof goodness Itrsquos abrupt and brutal Itrsquos killing us What will reallykill us though is the day we donrsquot find her sitting on her chosensquare of pavement

But I didnrsquot know any of this when I sat in that Burgundygarden dreaming about writing a novel I thought I understoodsomething of a novelrsquos architecture the lovely slope of predica-ment the tendrils of surface detail the calculated curving upwardinto inevitability yet allowing spells of incorrigibility and thenthe ending a corruption of cause and effect and the gatheringtogether of all the characters into a framed operatic circle ofconsolation and ecstasy backlit with fibre-optic gold just for amoment on the second-to-last page just for an atomic particle oftime

I had an idea for my novel a seed and nothing more Twoappealing characters had suggested themselves a woman and aman Alicia and Roman who live in Wychwood which is a citythe size of Toronto who clamour and romp and cling to theisland that is their lifersquos predicamentmdashthey long for love butselfishly strive for self-preservation Roman is proud to be cholericin temperament Alicia thinks of herself as being reflective buther job as assistant editor on a fashion magazine keeps her toooccupied to reflect

And I had a title My Thyme Is Up It was a pun of coursefrom an old family joke and I meant to write a jokey novel Alight novel A novel for summertime a book to read while seatedin an Ikea wicker chair with the sun falling on the pages as faintly

and evenly as human breath Naturally the novel would have ahappy ending I never doubted but that I could write this noveland I did in mdashin a swoop alone during three dark wintermonths when the girls were away all day at school

The Middle Years the translation of volume three of Wester-manrsquos memoirs is coming out this fall Volume three exploresWestermanrsquos numerous love affairs with both men and womenand none of this will be shocking or even surprising to her read-ers What is new is the suppleness and strength of her sentencesAlways an artist of concision and selflessness she has arrived inher old age at a gorgeous fluidity and expansion of phrase Mytranslation doesnrsquot begin to express what she has accomplishedThe book is stark itrsquos also sentimental one balances and rescuesthe other strangely enough I can only imagine that those end-less calcium pills Danielle chokes down every morning and the vitamin E and the emu oil capsules have fed directly into hervein of language so that what lands on the page is larger morerapturous more self-forgetful than anything shersquos written beforeand all of it sprouting short swift digressions that pretend to be just careless asides little swoons of surrender to her ownexperience inviting us her readers to believe in the totality ofher abandonment

Either that or shersquos gone senile to good effect a grand loosen-ing of language in her old age The thought has more than onceoccurred to me

Another thought has drifted by silken as a breeze against alattice Therersquos something missing in these memoirs or so I thinkin my solipsistic view Danielle Westerman suffers she feels the pangs of existential loneliness the absence of sexual love thetreason of her own womanrsquos body She has no partner no one forwhom she is the first person in the world order no one to dependon as I do on Tom She does not have a child or any survivingblood connection for that matter and perhaps itrsquos this that makesthe memoirs themselves childlike They go down like good milkfoaming swirling in the glass

I shouldnrsquot mention Book Number Eleven since it is not afait accompli but I will Irsquom going to write a second novel asequel to My Thyme Is Up Today is the day I intend to begin Thefirst sentence is already tapped into my computer ldquoAlicia was notas happy as she deserved to berdquo

I have no idea what will happen in this book It is a mereabstraction at the moment something thatrsquos popped out of theground like the rounded snout of a crocus on a cold lawn Irsquovestumbled up against this idea in my clumsy manner and now the urge to write it wonrsquot go away This will be a book about lostchildren about goodness and going home and being happy andtrying to keep the poison of the printed page in perspective Irsquomdesperate to know how the story will turn out

Nearly

We are more than halfway through the year Toward the beginning of August Tomrsquos old friendColin Glass came to dinner one night driving out

from Toronto Over coffee he attempted to explain the theory ofrelativity to me

I was the one who invited him to launch into the subjectRelativity is a piece of knowledge Irsquove always longed to under-stand a big piece but the explainers tend to go too fast or elsethey skip over a step they assume their audience has alreadyabsorbed Apparently there was once a time when only oneperson in the world understood relativity (Einstein) then twopeople then three or four and now most of the high-school kidswho take physics have at least an inkling or so Irsquom told Howhard can it be And itrsquos passed according to Colin from crazyspeculation to confirmed fact which makes it even more impor-tant to understand Irsquove tried but my grasp feels tenuous So thespeed of light is constant Is that all

Ordinarily I love these long August evenings the splash ofamber light that falls on the white dining-room walls just beforethe separate shades of twilight take over The medallion leavesthat flutter their round ghost shadows All day Irsquod listened to the white-throated sparrows in the woods behind our house their song resembles the Canadian national anthem at least theopening bars Summer was dying but in pieces Wersquod be eatingoutside if it werenrsquot for the wasps Good food the company of agood friend what more could anyone desire But I kept thinking

of Norah sitting on her square of pavement and holding up thepiece of cardboard with the word and then I lost trackof what Colin was saying

E=mc Energy equals mass times the speed of light squaredThe tidiness of the equation raised my immediate suspicion Howcan massmdashthis solid oak dining table for instancemdashhave any con-nection with how fast light travels Theyrsquore two different thingsColin who is a physicist was patient with my objections Hetook the linen napkin from his lap and stretched it taut across thetop of his coffee cup Then he took a cherry from the fruit bowland placed it on the napkin creating a small dimple He tipped thecup slightly so that the cherry rotated around the surface of the napkin He spoke of energy and mass but already I had lost a critical filament of the argument I worried slightly about hiscoffee sloshing up onto the napkin and staining it and thoughthow seldom in the last few years I had bothered with clothnapkins Nobody except maybe Danielle Westerman does realnapkins anymore it was understood that modern professionalwomen had better things to do with their time than launder linen

By now I had forgotten completely what the cherry (more thanfour dollars a pound) represented and what the little dimple wassupposed to be Colin talked on and on and Tom who is a familyphysician and has a broad scientific background seemed to befollowing at least he was nodding his head appropriately Mymother-in-law Lois had politely excused herself and returned toher house next door she would never miss the ten-orsquoclock newsher watching of the ten-orsquoclock news helps the country of Canadato go forward Christine and Natalie had long since drifted fromthe table and I could hear the buzz and burst of TV noises in the den

Pet our golden retriever parked his shaggy self under thetable his whole dog body humming away against my footSometimes in his dreams he groans and sometimes he chortleswith happiness I found myself thinking about Marietta Colinrsquoswife who had packed her bags a few months ago and moved to

Calgary to be with another man She claimed Colin was toowrapped up in his research and teaching to be a true partner Abeautiful woman with a neck like a plant stem she hinted thatthere had been a collapse of passion in their marriage She had left suddenly coldly he had been shocked he had had no idea hetold us in the early days that she had been unhappy all theseyears but he found her diaries in a desk drawer and read themsick with realization that a gulf of misunderstanding separatedthem

Why would a woman leave such personal diaries behind To punish to hurt of course Colin for the most part a decentkind-hearted man used to address her in a dry admonitory wayas though she were a graduate student instead of his wife ldquoDonrsquottell me this is processed cheeserdquo he asked her once when we were having dinner at their house Another time ldquoThis coffee isundrinkablerdquo He loved pleasuremdashhe was that kind of manmdashandtook it for granted and couldnrsquot help his little yelps of outragewhen pleasure failed You could call him an innocent in his expec-tations almost naive on this particular August evening It was asthough he were alone in a vaulted chamber echoing with immen-sities while Tom and I stood attendance just outside the doorcatching the overflow the odd glimpse of his skewed but calmbrilliance Even the little pockets under his eyes were phlegmaticHe was not a shallow person but perhaps he suspected that wewere I had to stop myself interrupting with a joke I often do thisIrsquom afraid ask for an explanation and then drift off into my ownthoughts

How could he now be sitting at our table so calmly toyingwith cherries and coffee cups and rolling the edge of his strawplacemat and pressing this heft of information on us It was closeto midnight he had an hourrsquos drive ahead of him What did thetheory of relativity really matter to his ongoing life Colin withhis small specs and trim moustache was at ease with big ideas likerelativity As a theory relativity worked it held all sorts of impor-tant ldquoconceptsrdquo together with its precision and elegance Think of

glue lavishly applied he said helpfully about relativity think ofthe power of the shrewd guess Such a sweeping perspective hadbeen visionary at the beginning but had been assessed and re-inforced and it was moreover Colin was now insisting usefulIn the face of lifersquos uncertainties relativityrsquos weight could beassumed and then set aside part of the package of consciousness

He finished awkwardly sat back in his chair with his two longarms extended ldquoSordquo Thatrsquos it he seemed to say or thatrsquos asmuch as I can do to simplify and explain so brilliant an idea Heglanced at his watch then sat back again exhausted pleased withhimself He wore a well-pressed cotton shirt with blue and yellowstripes neatly tucked into his black jeans He has no interest in clothes This shirt must go back to his married days chosen for him ironed for him by Marietta herself and put on a hangerperhaps a summer ago

The theory of relativity would not bring Colinrsquos wife hurryingback to the old stone house on Oriole Parkway It would notbring my daughter Norah home from the corner of Bathurst andBloor or the Promise Hostel where she beds at night Tom and I followed her one day we had to know how she managedwhether she was safe The weather would be turning cold soonHow does she bear it Cold concrete Dirt Uncombed hair

ldquoWould you sayrdquo I asked ColinmdashI had not spoken for severalminutesmdashldquothat the theory of relativity has reduced the weight ofgoodness and depravity in the worldrdquo

He stared at me ldquoRelativity has no moral position None what-everrdquo (ldquoThis coffee is undrinkablerdquo)

I looked to Tom for support but he was gazing with his mildeyes at the ceiling smiling I knew that smile

ldquoBut isnrsquot it possiblerdquo I said to Colin ldquoto think that goodnessor virtue if you like could be a wave or particle of energyrdquo

ldquoNordquo he said ldquoNo it is not possiblerdquoI made an abrupt move to clear the table I was suddenly

exhaustedStill I am thankful for the friendship and intellectual ardour of

such an unpretentious man as Colin Glass who despite his suffer-ing and shame really wanted me to understand a key concept ofthe twentieth century Or was he simply diverting himself for anhour This is what I must learn the art of diversion He said notone word about Marietta all evening long Tom and I understandthat he is reconstructing his life without her But a daughter issomething different A daughter of nineteen cannot be erased

Once

It was understood that I would do the publicity such as it was for Danielle Westermanrsquos third volume of memoirs Ateighty-five she was too old and too distinguished to handle

a day of interviews in Toronto even though she lives there I asthe translator could easily field questions from the press A verylight schedule was organized by the publisher since Dr Wester-man already possesses a long twilight of faithful readership

In early September I drove into Orangetown down its calmold-fashioned main street and into the countryside again The cityof Toronto monumental and lonely glowed in front of me Itsoutskirts are ragged though its numbered exits pretend at a kindof order Traffic was light I drove slowly by the corner of Bloorand Bathurst for a glimpse of Norah There she was as always onthe northeast corner seated on the ground near the subwayentrance with her bowl and cardboard sign even though it wasnot yet nine orsquoclock Had she had breakfast Did she have nits inher hair What is she thinking or is her mind a great blank

I parked the car and walked over to where she was ldquoHellodarling Norahrdquo I said setting down a plastic bag of food breadand cheese fruit and raw vegetables And in an envelope arecent photo of Pet with his straight proud muzzle and furry ruff Norah of all the girls doted on Pet and now I was bribingher shamelessly It was a chilly day and it iced my heart to see herunreadable immobility but I was glad to notice that she waswearing warm mittens Glad Me glad The least little signal willgladden my heart these days Today she looked not quite at me

and nodded Another wave of gladness struck I allow myself onlyone such glimpse a week since shersquos made it clear she doesnrsquotwant to see us

It is like watching her through plate glass All week I will drawexpensively on this brief moment of voyeurism at the same timetrying to blot it out with images of Norah on her bicycle Norahsitting at the kitchen table studying for exams Norah reaching forher green raincoat Norah trying on new school shoes Norahsleeping safe

After a while I went to have my eyebrows arched and tinted atSylviarsquos which calls itself a ldquospirit spardquo meaning it seemed thatwhile Madame Sylvia swiped at my brow with a little paintbrushshe murmured and sang into my ear It was now nine-thirty in themorning and I lay on a narrow table in a tiny white room ldquoYouare at the age when you must protect the fine skin around theeyesrdquo she warned ldquoA womanrsquos face falls it is inevitable but the eyes go on and on giving light You will be eighty ninety and your eyes will still charmrdquo

She knows nothing about my life Irsquove never been here beforeand have never thought of having an eyebrow tint I have per-fectly decent eyebrows nicely shaped and regular but I did lookinto a mirror a week or so ago and noticed that the small hairs atthe outside corners were coming in grey There was a little greyat the temples too but nothing to be surprised about not for a woman whose forty-fourth birthday is approaching not for awoman who has never even thought of herself as possessingldquotemplesrdquo such august body parts

ldquoAre you by any chance a Geminirdquo Madame Sylvia askedintimately Swish went the paintbrush She stopped peered at meclosely then swished again a deft little stroke

ldquoNordquo I said ashamed to acknowledge the astrological universeldquoMy birthdayrsquos in September Next week in factrdquo

ldquoI can tell yesrdquo She had a touch of the harridan in her voice ldquoIcan always tellrdquo

What could she tell

ldquoTwenty-four dollarsrdquo she said ldquoLet me give you my card Fornext timerdquo

Presumptuous but yes there will be a next time I calculatedquickly My face would make it through the next few weeks butby November I will probably be back in Madame Sylviarsquos hushedwhite cell I may well become a regular Eyebrows lashes fullfacials neck massage I have led a reflective life a life of thoughta writer a translator but all this is about to change The delicateskin around my eyes was demanding attention Has Tom noticedI donrsquot think so Christine and Natalie donrsquot really look at me inthat way they just see this watercolour blob that means motherwhich is rather how I see myself

ldquoA womanrsquos charm is with her for liferdquo Madame Sylvia saidldquobut you must pay attentionrdquo

No I thought an hour later no Irsquom sorry but I have no plansto be charming on a regular basis Anyone can be charming Itrsquosreally a cheap trick mere charm so astonishingly easy to per-form screwing up your face into sunbeams and spewing themforth The calculated lift of the wrist chin up thumb and fore-finger brought together to form a little feminine loop that trick of pretending to sit on a little glass chair that concentration ofradiance lrsquoesprit little sprinkles of it everywhere misting the airlike bargain scent Ingenue spritz Emma Allen calls it

I know that cheapness so intimatelymdashthe grainy sugary per-severing way charm enters a fresh mouth and rubs against themolars sticking there in soft wads promoting mouth ulcers or whatever it is thatrsquos the metaphoric projection of self-hatredOf all the social virtues charm is in the end the most unreward-ing And compared to goodness real goodness or the unmovableself-abnegation my daughter Norah practises charm is nothingbut crumpled tissue paper soiled from previous use

Sincerity No Sincerityrsquos over Sincerityrsquos lost whatever edge ithad Itrsquos fine fine matter but wasted on the press who all grew uppost-Holocaust devoted readers of Mad Magazine and wouldnrsquotrecognize a bar of willed innocence if it came wrapped in foil

Nor will I ever again be pointlessly endlessly polite I got overthat two years ago when I did my author tour It seems Irsquove lostlike a stream of pebbles leaving my hand the kind of endurancethat professional courtesy demands suck in your breath let yourface go numb listen to the interviewerrsquos questions registeroptimally let your breath out evaluate the feelings of those whodepend on you (agent publisher editor that nice Sheila personwho does publicity and of course Danielle Westerman) andperform again and again like the tuned-up athlete you are the fitphysical specimen that each new book demands then move on tothe next task

Mrs Winters who has just translated The Middle Years the un-

folding memoir of Holocaust survivor Danielle Westerman is a woman

of grace and charm whose thick brown hair is arranged into a bun

Putting down her coffee cup she shrugs off her beige raincoat and

Irsquove entered early middle age now and I have a nineteen-year-old daughter who lives on the street I no longer require a reputa-tion for charm those saving lilac shadows and contours Maybe Inever did I wonrsquotmdashnot nowmdashtuck the ends of my sentences intolittle licks of favour and the next time a journalist pins me downwith a personal question trolling for informationmdashTell me MrsWinters how are you able to balance your family and profes-sional lifemdashI will stare back hard with my newly practised stareHow do I balance my life Tinted eyebrows up Just what kind ofinquiry is this Wouldnrsquot you prefer Mrs Winters to pursue youown writing rather than translate Dr Westermanrsquos work Pleasenot that again How did you and your husband meet What doeshe think of your writing

I will in the future address my interviewer directly and saywith firmness ldquoThis interview is overrdquo There is nothing to loseRude and difficult people are more likely to be taken seriouslyCurmudgeons are positively adored Irsquove noticed this Even thefascinatingly unknowable earn respect

And when I read in the paper tomorrow that ldquoMrs Winterslooked all of her forty-three yearsrdquo and that ldquoMrs Winters with

her familiar overbite was reluctant to talk about her work sched-ulerdquo I will want to phone the editor and complain bitterly Thisfrom the pen of a small unattractive man almost entirely lip-less beneath a bony domineering nose sweating with minorambition head tilted like something carved out of yellow wax

He interviewed me in a cappuccino bar in mid-Toronto Achilly stooped round-headed man in his thirties or fortiesmdashitwas hard to tellmdashslow to smile pathetically in need of humanattention thinking his superior thoughts Fluff on his shouldersbegged to be picked off I on the other hand was wearing a softjade jacket of cashmere lined with silk which represented a raresplurge on my part but I could be sure this man would over-look this garment with its crystal buttons and mandarin collar andconcentrate instead on my drab raincoat beige and not quitepristine at the cuffs In print he will be certain to refer to mychignon as a bun Itrsquos taken me years to learn to do a glossy littlechignonmdashI can get my hair brushed back and securely pinned up each morning in a mere two and a half minutes and I considermy coiffure one of my major life accomplishments I really meanthis

Sheila from publicity had filled me in before the interview andI felt the information packet hovering what to do with it Thisyoungyoungish man was the newly appointed books columnistat Booktimes He was well known for holding pious opinions aboutthe literature of the Great North about his own role as advocateof a diverse new outpouring of Canadian voices the post-colonialcry of blaming anguish The stream of current fiction aboutmiddle-class people living in cities was diluting the authenticnational voice that rose from the landscape itself andmdash

Oh shut up shut upCappuccino foam dotted the corners of his undistinguished

mouth And just one more question Mrs WintersmdashOf course he didnrsquot call me Reta even though there might be

only a year or two between us The ldquoMrsrdquo gave him power overme that vexing r rucking things up in the middle and making one

think of such distractions as clotheslines and baking tins He wasthe barking terrier going at Mrs Wintersrsquos ankles shaking out hisfur and asking me to justify myself wanting me to explain thespluttering dying whimpering bonfire of my life which I wouldnot dream of sharing He seemed to forget he was interviewingme about Danielle Westermanrsquos new book

I understand yoursquore working on a second novel said heWell yesTakes nerveUh-huhActuallymdashactually well he had a novel on the go himselfReally What a surpriseAt the end of the hour he did not ask for the bill I asked for the

bill ldquoIrsquoll just put it on my Visardquo I said breaking a tenuous breadthof silence I announced this with all the majesty I could musterover a vinyl table like a grande dame adding twenty years to myage and feeling the vowels shifting in my beautifully mouldedthroat Such dignity I surprised myself with my own resonanceand I may have managed a pained smile displaying no doubtthat famous overbite He turned off the tape recorder at the wordldquoVisardquo

He had two young children at home he said Christ what aresponsibility although he loved the little bastards One of themwas quite quite gifted well they both were in their separateways But the work of raising kids Never enough time to read thebooks he had to review books all over the house with little mark-ers in them books he would never finish So much was expectedand of course like all journalists he was underpaid

Oh shut upThey also expected him to do a feature on the weekendUh-huhAnd last week hersquod actually broken the MacBunna storyReally Macumba MarimbaCongratulations said Mrs Reta Winters from OrangetownThanks

I should be getting on my way I said My parking meter Alunch date A long drive home

I understand you and your family live in a lovely old housenear Orangetown

And then slyly I understand one of your daughters now livesin Toronto and

Irsquove been here before There is something about having anestablished family a long-lasting spousal arrangement threedaughters in their teens a house in the country a suggestion ofimpermeability that draws the curiosity of others so that theycan as Tom says probe with probity

But no this man across the table will not be feeding on myflesh nor will his colleaguesmdashthough one can tell that he has nocolleagues there is no possibility of colleagues He has no contextfor friends or co-workers though there are the kids and therersquosthe wife hersquos referred to her three times now Nicola She has herprofessional life too he tells me as though the matter were indispute

I canrsquot resist ldquoDoes Nicolamdashis she a journalist toordquoldquoJournalistrdquoldquoLike you I meanrdquoHis hand jumps and for a moment I think hersquos going to turn

the tape recorder on again But no hersquos reaching into his pocketand now hersquos releasing two coins onto the table The tip They liethere moist from his hand Two dimes I focus on them withwhat I hope is a cool censorious gaze

But hersquos not looking at me Hersquos looking across the roomwhere a silver-haired man is seating himself gracefully at a tableldquoIrsquom not sure but I think thatrsquos Gore Vidalrdquo my interviewer whis-pers in a hungry voice ldquoHersquos here for the writersrsquo festival youknowrdquo

I rise and exit as though led by a brass quintetThe charming Mrs Winters slips on her comfortable beige rain-

coat

I would like to thank a number of others who in one way or another encouraged me in the writing of Unless SharonAllan Marjorie Anderson the late Joan Austen-Leigh JoanBarfoot Clare Boylan Marg Edmond Brown Joan ClarkAnne Collins Cynthia Coop Patrick Crowe Maggie DwyerDarlene Hammell Blanche Howard Isabel Huggan CarlLenthe Madeline Li Elinor Lipman Anna and Sylvie MatasMargaret Shaw-Mackinnon Don McCarthy Peter ParkerBella Pomer Christopher Potter Linda Rogers CaroleSabiston Floyd St Clair Eleanor Wachtel Cindi WarnerMindy Werner the John Simon Guggenheim Foundationand as always my family John Audrey Anne CatherineMeg Sara and especially Don

About the Author

Carol Shields is the author of eight novels and two collections of short stories

The Stone Diaries won the Pulitzer Prize and was shortlisted for the Booker

Prize Larryrsquos Party won the Orange Prize Born and brought up in Chicago

Carol Shields has lived in Canada since 1957

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 1

Others

Intersect

Coming to Canada

Larryrsquos Party

The Stone Diaries

The Republic of Love

A Celibate Season (with Blanche Howard)Swann

A Fairly Conventional Woman

Happenstance

The Box Garden

Small Ceremonies

Various Miracles

The Orange Fish

Dressing Up for the Carnival

Departures and Arrivals

Thirteen Hands

Fashion Power Guilt and the Charity of Families

(with Catherine Shields)Anniversary (with David Williamson)

Susanna Moodie Voice and Vision

Jane Austen

Dropped Threads What We Arenrsquot Told

(Edited with Marjorie Anderson)

Credits

Design by Julian HumphriesPhotographer by Michael CrouserDesigned by Dinah Drazin

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 2

If you enjoyed reading this excerpt please visitHarperCollins Publishers to find out where to buy thisand other PerfectBound e-books

Australiahttpwwwharpercollinscomau

Canadahttpwwwharpercanadacom

New Zealandhttpwwwharpercollinsconz

United Kingdomhttpwwwfireandwatercom

United Stateshttpwwwperfectboundcom

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 3

The Pajama Game Words and Music by Richard Adler Music

and Jerry Ross copy Richard Adler Music and J amp J Ross Co USA

WarnerChappell Music Ltd London w6 8bs

Reproduced by permission of International Music Publications

Ltd All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction Names characters places and incidents

either are the products of the authorrsquos imagination or are used

fictitiously Any resemblance to actual events locales organiza-

tions or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and

beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher

UNLESS Copyright copy 2002 by Carol Shields All rights

reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright

Conventions By payment of the required fees you have been

granted the non-exclusive non-transferable right to access and

read the text of this e-book on-screen No part of this text may

be reproduced transmitted down-loaded decompiled reverse

engineered or stored in or introduced into any information stor-

age and retrieval system in any form or by any means whether

electronic or mechanical now known or hereinafter invented

without the express written permission of PerfectBoundtrade

PerfectBound trade and the PerfectBoundtrade logo are trademarks

of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

Adobe Acrobat E-Book Reader edition v 1 May 2002

ISBN 0-06-052370-0

Print edition first published in 2002

by Forth Estate a division of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 4

If we had a keen vision and feeling of all ordinary human lifeit would be like hearing the grass grow and the squirrelrsquosheart beat and we should die of that roar which lies on theother side of silence

Unless_TOC_X 43002 1042 AM Page 1

Contents

EPIGRAPH

HerersquosNearlyOnceWhereinNeverthelessSoOtherwiseInsteadThusYetInsofar AsThereofEveryRegardingHence

Unless_TOC_X 43002 1042 AM Page 2

NextNotwithstandingThereuponDespiteThroughoutFollowingHardlySinceOnlyUnlessTowardWhateverAnyWhetherEverWhenceForthwithAsBeginning WithAlreadyHithertoNot Yet

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

THE WORK OF CAROL SHIELDS

CREDITS

ABOUT THE PUBLISHER

COVER IMAGE

COPYRIGHT

Unless_TOC_X 43002 1042 AM Page 3

Herersquos

It happens that I am going through a period of great unhappi-ness and loss just now All my life Irsquove heard people speak of finding themselves in acute pain bankrupt in spirit and

body but Irsquove never understood what they meant To lose Tohave lost I believed these visitations of darkness lasted only a fewminutes or hours and that these saddened people in betweenbouts were occupied as we all were with the useful monotonyof happiness But happiness is not what I thought Happiness isthe lucky pane of glass you carry in your head It takes all yourcunning just to hang on to it and once itrsquos smashed you have tomove into a different sort of life

In my new lifemdashthe summer of the year mdashI am attemptingto ldquocount my blessingsrdquo Everyone I know advises me to take upthis repellent strategy as though they really believe a dramatic losscan be replaced by the renewed appreciation of all one has beengiven I have a husband Tom who loves me and is faithful to meand is very decent looking as well tallish thin and losing his hairnicely We live in a house with a paid-up mortgage and our houseis set in the prosperous rolling hills of Ontario only an hourrsquos drivenorth of Toronto Two of our three daughters Natalie fifteenand Christine sixteen live at home They are intelligent and livelyand attractive and loving though they too have shared in the lossas has Tom

And I have my writingldquoYou have your writingrdquo friends say A murmuring chorus But

you have your writing Reta No one is crude enough to suggest that

my sorrow will eventually become material for my writing butprobably they think it

And itrsquos true There is a curious and faintly distasteful comfortat the age of forty-three forty-four in September in contemplat-ing what I have managed to write and publish during thoseimpossibly childish and sunlit days before I understood the mean-ing of grief ldquoMy Writingrdquo this is a very small poultice to hold upagainst my damaged self but better I have been persuaded thanno comfort at all

Itrsquos June the first year of the new century and herersquos what Irsquove written so far in my life Irsquom not including my old schoolgirlsonnets from the seventiesmdashSatin-slippered April you glidethrough time And lubricate spring days de dum de dummdashandmy dozen or so fawning book reviews from the early eighties Iam posting this list not on the screen but on my consciousness afar safer computer tool and easier to access

A translation and introduction to Danielle Westermanrsquos bookof poetry Isolation April one month before our daughterNorah was born a home birth naturally a midwife you couldalmost hear the guitars plinking in the background except we did not feast on the placenta as some of our friends were doing at the time My French came from my Queacutebeacutecoise mother and my acquaintance with Danielle from the University of Torontowhere she taught French civilization in my student days She wasa poor teacher hesitant and in awe I think of the tanned healthystudents sitting in her classroom taking notes worshipfully andstretching their small suburban notion of what the word civiliz-

ation might mean She was already a recognized writer of kinetictough-corded prose both beguiling and dangerous Her mannerwas to take the reader by surprise In the middle of a flattenedrambling paragraph deceived by warm stretches of reflectionyou came upon hard cartilage

I am a little uneasy about claiming Isolation as my own writingbut Dr Westerman doing one of her hurrying over-the-headgestures insisted that translation especially of poetry is a creative

act Writing and translating are convivial she said not opposi-tional and not at all hierarchical Of course she would say thatMy introduction to Isolation was certainly creative though since I had no idea what I was talking about

I hauled it out recently and while I read it experienced theBurrowing of the Palpable Worm of Shame as my friend LynnKelly calls it Pretension is what I see now The part about arttransmuting the despair of life to the ldquomerely frangiblerdquo andpoetryrsquos attempt to ldquorepair the gap between ought and naughtrdquomdashwhat on earth did I mean Too much Derrida might be theproblem I was into all that pretty heavily in the early eighties

After that came ldquoThe Brightness of a Starrdquo a short story thatappeared in An Anthology of Young Ontario Voices (Pink Onion Press) Itrsquos hard to believe that I qualified as ldquoa young voicerdquo in but in fact I was only twenty-nine mother of Norah agedfour her sister Christine aged two and about to give birth toNataliemdashin a hospital this time Three daughters and not eventhirty ldquoHow did you find the timerdquo people used to chorus and inthat query I often registered a hint of blame was I neglecting mydarling sprogs for my writing career Well no I never thought interms of career I dabbled in writing It was my macrameacute my knit-ting Not long after however I did start to get serious and joineda local ldquowritersrsquo workshoprdquo for women which met every secondweek for two hours where we drank coffee and had a good timeand deeply appreciated each otherrsquos company and that led to

ldquoIconrdquo a short story rather Jamesian Gwen Reidmanthe only published author in the workshop group was our leaderThe Glenmar Collective (an acronym of our first namesmdashnot veryoriginal) was what we called ourselves One day Gwen said mov-ing a muffin to her mouth that she was touched by the ldquoauster-ityrdquo of my short storymdashwhich was based but only roughly on myresponse to the Russian icon show at the Art Gallery of OntarioMy fictional piece was a case of art ldquoembracingrepudiating artrdquoas Gwen put it and then she reminded us of the famous ldquoOn FirstLooking Into Chapmanrsquos Homerrdquo and the whole aesthetic of art

begetting art art worshipping art which I no longer believe in bythe way Either you do or you donrsquot The seven of us GwenLorna Emma Allen Nan Marcella Annette and I (my name isReta Wintersmdashpronounced Ree-tah) self-published our pieces in avolume titled Incursions and Interruptions throwing in fifty dollarseach for the printing bill The five hundred copies sold quickly inthe local bookstores mostly to our friends and families Publishingwas cheap we discovered What a surprise We called ourselvesthe Stepping Stone Press and in that name we expressed our mildembarrassment at the idea of self-publishing but also the hopethat we would ldquosteprdquo along to authentic publishing in the verynear future Except Gwen of course who was already there AndEmma who was beginning to publish op-ed pieces in the Globe

and Mail

Alive (Random House ) a translation of Pour Vivre vol-ume one of Danielle Westermanrsquos memoirs I may appear to beclaiming translation as an act of originality but as I have alreadysaid it was Danielle in her benign way wrinkling her disorderlyforehead who had urged me to believe that the act of shufflingelegant French into readable and stable English is an aestheticperformance The book was well received by the critics and evensold moderately well a dense but popular book offered withoutshame and nary a footnote The translation itself was slammed inthe Toronto Star (ldquoclumsyrdquo) by one Stanley Harold Howard butDanielle Westerman said never mind the man was un maquereau

which translates crudely as something between a pimp and aprick

I then wrote a commissioned pamphlet for a series put outby a press calling itself Encyclopeacutedie de lrsquoart The press producedtiny hold-in-the-hand booklets each devoted to a single artsubject covering everything from Braque to Calder to Klee toMondrian to Villon The editor in New York operating out of aphone booth it seemed to me and knowing nothing of my igno-rance had stumbled on my short story ldquoIconrdquo and believed me tobe an expert on the subject He asked for three thousand words

for a volume (volumette really) to be called Russian Icons pub-lished finally in It took me a whole year to do what withTom and the three girls and the house and garden and meals andlaundry and too much inwardness They published my ldquotextrdquosuch a cold jellied word along with a series of coloured plates inboth English and French (I did the French as well) and paid mefour hundred dollars I learned all about the schools of Suzdal andVladimir and what went on in Novgorod (a lot) and how imagesof saints made medieval people quake with fear To my knowl-edge the book was never reviewed but I can read it today with-out shame It is almost impossible to be pseudo when writingabout innocent paintings that obey no rules of perspective andthat are done on slabs of ordinary wood

I lost a year after this which I donrsquot understand since allthree girls had started school though Natalie was only in morningkindergarten I think I was too busy thinking about the business ofbeing a writer about being writerly and fretting over whetherTomrsquos ego was threatened and being in Daniellersquos shadow nevermind Derrida and needing my own writing space and turningthirty-five and feeling older than Irsquove ever felt since My agemdashthirty-fivemdashshouted at me all the time standing tall and wide inmy head and blocking access to what my life afforded Thirty-fivenever sat down with its hands folded Thirty-five had no compo-sure It was always humming mean terse tunes on a piece offolded cellophane (ldquoI am composedrdquo said John Quincy Adams onhis deathbed How admirable and enviable and beyond belief Iloved him for this)

This anguish of mine was unnecessary Tomrsquos ego was unchal-lenged by my slender publications He turned out to be one ofthose men we were worried about in the seventies and eightieswho might shrivel in acknowledgment of his own insignificanceOrdinary was what he wanted to be an ordinary man embeddedin a family he loved We put a skylight in the box room bought a used office desk installed a fax and a computer and I sat downon my straight-from-a-catalogue Freedom Chair and translated

Danielle Westermanrsquos immense Les femmes et le pouvoir the Eng-lish version published in volume two of her memoirs InEnglish the title was changed to Women Waiting which onlymakes sense if yoursquove read the book (Women possess power butit is power that has yet to be seized ignited and released and soforth) This time no one grumped about my translation ldquoSpark-ling and full of easerdquo the Globe said and the New York Times wentone better and called it ldquoan achievementrdquo

ldquoYou are my true sisterrdquo said Danielle Westerman at the timeof publication Ma vraie soeur I hugged her back Her craving forphysical touch has not slackened even in her eighties thoughnowadays it is mostly her doctor who touches her or me with myweekly embrace or the manicurist Dr Danielle Westerman isthe only person I know who has her nails done twice a weekTuesday and Saturday ( just a touch-up) beautiful long nail bedsmatching her long quizzing eyes

I was giddy All at once translation offers were arriving in themail but I kept thinking I could maybe write short stories eventhough our Glenmar group was dwindling what with Emmataking a job in Newfoundland Annette getting her divorce andGwen moving to the States The trouble was I hated my shortstories I wanted to write about the overheard and the glimpsedbut this kind of evanescence sent me into whimsy mode andalthough I believed whimsicality to be a strand of the humanpersonality I was embarrassed at what I was pumping into mynew Apple computer sitting there under the clean brightness ofthe skylight Pernicious precious my moments of recognitionAhahmdashand then she realized I was so fetching with my ldquoEllen wassetting the table and she knew tonight would be differentrdquo Alittle bug sat in my ear and buzzed Who cares about Ellen andher woven placemats and her hopes for the future

I certainly didnrsquot careBecause I had three kids everyone said I should be writing

kiddy lit but I couldnrsquot find the voice Kiddy lit screeched in mybrain Talking ducks and chuckling frogs I wanted something

sterner and more contained as a task which is how I came to writeShakespeare and Flowers (San Francisco Cyclone Press ) Thecontract was negotiated before I wrote one word Along came alittle bundle of cash to start me off with the rest promised on pub-lication I thought it was going to be a scholarly endeavour but Iended up producing a wee ldquogiftierdquo book You could send this bookto anyone on your list who was maidenly or semi-academic orwhom you didnrsquot know very well Shakespeare and Flowers wassold in the kind of outlets that stock greeting cards and stuffedbears I simply scanned the canon and picked up references to saythe eglantine (A Midsummer Nightrsquos Dream) or the blackberry(Troilus and Cressida) and then I puffed out a little description of theflower and conferenced on the phone (twice) with the illustratorin Berkeley and threw in lots of Shakespearean quotes A sweetlittle book excellent slick paper US$ At sixty-eight pages it fits in a small mailer Two hundred thousand copies and stillselling though the royalty rate is scandalous Theyrsquod like me to do something on Shakespeare and animals and I just might

Eros Essays by Danielle Westerman translation by RetaWinters hastily translatedmdasheverything was hasty in those dayseverything still ismdashand published in Hugely successful aftera tiny advance We put the dog in a kennel and Tom and I andthe girls took the first translation payment and went to France fora month southern Burgundy a village called La Roche-Vineusewhere Danielle had grown up halfway between Cluny andMacirccon red-tiled roofs set in the midst of rolling vineyards incan-descent air Our rental house was built around a cobbled court-yard full of ancient roses and hydrangeas ldquoHow old is thishouserdquo we asked the neighbours who invited us in for an aperi-tif ldquoVery oldrdquo was all we got The stone walls were two feetthick The three girls took tennis lessons at lrsquoeacutecole drsquoeacuteteacute Tom wenthacking for trilobites happy under the French sun and I sat in awicker chair in the flower-filled courtyard shorts and halter andbare feet a floppy straw hat on my head reading novels day afterday and thinking I want to write a novel About something

happening About characters moving against a ldquothererdquo That waswhat I really wanted to do

Looking back I can scarcely believe in such innocence I didnrsquotthink about our girls growing older and leaving home and fallingaway from us Norah had been a good docile baby and then shebecame a good obedient little girl Now at nineteen shersquos sobrimming with goodness that she sits on a Toronto street cornerwhich has its own textual archaeology though Norah probablydoesnrsquot know about that She sits beneath the lamppost where thepoet Ed Lewinski hanged himself in and where MargheritaTolles burst out of the subway exit into the sunshine of heradopted country and decided to write a great play Norah sitscross-legged with a begging bowl in her lap and asks nothing ofthe world Nine-tenths of what she gathers she distributes at theend of the day to other street people She wears a cardboard signon her chest a single word printed in black markermdash

I donrsquot know what that word really means though words aremy business The Old English word wearth I discovered the otherday on the Internet means outcast the other English word itstwin its cancellation is worthmdashwe know what that means andknow to distrust it It is the word wearth that Norah has swal-lowed This is the place shersquos claimed a whole world constructedon stillness An easy stance says the condemning grievingmother easy to find and maintain given enough practice Asharper focus could be achieved by tossing in an astringent fluid apeppery sauce irony rebellion tattoos and pierced tongue andspiked purple hair but no Norah embodies invisibility and good-ness or at least she is on the pathmdashso she said in our last conver-sation which was eight weeks ago the eleventh of April Shewore torn jeans that day and a rough plaid shawl that was almostcertainly a car blanket Her long pale hair was matted Sherefused to look us in the eye but she did blink in acknowledge-mentmdashIrsquom sure of itmdashwhen I handed her a sack of cheesesandwiches and Tom dropped a roll of twenty-dollar bills in herlap Then she spoke in her own voice but emptied of connection

She could not come home She was on the path to goodness Atthat moment I her mother was more absent from myself thanshe I felt that She was steadfast She could not be diverted Shecould not ldquoberdquo with us

How did this part of the narrative happen We know it didnrsquotrise out of the ordinary plot lines of a life story An intelligent andbeautiful girl from a loving family grows up in OrangetownOntario her motherrsquos a writer her fatherrsquos a doctor and then shegoes off the track Therersquos nothing natural about her efflorescenceof goodness Itrsquos abrupt and brutal Itrsquos killing us What will reallykill us though is the day we donrsquot find her sitting on her chosensquare of pavement

But I didnrsquot know any of this when I sat in that Burgundygarden dreaming about writing a novel I thought I understoodsomething of a novelrsquos architecture the lovely slope of predica-ment the tendrils of surface detail the calculated curving upwardinto inevitability yet allowing spells of incorrigibility and thenthe ending a corruption of cause and effect and the gatheringtogether of all the characters into a framed operatic circle ofconsolation and ecstasy backlit with fibre-optic gold just for amoment on the second-to-last page just for an atomic particle oftime

I had an idea for my novel a seed and nothing more Twoappealing characters had suggested themselves a woman and aman Alicia and Roman who live in Wychwood which is a citythe size of Toronto who clamour and romp and cling to theisland that is their lifersquos predicamentmdashthey long for love butselfishly strive for self-preservation Roman is proud to be cholericin temperament Alicia thinks of herself as being reflective buther job as assistant editor on a fashion magazine keeps her toooccupied to reflect

And I had a title My Thyme Is Up It was a pun of coursefrom an old family joke and I meant to write a jokey novel Alight novel A novel for summertime a book to read while seatedin an Ikea wicker chair with the sun falling on the pages as faintly

and evenly as human breath Naturally the novel would have ahappy ending I never doubted but that I could write this noveland I did in mdashin a swoop alone during three dark wintermonths when the girls were away all day at school

The Middle Years the translation of volume three of Wester-manrsquos memoirs is coming out this fall Volume three exploresWestermanrsquos numerous love affairs with both men and womenand none of this will be shocking or even surprising to her read-ers What is new is the suppleness and strength of her sentencesAlways an artist of concision and selflessness she has arrived inher old age at a gorgeous fluidity and expansion of phrase Mytranslation doesnrsquot begin to express what she has accomplishedThe book is stark itrsquos also sentimental one balances and rescuesthe other strangely enough I can only imagine that those end-less calcium pills Danielle chokes down every morning and the vitamin E and the emu oil capsules have fed directly into hervein of language so that what lands on the page is larger morerapturous more self-forgetful than anything shersquos written beforeand all of it sprouting short swift digressions that pretend to be just careless asides little swoons of surrender to her ownexperience inviting us her readers to believe in the totality ofher abandonment

Either that or shersquos gone senile to good effect a grand loosen-ing of language in her old age The thought has more than onceoccurred to me

Another thought has drifted by silken as a breeze against alattice Therersquos something missing in these memoirs or so I thinkin my solipsistic view Danielle Westerman suffers she feels the pangs of existential loneliness the absence of sexual love thetreason of her own womanrsquos body She has no partner no one forwhom she is the first person in the world order no one to dependon as I do on Tom She does not have a child or any survivingblood connection for that matter and perhaps itrsquos this that makesthe memoirs themselves childlike They go down like good milkfoaming swirling in the glass

I shouldnrsquot mention Book Number Eleven since it is not afait accompli but I will Irsquom going to write a second novel asequel to My Thyme Is Up Today is the day I intend to begin Thefirst sentence is already tapped into my computer ldquoAlicia was notas happy as she deserved to berdquo

I have no idea what will happen in this book It is a mereabstraction at the moment something thatrsquos popped out of theground like the rounded snout of a crocus on a cold lawn Irsquovestumbled up against this idea in my clumsy manner and now the urge to write it wonrsquot go away This will be a book about lostchildren about goodness and going home and being happy andtrying to keep the poison of the printed page in perspective Irsquomdesperate to know how the story will turn out

Nearly

We are more than halfway through the year Toward the beginning of August Tomrsquos old friendColin Glass came to dinner one night driving out

from Toronto Over coffee he attempted to explain the theory ofrelativity to me

I was the one who invited him to launch into the subjectRelativity is a piece of knowledge Irsquove always longed to under-stand a big piece but the explainers tend to go too fast or elsethey skip over a step they assume their audience has alreadyabsorbed Apparently there was once a time when only oneperson in the world understood relativity (Einstein) then twopeople then three or four and now most of the high-school kidswho take physics have at least an inkling or so Irsquom told Howhard can it be And itrsquos passed according to Colin from crazyspeculation to confirmed fact which makes it even more impor-tant to understand Irsquove tried but my grasp feels tenuous So thespeed of light is constant Is that all

Ordinarily I love these long August evenings the splash ofamber light that falls on the white dining-room walls just beforethe separate shades of twilight take over The medallion leavesthat flutter their round ghost shadows All day Irsquod listened to the white-throated sparrows in the woods behind our house their song resembles the Canadian national anthem at least theopening bars Summer was dying but in pieces Wersquod be eatingoutside if it werenrsquot for the wasps Good food the company of agood friend what more could anyone desire But I kept thinking

of Norah sitting on her square of pavement and holding up thepiece of cardboard with the word and then I lost trackof what Colin was saying

E=mc Energy equals mass times the speed of light squaredThe tidiness of the equation raised my immediate suspicion Howcan massmdashthis solid oak dining table for instancemdashhave any con-nection with how fast light travels Theyrsquore two different thingsColin who is a physicist was patient with my objections Hetook the linen napkin from his lap and stretched it taut across thetop of his coffee cup Then he took a cherry from the fruit bowland placed it on the napkin creating a small dimple He tipped thecup slightly so that the cherry rotated around the surface of the napkin He spoke of energy and mass but already I had lost a critical filament of the argument I worried slightly about hiscoffee sloshing up onto the napkin and staining it and thoughthow seldom in the last few years I had bothered with clothnapkins Nobody except maybe Danielle Westerman does realnapkins anymore it was understood that modern professionalwomen had better things to do with their time than launder linen

By now I had forgotten completely what the cherry (more thanfour dollars a pound) represented and what the little dimple wassupposed to be Colin talked on and on and Tom who is a familyphysician and has a broad scientific background seemed to befollowing at least he was nodding his head appropriately Mymother-in-law Lois had politely excused herself and returned toher house next door she would never miss the ten-orsquoclock newsher watching of the ten-orsquoclock news helps the country of Canadato go forward Christine and Natalie had long since drifted fromthe table and I could hear the buzz and burst of TV noises in the den

Pet our golden retriever parked his shaggy self under thetable his whole dog body humming away against my footSometimes in his dreams he groans and sometimes he chortleswith happiness I found myself thinking about Marietta Colinrsquoswife who had packed her bags a few months ago and moved to

Calgary to be with another man She claimed Colin was toowrapped up in his research and teaching to be a true partner Abeautiful woman with a neck like a plant stem she hinted thatthere had been a collapse of passion in their marriage She had left suddenly coldly he had been shocked he had had no idea hetold us in the early days that she had been unhappy all theseyears but he found her diaries in a desk drawer and read themsick with realization that a gulf of misunderstanding separatedthem

Why would a woman leave such personal diaries behind To punish to hurt of course Colin for the most part a decentkind-hearted man used to address her in a dry admonitory wayas though she were a graduate student instead of his wife ldquoDonrsquottell me this is processed cheeserdquo he asked her once when we were having dinner at their house Another time ldquoThis coffee isundrinkablerdquo He loved pleasuremdashhe was that kind of manmdashandtook it for granted and couldnrsquot help his little yelps of outragewhen pleasure failed You could call him an innocent in his expec-tations almost naive on this particular August evening It was asthough he were alone in a vaulted chamber echoing with immen-sities while Tom and I stood attendance just outside the doorcatching the overflow the odd glimpse of his skewed but calmbrilliance Even the little pockets under his eyes were phlegmaticHe was not a shallow person but perhaps he suspected that wewere I had to stop myself interrupting with a joke I often do thisIrsquom afraid ask for an explanation and then drift off into my ownthoughts

How could he now be sitting at our table so calmly toyingwith cherries and coffee cups and rolling the edge of his strawplacemat and pressing this heft of information on us It was closeto midnight he had an hourrsquos drive ahead of him What did thetheory of relativity really matter to his ongoing life Colin withhis small specs and trim moustache was at ease with big ideas likerelativity As a theory relativity worked it held all sorts of impor-tant ldquoconceptsrdquo together with its precision and elegance Think of

glue lavishly applied he said helpfully about relativity think ofthe power of the shrewd guess Such a sweeping perspective hadbeen visionary at the beginning but had been assessed and re-inforced and it was moreover Colin was now insisting usefulIn the face of lifersquos uncertainties relativityrsquos weight could beassumed and then set aside part of the package of consciousness

He finished awkwardly sat back in his chair with his two longarms extended ldquoSordquo Thatrsquos it he seemed to say or thatrsquos asmuch as I can do to simplify and explain so brilliant an idea Heglanced at his watch then sat back again exhausted pleased withhimself He wore a well-pressed cotton shirt with blue and yellowstripes neatly tucked into his black jeans He has no interest in clothes This shirt must go back to his married days chosen for him ironed for him by Marietta herself and put on a hangerperhaps a summer ago

The theory of relativity would not bring Colinrsquos wife hurryingback to the old stone house on Oriole Parkway It would notbring my daughter Norah home from the corner of Bathurst andBloor or the Promise Hostel where she beds at night Tom and I followed her one day we had to know how she managedwhether she was safe The weather would be turning cold soonHow does she bear it Cold concrete Dirt Uncombed hair

ldquoWould you sayrdquo I asked ColinmdashI had not spoken for severalminutesmdashldquothat the theory of relativity has reduced the weight ofgoodness and depravity in the worldrdquo

He stared at me ldquoRelativity has no moral position None what-everrdquo (ldquoThis coffee is undrinkablerdquo)

I looked to Tom for support but he was gazing with his mildeyes at the ceiling smiling I knew that smile

ldquoBut isnrsquot it possiblerdquo I said to Colin ldquoto think that goodnessor virtue if you like could be a wave or particle of energyrdquo

ldquoNordquo he said ldquoNo it is not possiblerdquoI made an abrupt move to clear the table I was suddenly

exhaustedStill I am thankful for the friendship and intellectual ardour of

such an unpretentious man as Colin Glass who despite his suffer-ing and shame really wanted me to understand a key concept ofthe twentieth century Or was he simply diverting himself for anhour This is what I must learn the art of diversion He said notone word about Marietta all evening long Tom and I understandthat he is reconstructing his life without her But a daughter issomething different A daughter of nineteen cannot be erased

Once

It was understood that I would do the publicity such as it was for Danielle Westermanrsquos third volume of memoirs Ateighty-five she was too old and too distinguished to handle

a day of interviews in Toronto even though she lives there I asthe translator could easily field questions from the press A verylight schedule was organized by the publisher since Dr Wester-man already possesses a long twilight of faithful readership

In early September I drove into Orangetown down its calmold-fashioned main street and into the countryside again The cityof Toronto monumental and lonely glowed in front of me Itsoutskirts are ragged though its numbered exits pretend at a kindof order Traffic was light I drove slowly by the corner of Bloorand Bathurst for a glimpse of Norah There she was as always onthe northeast corner seated on the ground near the subwayentrance with her bowl and cardboard sign even though it wasnot yet nine orsquoclock Had she had breakfast Did she have nits inher hair What is she thinking or is her mind a great blank

I parked the car and walked over to where she was ldquoHellodarling Norahrdquo I said setting down a plastic bag of food breadand cheese fruit and raw vegetables And in an envelope arecent photo of Pet with his straight proud muzzle and furry ruff Norah of all the girls doted on Pet and now I was bribingher shamelessly It was a chilly day and it iced my heart to see herunreadable immobility but I was glad to notice that she waswearing warm mittens Glad Me glad The least little signal willgladden my heart these days Today she looked not quite at me

and nodded Another wave of gladness struck I allow myself onlyone such glimpse a week since shersquos made it clear she doesnrsquotwant to see us

It is like watching her through plate glass All week I will drawexpensively on this brief moment of voyeurism at the same timetrying to blot it out with images of Norah on her bicycle Norahsitting at the kitchen table studying for exams Norah reaching forher green raincoat Norah trying on new school shoes Norahsleeping safe

After a while I went to have my eyebrows arched and tinted atSylviarsquos which calls itself a ldquospirit spardquo meaning it seemed thatwhile Madame Sylvia swiped at my brow with a little paintbrushshe murmured and sang into my ear It was now nine-thirty in themorning and I lay on a narrow table in a tiny white room ldquoYouare at the age when you must protect the fine skin around theeyesrdquo she warned ldquoA womanrsquos face falls it is inevitable but the eyes go on and on giving light You will be eighty ninety and your eyes will still charmrdquo

She knows nothing about my life Irsquove never been here beforeand have never thought of having an eyebrow tint I have per-fectly decent eyebrows nicely shaped and regular but I did lookinto a mirror a week or so ago and noticed that the small hairs atthe outside corners were coming in grey There was a little greyat the temples too but nothing to be surprised about not for a woman whose forty-fourth birthday is approaching not for awoman who has never even thought of herself as possessingldquotemplesrdquo such august body parts

ldquoAre you by any chance a Geminirdquo Madame Sylvia askedintimately Swish went the paintbrush She stopped peered at meclosely then swished again a deft little stroke

ldquoNordquo I said ashamed to acknowledge the astrological universeldquoMy birthdayrsquos in September Next week in factrdquo

ldquoI can tell yesrdquo She had a touch of the harridan in her voice ldquoIcan always tellrdquo

What could she tell

ldquoTwenty-four dollarsrdquo she said ldquoLet me give you my card Fornext timerdquo

Presumptuous but yes there will be a next time I calculatedquickly My face would make it through the next few weeks butby November I will probably be back in Madame Sylviarsquos hushedwhite cell I may well become a regular Eyebrows lashes fullfacials neck massage I have led a reflective life a life of thoughta writer a translator but all this is about to change The delicateskin around my eyes was demanding attention Has Tom noticedI donrsquot think so Christine and Natalie donrsquot really look at me inthat way they just see this watercolour blob that means motherwhich is rather how I see myself

ldquoA womanrsquos charm is with her for liferdquo Madame Sylvia saidldquobut you must pay attentionrdquo

No I thought an hour later no Irsquom sorry but I have no plansto be charming on a regular basis Anyone can be charming Itrsquosreally a cheap trick mere charm so astonishingly easy to per-form screwing up your face into sunbeams and spewing themforth The calculated lift of the wrist chin up thumb and fore-finger brought together to form a little feminine loop that trick of pretending to sit on a little glass chair that concentration ofradiance lrsquoesprit little sprinkles of it everywhere misting the airlike bargain scent Ingenue spritz Emma Allen calls it

I know that cheapness so intimatelymdashthe grainy sugary per-severing way charm enters a fresh mouth and rubs against themolars sticking there in soft wads promoting mouth ulcers or whatever it is thatrsquos the metaphoric projection of self-hatredOf all the social virtues charm is in the end the most unreward-ing And compared to goodness real goodness or the unmovableself-abnegation my daughter Norah practises charm is nothingbut crumpled tissue paper soiled from previous use

Sincerity No Sincerityrsquos over Sincerityrsquos lost whatever edge ithad Itrsquos fine fine matter but wasted on the press who all grew uppost-Holocaust devoted readers of Mad Magazine and wouldnrsquotrecognize a bar of willed innocence if it came wrapped in foil

Nor will I ever again be pointlessly endlessly polite I got overthat two years ago when I did my author tour It seems Irsquove lostlike a stream of pebbles leaving my hand the kind of endurancethat professional courtesy demands suck in your breath let yourface go numb listen to the interviewerrsquos questions registeroptimally let your breath out evaluate the feelings of those whodepend on you (agent publisher editor that nice Sheila personwho does publicity and of course Danielle Westerman) andperform again and again like the tuned-up athlete you are the fitphysical specimen that each new book demands then move on tothe next task

Mrs Winters who has just translated The Middle Years the un-

folding memoir of Holocaust survivor Danielle Westerman is a woman

of grace and charm whose thick brown hair is arranged into a bun

Putting down her coffee cup she shrugs off her beige raincoat and

Irsquove entered early middle age now and I have a nineteen-year-old daughter who lives on the street I no longer require a reputa-tion for charm those saving lilac shadows and contours Maybe Inever did I wonrsquotmdashnot nowmdashtuck the ends of my sentences intolittle licks of favour and the next time a journalist pins me downwith a personal question trolling for informationmdashTell me MrsWinters how are you able to balance your family and profes-sional lifemdashI will stare back hard with my newly practised stareHow do I balance my life Tinted eyebrows up Just what kind ofinquiry is this Wouldnrsquot you prefer Mrs Winters to pursue youown writing rather than translate Dr Westermanrsquos work Pleasenot that again How did you and your husband meet What doeshe think of your writing

I will in the future address my interviewer directly and saywith firmness ldquoThis interview is overrdquo There is nothing to loseRude and difficult people are more likely to be taken seriouslyCurmudgeons are positively adored Irsquove noticed this Even thefascinatingly unknowable earn respect

And when I read in the paper tomorrow that ldquoMrs Winterslooked all of her forty-three yearsrdquo and that ldquoMrs Winters with

her familiar overbite was reluctant to talk about her work sched-ulerdquo I will want to phone the editor and complain bitterly Thisfrom the pen of a small unattractive man almost entirely lip-less beneath a bony domineering nose sweating with minorambition head tilted like something carved out of yellow wax

He interviewed me in a cappuccino bar in mid-Toronto Achilly stooped round-headed man in his thirties or fortiesmdashitwas hard to tellmdashslow to smile pathetically in need of humanattention thinking his superior thoughts Fluff on his shouldersbegged to be picked off I on the other hand was wearing a softjade jacket of cashmere lined with silk which represented a raresplurge on my part but I could be sure this man would over-look this garment with its crystal buttons and mandarin collar andconcentrate instead on my drab raincoat beige and not quitepristine at the cuffs In print he will be certain to refer to mychignon as a bun Itrsquos taken me years to learn to do a glossy littlechignonmdashI can get my hair brushed back and securely pinned up each morning in a mere two and a half minutes and I considermy coiffure one of my major life accomplishments I really meanthis

Sheila from publicity had filled me in before the interview andI felt the information packet hovering what to do with it Thisyoungyoungish man was the newly appointed books columnistat Booktimes He was well known for holding pious opinions aboutthe literature of the Great North about his own role as advocateof a diverse new outpouring of Canadian voices the post-colonialcry of blaming anguish The stream of current fiction aboutmiddle-class people living in cities was diluting the authenticnational voice that rose from the landscape itself andmdash

Oh shut up shut upCappuccino foam dotted the corners of his undistinguished

mouth And just one more question Mrs WintersmdashOf course he didnrsquot call me Reta even though there might be

only a year or two between us The ldquoMrsrdquo gave him power overme that vexing r rucking things up in the middle and making one

think of such distractions as clotheslines and baking tins He wasthe barking terrier going at Mrs Wintersrsquos ankles shaking out hisfur and asking me to justify myself wanting me to explain thespluttering dying whimpering bonfire of my life which I wouldnot dream of sharing He seemed to forget he was interviewingme about Danielle Westermanrsquos new book

I understand yoursquore working on a second novel said heWell yesTakes nerveUh-huhActuallymdashactually well he had a novel on the go himselfReally What a surpriseAt the end of the hour he did not ask for the bill I asked for the

bill ldquoIrsquoll just put it on my Visardquo I said breaking a tenuous breadthof silence I announced this with all the majesty I could musterover a vinyl table like a grande dame adding twenty years to myage and feeling the vowels shifting in my beautifully mouldedthroat Such dignity I surprised myself with my own resonanceand I may have managed a pained smile displaying no doubtthat famous overbite He turned off the tape recorder at the wordldquoVisardquo

He had two young children at home he said Christ what aresponsibility although he loved the little bastards One of themwas quite quite gifted well they both were in their separateways But the work of raising kids Never enough time to read thebooks he had to review books all over the house with little mark-ers in them books he would never finish So much was expectedand of course like all journalists he was underpaid

Oh shut upThey also expected him to do a feature on the weekendUh-huhAnd last week hersquod actually broken the MacBunna storyReally Macumba MarimbaCongratulations said Mrs Reta Winters from OrangetownThanks

I should be getting on my way I said My parking meter Alunch date A long drive home

I understand you and your family live in a lovely old housenear Orangetown

And then slyly I understand one of your daughters now livesin Toronto and

Irsquove been here before There is something about having anestablished family a long-lasting spousal arrangement threedaughters in their teens a house in the country a suggestion ofimpermeability that draws the curiosity of others so that theycan as Tom says probe with probity

But no this man across the table will not be feeding on myflesh nor will his colleaguesmdashthough one can tell that he has nocolleagues there is no possibility of colleagues He has no contextfor friends or co-workers though there are the kids and therersquosthe wife hersquos referred to her three times now Nicola She has herprofessional life too he tells me as though the matter were indispute

I canrsquot resist ldquoDoes Nicolamdashis she a journalist toordquoldquoJournalistrdquoldquoLike you I meanrdquoHis hand jumps and for a moment I think hersquos going to turn

the tape recorder on again But no hersquos reaching into his pocketand now hersquos releasing two coins onto the table The tip They liethere moist from his hand Two dimes I focus on them withwhat I hope is a cool censorious gaze

But hersquos not looking at me Hersquos looking across the roomwhere a silver-haired man is seating himself gracefully at a tableldquoIrsquom not sure but I think thatrsquos Gore Vidalrdquo my interviewer whis-pers in a hungry voice ldquoHersquos here for the writersrsquo festival youknowrdquo

I rise and exit as though led by a brass quintetThe charming Mrs Winters slips on her comfortable beige rain-

coat

I would like to thank a number of others who in one way or another encouraged me in the writing of Unless SharonAllan Marjorie Anderson the late Joan Austen-Leigh JoanBarfoot Clare Boylan Marg Edmond Brown Joan ClarkAnne Collins Cynthia Coop Patrick Crowe Maggie DwyerDarlene Hammell Blanche Howard Isabel Huggan CarlLenthe Madeline Li Elinor Lipman Anna and Sylvie MatasMargaret Shaw-Mackinnon Don McCarthy Peter ParkerBella Pomer Christopher Potter Linda Rogers CaroleSabiston Floyd St Clair Eleanor Wachtel Cindi WarnerMindy Werner the John Simon Guggenheim Foundationand as always my family John Audrey Anne CatherineMeg Sara and especially Don

About the Author

Carol Shields is the author of eight novels and two collections of short stories

The Stone Diaries won the Pulitzer Prize and was shortlisted for the Booker

Prize Larryrsquos Party won the Orange Prize Born and brought up in Chicago

Carol Shields has lived in Canada since 1957

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 1

Others

Intersect

Coming to Canada

Larryrsquos Party

The Stone Diaries

The Republic of Love

A Celibate Season (with Blanche Howard)Swann

A Fairly Conventional Woman

Happenstance

The Box Garden

Small Ceremonies

Various Miracles

The Orange Fish

Dressing Up for the Carnival

Departures and Arrivals

Thirteen Hands

Fashion Power Guilt and the Charity of Families

(with Catherine Shields)Anniversary (with David Williamson)

Susanna Moodie Voice and Vision

Jane Austen

Dropped Threads What We Arenrsquot Told

(Edited with Marjorie Anderson)

Credits

Design by Julian HumphriesPhotographer by Michael CrouserDesigned by Dinah Drazin

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 2

If you enjoyed reading this excerpt please visitHarperCollins Publishers to find out where to buy thisand other PerfectBound e-books

Australiahttpwwwharpercollinscomau

Canadahttpwwwharpercanadacom

New Zealandhttpwwwharpercollinsconz

United Kingdomhttpwwwfireandwatercom

United Stateshttpwwwperfectboundcom

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 3

The Pajama Game Words and Music by Richard Adler Music

and Jerry Ross copy Richard Adler Music and J amp J Ross Co USA

WarnerChappell Music Ltd London w6 8bs

Reproduced by permission of International Music Publications

Ltd All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction Names characters places and incidents

either are the products of the authorrsquos imagination or are used

fictitiously Any resemblance to actual events locales organiza-

tions or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and

beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher

UNLESS Copyright copy 2002 by Carol Shields All rights

reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright

Conventions By payment of the required fees you have been

granted the non-exclusive non-transferable right to access and

read the text of this e-book on-screen No part of this text may

be reproduced transmitted down-loaded decompiled reverse

engineered or stored in or introduced into any information stor-

age and retrieval system in any form or by any means whether

electronic or mechanical now known or hereinafter invented

without the express written permission of PerfectBoundtrade

PerfectBound trade and the PerfectBoundtrade logo are trademarks

of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

Adobe Acrobat E-Book Reader edition v 1 May 2002

ISBN 0-06-052370-0

Print edition first published in 2002

by Forth Estate a division of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 4

Unless_TOC_X 43002 1042 AM Page 1

Contents

EPIGRAPH

HerersquosNearlyOnceWhereinNeverthelessSoOtherwiseInsteadThusYetInsofar AsThereofEveryRegardingHence

Unless_TOC_X 43002 1042 AM Page 2

NextNotwithstandingThereuponDespiteThroughoutFollowingHardlySinceOnlyUnlessTowardWhateverAnyWhetherEverWhenceForthwithAsBeginning WithAlreadyHithertoNot Yet

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

THE WORK OF CAROL SHIELDS

CREDITS

ABOUT THE PUBLISHER

COVER IMAGE

COPYRIGHT

Unless_TOC_X 43002 1042 AM Page 3

Herersquos

It happens that I am going through a period of great unhappi-ness and loss just now All my life Irsquove heard people speak of finding themselves in acute pain bankrupt in spirit and

body but Irsquove never understood what they meant To lose Tohave lost I believed these visitations of darkness lasted only a fewminutes or hours and that these saddened people in betweenbouts were occupied as we all were with the useful monotonyof happiness But happiness is not what I thought Happiness isthe lucky pane of glass you carry in your head It takes all yourcunning just to hang on to it and once itrsquos smashed you have tomove into a different sort of life

In my new lifemdashthe summer of the year mdashI am attemptingto ldquocount my blessingsrdquo Everyone I know advises me to take upthis repellent strategy as though they really believe a dramatic losscan be replaced by the renewed appreciation of all one has beengiven I have a husband Tom who loves me and is faithful to meand is very decent looking as well tallish thin and losing his hairnicely We live in a house with a paid-up mortgage and our houseis set in the prosperous rolling hills of Ontario only an hourrsquos drivenorth of Toronto Two of our three daughters Natalie fifteenand Christine sixteen live at home They are intelligent and livelyand attractive and loving though they too have shared in the lossas has Tom

And I have my writingldquoYou have your writingrdquo friends say A murmuring chorus But

you have your writing Reta No one is crude enough to suggest that

my sorrow will eventually become material for my writing butprobably they think it

And itrsquos true There is a curious and faintly distasteful comfortat the age of forty-three forty-four in September in contemplat-ing what I have managed to write and publish during thoseimpossibly childish and sunlit days before I understood the mean-ing of grief ldquoMy Writingrdquo this is a very small poultice to hold upagainst my damaged self but better I have been persuaded thanno comfort at all

Itrsquos June the first year of the new century and herersquos what Irsquove written so far in my life Irsquom not including my old schoolgirlsonnets from the seventiesmdashSatin-slippered April you glidethrough time And lubricate spring days de dum de dummdashandmy dozen or so fawning book reviews from the early eighties Iam posting this list not on the screen but on my consciousness afar safer computer tool and easier to access

A translation and introduction to Danielle Westermanrsquos bookof poetry Isolation April one month before our daughterNorah was born a home birth naturally a midwife you couldalmost hear the guitars plinking in the background except we did not feast on the placenta as some of our friends were doing at the time My French came from my Queacutebeacutecoise mother and my acquaintance with Danielle from the University of Torontowhere she taught French civilization in my student days She wasa poor teacher hesitant and in awe I think of the tanned healthystudents sitting in her classroom taking notes worshipfully andstretching their small suburban notion of what the word civiliz-

ation might mean She was already a recognized writer of kinetictough-corded prose both beguiling and dangerous Her mannerwas to take the reader by surprise In the middle of a flattenedrambling paragraph deceived by warm stretches of reflectionyou came upon hard cartilage

I am a little uneasy about claiming Isolation as my own writingbut Dr Westerman doing one of her hurrying over-the-headgestures insisted that translation especially of poetry is a creative

act Writing and translating are convivial she said not opposi-tional and not at all hierarchical Of course she would say thatMy introduction to Isolation was certainly creative though since I had no idea what I was talking about

I hauled it out recently and while I read it experienced theBurrowing of the Palpable Worm of Shame as my friend LynnKelly calls it Pretension is what I see now The part about arttransmuting the despair of life to the ldquomerely frangiblerdquo andpoetryrsquos attempt to ldquorepair the gap between ought and naughtrdquomdashwhat on earth did I mean Too much Derrida might be theproblem I was into all that pretty heavily in the early eighties

After that came ldquoThe Brightness of a Starrdquo a short story thatappeared in An Anthology of Young Ontario Voices (Pink Onion Press) Itrsquos hard to believe that I qualified as ldquoa young voicerdquo in but in fact I was only twenty-nine mother of Norah agedfour her sister Christine aged two and about to give birth toNataliemdashin a hospital this time Three daughters and not eventhirty ldquoHow did you find the timerdquo people used to chorus and inthat query I often registered a hint of blame was I neglecting mydarling sprogs for my writing career Well no I never thought interms of career I dabbled in writing It was my macrameacute my knit-ting Not long after however I did start to get serious and joineda local ldquowritersrsquo workshoprdquo for women which met every secondweek for two hours where we drank coffee and had a good timeand deeply appreciated each otherrsquos company and that led to

ldquoIconrdquo a short story rather Jamesian Gwen Reidmanthe only published author in the workshop group was our leaderThe Glenmar Collective (an acronym of our first namesmdashnot veryoriginal) was what we called ourselves One day Gwen said mov-ing a muffin to her mouth that she was touched by the ldquoauster-ityrdquo of my short storymdashwhich was based but only roughly on myresponse to the Russian icon show at the Art Gallery of OntarioMy fictional piece was a case of art ldquoembracingrepudiating artrdquoas Gwen put it and then she reminded us of the famous ldquoOn FirstLooking Into Chapmanrsquos Homerrdquo and the whole aesthetic of art

begetting art art worshipping art which I no longer believe in bythe way Either you do or you donrsquot The seven of us GwenLorna Emma Allen Nan Marcella Annette and I (my name isReta Wintersmdashpronounced Ree-tah) self-published our pieces in avolume titled Incursions and Interruptions throwing in fifty dollarseach for the printing bill The five hundred copies sold quickly inthe local bookstores mostly to our friends and families Publishingwas cheap we discovered What a surprise We called ourselvesthe Stepping Stone Press and in that name we expressed our mildembarrassment at the idea of self-publishing but also the hopethat we would ldquosteprdquo along to authentic publishing in the verynear future Except Gwen of course who was already there AndEmma who was beginning to publish op-ed pieces in the Globe

and Mail

Alive (Random House ) a translation of Pour Vivre vol-ume one of Danielle Westermanrsquos memoirs I may appear to beclaiming translation as an act of originality but as I have alreadysaid it was Danielle in her benign way wrinkling her disorderlyforehead who had urged me to believe that the act of shufflingelegant French into readable and stable English is an aestheticperformance The book was well received by the critics and evensold moderately well a dense but popular book offered withoutshame and nary a footnote The translation itself was slammed inthe Toronto Star (ldquoclumsyrdquo) by one Stanley Harold Howard butDanielle Westerman said never mind the man was un maquereau

which translates crudely as something between a pimp and aprick

I then wrote a commissioned pamphlet for a series put outby a press calling itself Encyclopeacutedie de lrsquoart The press producedtiny hold-in-the-hand booklets each devoted to a single artsubject covering everything from Braque to Calder to Klee toMondrian to Villon The editor in New York operating out of aphone booth it seemed to me and knowing nothing of my igno-rance had stumbled on my short story ldquoIconrdquo and believed me tobe an expert on the subject He asked for three thousand words

for a volume (volumette really) to be called Russian Icons pub-lished finally in It took me a whole year to do what withTom and the three girls and the house and garden and meals andlaundry and too much inwardness They published my ldquotextrdquosuch a cold jellied word along with a series of coloured plates inboth English and French (I did the French as well) and paid mefour hundred dollars I learned all about the schools of Suzdal andVladimir and what went on in Novgorod (a lot) and how imagesof saints made medieval people quake with fear To my knowl-edge the book was never reviewed but I can read it today with-out shame It is almost impossible to be pseudo when writingabout innocent paintings that obey no rules of perspective andthat are done on slabs of ordinary wood

I lost a year after this which I donrsquot understand since allthree girls had started school though Natalie was only in morningkindergarten I think I was too busy thinking about the business ofbeing a writer about being writerly and fretting over whetherTomrsquos ego was threatened and being in Daniellersquos shadow nevermind Derrida and needing my own writing space and turningthirty-five and feeling older than Irsquove ever felt since My agemdashthirty-fivemdashshouted at me all the time standing tall and wide inmy head and blocking access to what my life afforded Thirty-fivenever sat down with its hands folded Thirty-five had no compo-sure It was always humming mean terse tunes on a piece offolded cellophane (ldquoI am composedrdquo said John Quincy Adams onhis deathbed How admirable and enviable and beyond belief Iloved him for this)

This anguish of mine was unnecessary Tomrsquos ego was unchal-lenged by my slender publications He turned out to be one ofthose men we were worried about in the seventies and eightieswho might shrivel in acknowledgment of his own insignificanceOrdinary was what he wanted to be an ordinary man embeddedin a family he loved We put a skylight in the box room bought a used office desk installed a fax and a computer and I sat downon my straight-from-a-catalogue Freedom Chair and translated

Danielle Westermanrsquos immense Les femmes et le pouvoir the Eng-lish version published in volume two of her memoirs InEnglish the title was changed to Women Waiting which onlymakes sense if yoursquove read the book (Women possess power butit is power that has yet to be seized ignited and released and soforth) This time no one grumped about my translation ldquoSpark-ling and full of easerdquo the Globe said and the New York Times wentone better and called it ldquoan achievementrdquo

ldquoYou are my true sisterrdquo said Danielle Westerman at the timeof publication Ma vraie soeur I hugged her back Her craving forphysical touch has not slackened even in her eighties thoughnowadays it is mostly her doctor who touches her or me with myweekly embrace or the manicurist Dr Danielle Westerman isthe only person I know who has her nails done twice a weekTuesday and Saturday ( just a touch-up) beautiful long nail bedsmatching her long quizzing eyes

I was giddy All at once translation offers were arriving in themail but I kept thinking I could maybe write short stories eventhough our Glenmar group was dwindling what with Emmataking a job in Newfoundland Annette getting her divorce andGwen moving to the States The trouble was I hated my shortstories I wanted to write about the overheard and the glimpsedbut this kind of evanescence sent me into whimsy mode andalthough I believed whimsicality to be a strand of the humanpersonality I was embarrassed at what I was pumping into mynew Apple computer sitting there under the clean brightness ofthe skylight Pernicious precious my moments of recognitionAhahmdashand then she realized I was so fetching with my ldquoEllen wassetting the table and she knew tonight would be differentrdquo Alittle bug sat in my ear and buzzed Who cares about Ellen andher woven placemats and her hopes for the future

I certainly didnrsquot careBecause I had three kids everyone said I should be writing

kiddy lit but I couldnrsquot find the voice Kiddy lit screeched in mybrain Talking ducks and chuckling frogs I wanted something

sterner and more contained as a task which is how I came to writeShakespeare and Flowers (San Francisco Cyclone Press ) Thecontract was negotiated before I wrote one word Along came alittle bundle of cash to start me off with the rest promised on pub-lication I thought it was going to be a scholarly endeavour but Iended up producing a wee ldquogiftierdquo book You could send this bookto anyone on your list who was maidenly or semi-academic orwhom you didnrsquot know very well Shakespeare and Flowers wassold in the kind of outlets that stock greeting cards and stuffedbears I simply scanned the canon and picked up references to saythe eglantine (A Midsummer Nightrsquos Dream) or the blackberry(Troilus and Cressida) and then I puffed out a little description of theflower and conferenced on the phone (twice) with the illustratorin Berkeley and threw in lots of Shakespearean quotes A sweetlittle book excellent slick paper US$ At sixty-eight pages it fits in a small mailer Two hundred thousand copies and stillselling though the royalty rate is scandalous Theyrsquod like me to do something on Shakespeare and animals and I just might

Eros Essays by Danielle Westerman translation by RetaWinters hastily translatedmdasheverything was hasty in those dayseverything still ismdashand published in Hugely successful aftera tiny advance We put the dog in a kennel and Tom and I andthe girls took the first translation payment and went to France fora month southern Burgundy a village called La Roche-Vineusewhere Danielle had grown up halfway between Cluny andMacirccon red-tiled roofs set in the midst of rolling vineyards incan-descent air Our rental house was built around a cobbled court-yard full of ancient roses and hydrangeas ldquoHow old is thishouserdquo we asked the neighbours who invited us in for an aperi-tif ldquoVery oldrdquo was all we got The stone walls were two feetthick The three girls took tennis lessons at lrsquoeacutecole drsquoeacuteteacute Tom wenthacking for trilobites happy under the French sun and I sat in awicker chair in the flower-filled courtyard shorts and halter andbare feet a floppy straw hat on my head reading novels day afterday and thinking I want to write a novel About something

happening About characters moving against a ldquothererdquo That waswhat I really wanted to do

Looking back I can scarcely believe in such innocence I didnrsquotthink about our girls growing older and leaving home and fallingaway from us Norah had been a good docile baby and then shebecame a good obedient little girl Now at nineteen shersquos sobrimming with goodness that she sits on a Toronto street cornerwhich has its own textual archaeology though Norah probablydoesnrsquot know about that She sits beneath the lamppost where thepoet Ed Lewinski hanged himself in and where MargheritaTolles burst out of the subway exit into the sunshine of heradopted country and decided to write a great play Norah sitscross-legged with a begging bowl in her lap and asks nothing ofthe world Nine-tenths of what she gathers she distributes at theend of the day to other street people She wears a cardboard signon her chest a single word printed in black markermdash

I donrsquot know what that word really means though words aremy business The Old English word wearth I discovered the otherday on the Internet means outcast the other English word itstwin its cancellation is worthmdashwe know what that means andknow to distrust it It is the word wearth that Norah has swal-lowed This is the place shersquos claimed a whole world constructedon stillness An easy stance says the condemning grievingmother easy to find and maintain given enough practice Asharper focus could be achieved by tossing in an astringent fluid apeppery sauce irony rebellion tattoos and pierced tongue andspiked purple hair but no Norah embodies invisibility and good-ness or at least she is on the pathmdashso she said in our last conver-sation which was eight weeks ago the eleventh of April Shewore torn jeans that day and a rough plaid shawl that was almostcertainly a car blanket Her long pale hair was matted Sherefused to look us in the eye but she did blink in acknowledge-mentmdashIrsquom sure of itmdashwhen I handed her a sack of cheesesandwiches and Tom dropped a roll of twenty-dollar bills in herlap Then she spoke in her own voice but emptied of connection

She could not come home She was on the path to goodness Atthat moment I her mother was more absent from myself thanshe I felt that She was steadfast She could not be diverted Shecould not ldquoberdquo with us

How did this part of the narrative happen We know it didnrsquotrise out of the ordinary plot lines of a life story An intelligent andbeautiful girl from a loving family grows up in OrangetownOntario her motherrsquos a writer her fatherrsquos a doctor and then shegoes off the track Therersquos nothing natural about her efflorescenceof goodness Itrsquos abrupt and brutal Itrsquos killing us What will reallykill us though is the day we donrsquot find her sitting on her chosensquare of pavement

But I didnrsquot know any of this when I sat in that Burgundygarden dreaming about writing a novel I thought I understoodsomething of a novelrsquos architecture the lovely slope of predica-ment the tendrils of surface detail the calculated curving upwardinto inevitability yet allowing spells of incorrigibility and thenthe ending a corruption of cause and effect and the gatheringtogether of all the characters into a framed operatic circle ofconsolation and ecstasy backlit with fibre-optic gold just for amoment on the second-to-last page just for an atomic particle oftime

I had an idea for my novel a seed and nothing more Twoappealing characters had suggested themselves a woman and aman Alicia and Roman who live in Wychwood which is a citythe size of Toronto who clamour and romp and cling to theisland that is their lifersquos predicamentmdashthey long for love butselfishly strive for self-preservation Roman is proud to be cholericin temperament Alicia thinks of herself as being reflective buther job as assistant editor on a fashion magazine keeps her toooccupied to reflect

And I had a title My Thyme Is Up It was a pun of coursefrom an old family joke and I meant to write a jokey novel Alight novel A novel for summertime a book to read while seatedin an Ikea wicker chair with the sun falling on the pages as faintly

and evenly as human breath Naturally the novel would have ahappy ending I never doubted but that I could write this noveland I did in mdashin a swoop alone during three dark wintermonths when the girls were away all day at school

The Middle Years the translation of volume three of Wester-manrsquos memoirs is coming out this fall Volume three exploresWestermanrsquos numerous love affairs with both men and womenand none of this will be shocking or even surprising to her read-ers What is new is the suppleness and strength of her sentencesAlways an artist of concision and selflessness she has arrived inher old age at a gorgeous fluidity and expansion of phrase Mytranslation doesnrsquot begin to express what she has accomplishedThe book is stark itrsquos also sentimental one balances and rescuesthe other strangely enough I can only imagine that those end-less calcium pills Danielle chokes down every morning and the vitamin E and the emu oil capsules have fed directly into hervein of language so that what lands on the page is larger morerapturous more self-forgetful than anything shersquos written beforeand all of it sprouting short swift digressions that pretend to be just careless asides little swoons of surrender to her ownexperience inviting us her readers to believe in the totality ofher abandonment

Either that or shersquos gone senile to good effect a grand loosen-ing of language in her old age The thought has more than onceoccurred to me

Another thought has drifted by silken as a breeze against alattice Therersquos something missing in these memoirs or so I thinkin my solipsistic view Danielle Westerman suffers she feels the pangs of existential loneliness the absence of sexual love thetreason of her own womanrsquos body She has no partner no one forwhom she is the first person in the world order no one to dependon as I do on Tom She does not have a child or any survivingblood connection for that matter and perhaps itrsquos this that makesthe memoirs themselves childlike They go down like good milkfoaming swirling in the glass

I shouldnrsquot mention Book Number Eleven since it is not afait accompli but I will Irsquom going to write a second novel asequel to My Thyme Is Up Today is the day I intend to begin Thefirst sentence is already tapped into my computer ldquoAlicia was notas happy as she deserved to berdquo

I have no idea what will happen in this book It is a mereabstraction at the moment something thatrsquos popped out of theground like the rounded snout of a crocus on a cold lawn Irsquovestumbled up against this idea in my clumsy manner and now the urge to write it wonrsquot go away This will be a book about lostchildren about goodness and going home and being happy andtrying to keep the poison of the printed page in perspective Irsquomdesperate to know how the story will turn out

Nearly

We are more than halfway through the year Toward the beginning of August Tomrsquos old friendColin Glass came to dinner one night driving out

from Toronto Over coffee he attempted to explain the theory ofrelativity to me

I was the one who invited him to launch into the subjectRelativity is a piece of knowledge Irsquove always longed to under-stand a big piece but the explainers tend to go too fast or elsethey skip over a step they assume their audience has alreadyabsorbed Apparently there was once a time when only oneperson in the world understood relativity (Einstein) then twopeople then three or four and now most of the high-school kidswho take physics have at least an inkling or so Irsquom told Howhard can it be And itrsquos passed according to Colin from crazyspeculation to confirmed fact which makes it even more impor-tant to understand Irsquove tried but my grasp feels tenuous So thespeed of light is constant Is that all

Ordinarily I love these long August evenings the splash ofamber light that falls on the white dining-room walls just beforethe separate shades of twilight take over The medallion leavesthat flutter their round ghost shadows All day Irsquod listened to the white-throated sparrows in the woods behind our house their song resembles the Canadian national anthem at least theopening bars Summer was dying but in pieces Wersquod be eatingoutside if it werenrsquot for the wasps Good food the company of agood friend what more could anyone desire But I kept thinking

of Norah sitting on her square of pavement and holding up thepiece of cardboard with the word and then I lost trackof what Colin was saying

E=mc Energy equals mass times the speed of light squaredThe tidiness of the equation raised my immediate suspicion Howcan massmdashthis solid oak dining table for instancemdashhave any con-nection with how fast light travels Theyrsquore two different thingsColin who is a physicist was patient with my objections Hetook the linen napkin from his lap and stretched it taut across thetop of his coffee cup Then he took a cherry from the fruit bowland placed it on the napkin creating a small dimple He tipped thecup slightly so that the cherry rotated around the surface of the napkin He spoke of energy and mass but already I had lost a critical filament of the argument I worried slightly about hiscoffee sloshing up onto the napkin and staining it and thoughthow seldom in the last few years I had bothered with clothnapkins Nobody except maybe Danielle Westerman does realnapkins anymore it was understood that modern professionalwomen had better things to do with their time than launder linen

By now I had forgotten completely what the cherry (more thanfour dollars a pound) represented and what the little dimple wassupposed to be Colin talked on and on and Tom who is a familyphysician and has a broad scientific background seemed to befollowing at least he was nodding his head appropriately Mymother-in-law Lois had politely excused herself and returned toher house next door she would never miss the ten-orsquoclock newsher watching of the ten-orsquoclock news helps the country of Canadato go forward Christine and Natalie had long since drifted fromthe table and I could hear the buzz and burst of TV noises in the den

Pet our golden retriever parked his shaggy self under thetable his whole dog body humming away against my footSometimes in his dreams he groans and sometimes he chortleswith happiness I found myself thinking about Marietta Colinrsquoswife who had packed her bags a few months ago and moved to

Calgary to be with another man She claimed Colin was toowrapped up in his research and teaching to be a true partner Abeautiful woman with a neck like a plant stem she hinted thatthere had been a collapse of passion in their marriage She had left suddenly coldly he had been shocked he had had no idea hetold us in the early days that she had been unhappy all theseyears but he found her diaries in a desk drawer and read themsick with realization that a gulf of misunderstanding separatedthem

Why would a woman leave such personal diaries behind To punish to hurt of course Colin for the most part a decentkind-hearted man used to address her in a dry admonitory wayas though she were a graduate student instead of his wife ldquoDonrsquottell me this is processed cheeserdquo he asked her once when we were having dinner at their house Another time ldquoThis coffee isundrinkablerdquo He loved pleasuremdashhe was that kind of manmdashandtook it for granted and couldnrsquot help his little yelps of outragewhen pleasure failed You could call him an innocent in his expec-tations almost naive on this particular August evening It was asthough he were alone in a vaulted chamber echoing with immen-sities while Tom and I stood attendance just outside the doorcatching the overflow the odd glimpse of his skewed but calmbrilliance Even the little pockets under his eyes were phlegmaticHe was not a shallow person but perhaps he suspected that wewere I had to stop myself interrupting with a joke I often do thisIrsquom afraid ask for an explanation and then drift off into my ownthoughts

How could he now be sitting at our table so calmly toyingwith cherries and coffee cups and rolling the edge of his strawplacemat and pressing this heft of information on us It was closeto midnight he had an hourrsquos drive ahead of him What did thetheory of relativity really matter to his ongoing life Colin withhis small specs and trim moustache was at ease with big ideas likerelativity As a theory relativity worked it held all sorts of impor-tant ldquoconceptsrdquo together with its precision and elegance Think of

glue lavishly applied he said helpfully about relativity think ofthe power of the shrewd guess Such a sweeping perspective hadbeen visionary at the beginning but had been assessed and re-inforced and it was moreover Colin was now insisting usefulIn the face of lifersquos uncertainties relativityrsquos weight could beassumed and then set aside part of the package of consciousness

He finished awkwardly sat back in his chair with his two longarms extended ldquoSordquo Thatrsquos it he seemed to say or thatrsquos asmuch as I can do to simplify and explain so brilliant an idea Heglanced at his watch then sat back again exhausted pleased withhimself He wore a well-pressed cotton shirt with blue and yellowstripes neatly tucked into his black jeans He has no interest in clothes This shirt must go back to his married days chosen for him ironed for him by Marietta herself and put on a hangerperhaps a summer ago

The theory of relativity would not bring Colinrsquos wife hurryingback to the old stone house on Oriole Parkway It would notbring my daughter Norah home from the corner of Bathurst andBloor or the Promise Hostel where she beds at night Tom and I followed her one day we had to know how she managedwhether she was safe The weather would be turning cold soonHow does she bear it Cold concrete Dirt Uncombed hair

ldquoWould you sayrdquo I asked ColinmdashI had not spoken for severalminutesmdashldquothat the theory of relativity has reduced the weight ofgoodness and depravity in the worldrdquo

He stared at me ldquoRelativity has no moral position None what-everrdquo (ldquoThis coffee is undrinkablerdquo)

I looked to Tom for support but he was gazing with his mildeyes at the ceiling smiling I knew that smile

ldquoBut isnrsquot it possiblerdquo I said to Colin ldquoto think that goodnessor virtue if you like could be a wave or particle of energyrdquo

ldquoNordquo he said ldquoNo it is not possiblerdquoI made an abrupt move to clear the table I was suddenly

exhaustedStill I am thankful for the friendship and intellectual ardour of

such an unpretentious man as Colin Glass who despite his suffer-ing and shame really wanted me to understand a key concept ofthe twentieth century Or was he simply diverting himself for anhour This is what I must learn the art of diversion He said notone word about Marietta all evening long Tom and I understandthat he is reconstructing his life without her But a daughter issomething different A daughter of nineteen cannot be erased

Once

It was understood that I would do the publicity such as it was for Danielle Westermanrsquos third volume of memoirs Ateighty-five she was too old and too distinguished to handle

a day of interviews in Toronto even though she lives there I asthe translator could easily field questions from the press A verylight schedule was organized by the publisher since Dr Wester-man already possesses a long twilight of faithful readership

In early September I drove into Orangetown down its calmold-fashioned main street and into the countryside again The cityof Toronto monumental and lonely glowed in front of me Itsoutskirts are ragged though its numbered exits pretend at a kindof order Traffic was light I drove slowly by the corner of Bloorand Bathurst for a glimpse of Norah There she was as always onthe northeast corner seated on the ground near the subwayentrance with her bowl and cardboard sign even though it wasnot yet nine orsquoclock Had she had breakfast Did she have nits inher hair What is she thinking or is her mind a great blank

I parked the car and walked over to where she was ldquoHellodarling Norahrdquo I said setting down a plastic bag of food breadand cheese fruit and raw vegetables And in an envelope arecent photo of Pet with his straight proud muzzle and furry ruff Norah of all the girls doted on Pet and now I was bribingher shamelessly It was a chilly day and it iced my heart to see herunreadable immobility but I was glad to notice that she waswearing warm mittens Glad Me glad The least little signal willgladden my heart these days Today she looked not quite at me

and nodded Another wave of gladness struck I allow myself onlyone such glimpse a week since shersquos made it clear she doesnrsquotwant to see us

It is like watching her through plate glass All week I will drawexpensively on this brief moment of voyeurism at the same timetrying to blot it out with images of Norah on her bicycle Norahsitting at the kitchen table studying for exams Norah reaching forher green raincoat Norah trying on new school shoes Norahsleeping safe

After a while I went to have my eyebrows arched and tinted atSylviarsquos which calls itself a ldquospirit spardquo meaning it seemed thatwhile Madame Sylvia swiped at my brow with a little paintbrushshe murmured and sang into my ear It was now nine-thirty in themorning and I lay on a narrow table in a tiny white room ldquoYouare at the age when you must protect the fine skin around theeyesrdquo she warned ldquoA womanrsquos face falls it is inevitable but the eyes go on and on giving light You will be eighty ninety and your eyes will still charmrdquo

She knows nothing about my life Irsquove never been here beforeand have never thought of having an eyebrow tint I have per-fectly decent eyebrows nicely shaped and regular but I did lookinto a mirror a week or so ago and noticed that the small hairs atthe outside corners were coming in grey There was a little greyat the temples too but nothing to be surprised about not for a woman whose forty-fourth birthday is approaching not for awoman who has never even thought of herself as possessingldquotemplesrdquo such august body parts

ldquoAre you by any chance a Geminirdquo Madame Sylvia askedintimately Swish went the paintbrush She stopped peered at meclosely then swished again a deft little stroke

ldquoNordquo I said ashamed to acknowledge the astrological universeldquoMy birthdayrsquos in September Next week in factrdquo

ldquoI can tell yesrdquo She had a touch of the harridan in her voice ldquoIcan always tellrdquo

What could she tell

ldquoTwenty-four dollarsrdquo she said ldquoLet me give you my card Fornext timerdquo

Presumptuous but yes there will be a next time I calculatedquickly My face would make it through the next few weeks butby November I will probably be back in Madame Sylviarsquos hushedwhite cell I may well become a regular Eyebrows lashes fullfacials neck massage I have led a reflective life a life of thoughta writer a translator but all this is about to change The delicateskin around my eyes was demanding attention Has Tom noticedI donrsquot think so Christine and Natalie donrsquot really look at me inthat way they just see this watercolour blob that means motherwhich is rather how I see myself

ldquoA womanrsquos charm is with her for liferdquo Madame Sylvia saidldquobut you must pay attentionrdquo

No I thought an hour later no Irsquom sorry but I have no plansto be charming on a regular basis Anyone can be charming Itrsquosreally a cheap trick mere charm so astonishingly easy to per-form screwing up your face into sunbeams and spewing themforth The calculated lift of the wrist chin up thumb and fore-finger brought together to form a little feminine loop that trick of pretending to sit on a little glass chair that concentration ofradiance lrsquoesprit little sprinkles of it everywhere misting the airlike bargain scent Ingenue spritz Emma Allen calls it

I know that cheapness so intimatelymdashthe grainy sugary per-severing way charm enters a fresh mouth and rubs against themolars sticking there in soft wads promoting mouth ulcers or whatever it is thatrsquos the metaphoric projection of self-hatredOf all the social virtues charm is in the end the most unreward-ing And compared to goodness real goodness or the unmovableself-abnegation my daughter Norah practises charm is nothingbut crumpled tissue paper soiled from previous use

Sincerity No Sincerityrsquos over Sincerityrsquos lost whatever edge ithad Itrsquos fine fine matter but wasted on the press who all grew uppost-Holocaust devoted readers of Mad Magazine and wouldnrsquotrecognize a bar of willed innocence if it came wrapped in foil

Nor will I ever again be pointlessly endlessly polite I got overthat two years ago when I did my author tour It seems Irsquove lostlike a stream of pebbles leaving my hand the kind of endurancethat professional courtesy demands suck in your breath let yourface go numb listen to the interviewerrsquos questions registeroptimally let your breath out evaluate the feelings of those whodepend on you (agent publisher editor that nice Sheila personwho does publicity and of course Danielle Westerman) andperform again and again like the tuned-up athlete you are the fitphysical specimen that each new book demands then move on tothe next task

Mrs Winters who has just translated The Middle Years the un-

folding memoir of Holocaust survivor Danielle Westerman is a woman

of grace and charm whose thick brown hair is arranged into a bun

Putting down her coffee cup she shrugs off her beige raincoat and

Irsquove entered early middle age now and I have a nineteen-year-old daughter who lives on the street I no longer require a reputa-tion for charm those saving lilac shadows and contours Maybe Inever did I wonrsquotmdashnot nowmdashtuck the ends of my sentences intolittle licks of favour and the next time a journalist pins me downwith a personal question trolling for informationmdashTell me MrsWinters how are you able to balance your family and profes-sional lifemdashI will stare back hard with my newly practised stareHow do I balance my life Tinted eyebrows up Just what kind ofinquiry is this Wouldnrsquot you prefer Mrs Winters to pursue youown writing rather than translate Dr Westermanrsquos work Pleasenot that again How did you and your husband meet What doeshe think of your writing

I will in the future address my interviewer directly and saywith firmness ldquoThis interview is overrdquo There is nothing to loseRude and difficult people are more likely to be taken seriouslyCurmudgeons are positively adored Irsquove noticed this Even thefascinatingly unknowable earn respect

And when I read in the paper tomorrow that ldquoMrs Winterslooked all of her forty-three yearsrdquo and that ldquoMrs Winters with

her familiar overbite was reluctant to talk about her work sched-ulerdquo I will want to phone the editor and complain bitterly Thisfrom the pen of a small unattractive man almost entirely lip-less beneath a bony domineering nose sweating with minorambition head tilted like something carved out of yellow wax

He interviewed me in a cappuccino bar in mid-Toronto Achilly stooped round-headed man in his thirties or fortiesmdashitwas hard to tellmdashslow to smile pathetically in need of humanattention thinking his superior thoughts Fluff on his shouldersbegged to be picked off I on the other hand was wearing a softjade jacket of cashmere lined with silk which represented a raresplurge on my part but I could be sure this man would over-look this garment with its crystal buttons and mandarin collar andconcentrate instead on my drab raincoat beige and not quitepristine at the cuffs In print he will be certain to refer to mychignon as a bun Itrsquos taken me years to learn to do a glossy littlechignonmdashI can get my hair brushed back and securely pinned up each morning in a mere two and a half minutes and I considermy coiffure one of my major life accomplishments I really meanthis

Sheila from publicity had filled me in before the interview andI felt the information packet hovering what to do with it Thisyoungyoungish man was the newly appointed books columnistat Booktimes He was well known for holding pious opinions aboutthe literature of the Great North about his own role as advocateof a diverse new outpouring of Canadian voices the post-colonialcry of blaming anguish The stream of current fiction aboutmiddle-class people living in cities was diluting the authenticnational voice that rose from the landscape itself andmdash

Oh shut up shut upCappuccino foam dotted the corners of his undistinguished

mouth And just one more question Mrs WintersmdashOf course he didnrsquot call me Reta even though there might be

only a year or two between us The ldquoMrsrdquo gave him power overme that vexing r rucking things up in the middle and making one

think of such distractions as clotheslines and baking tins He wasthe barking terrier going at Mrs Wintersrsquos ankles shaking out hisfur and asking me to justify myself wanting me to explain thespluttering dying whimpering bonfire of my life which I wouldnot dream of sharing He seemed to forget he was interviewingme about Danielle Westermanrsquos new book

I understand yoursquore working on a second novel said heWell yesTakes nerveUh-huhActuallymdashactually well he had a novel on the go himselfReally What a surpriseAt the end of the hour he did not ask for the bill I asked for the

bill ldquoIrsquoll just put it on my Visardquo I said breaking a tenuous breadthof silence I announced this with all the majesty I could musterover a vinyl table like a grande dame adding twenty years to myage and feeling the vowels shifting in my beautifully mouldedthroat Such dignity I surprised myself with my own resonanceand I may have managed a pained smile displaying no doubtthat famous overbite He turned off the tape recorder at the wordldquoVisardquo

He had two young children at home he said Christ what aresponsibility although he loved the little bastards One of themwas quite quite gifted well they both were in their separateways But the work of raising kids Never enough time to read thebooks he had to review books all over the house with little mark-ers in them books he would never finish So much was expectedand of course like all journalists he was underpaid

Oh shut upThey also expected him to do a feature on the weekendUh-huhAnd last week hersquod actually broken the MacBunna storyReally Macumba MarimbaCongratulations said Mrs Reta Winters from OrangetownThanks

I should be getting on my way I said My parking meter Alunch date A long drive home

I understand you and your family live in a lovely old housenear Orangetown

And then slyly I understand one of your daughters now livesin Toronto and

Irsquove been here before There is something about having anestablished family a long-lasting spousal arrangement threedaughters in their teens a house in the country a suggestion ofimpermeability that draws the curiosity of others so that theycan as Tom says probe with probity

But no this man across the table will not be feeding on myflesh nor will his colleaguesmdashthough one can tell that he has nocolleagues there is no possibility of colleagues He has no contextfor friends or co-workers though there are the kids and therersquosthe wife hersquos referred to her three times now Nicola She has herprofessional life too he tells me as though the matter were indispute

I canrsquot resist ldquoDoes Nicolamdashis she a journalist toordquoldquoJournalistrdquoldquoLike you I meanrdquoHis hand jumps and for a moment I think hersquos going to turn

the tape recorder on again But no hersquos reaching into his pocketand now hersquos releasing two coins onto the table The tip They liethere moist from his hand Two dimes I focus on them withwhat I hope is a cool censorious gaze

But hersquos not looking at me Hersquos looking across the roomwhere a silver-haired man is seating himself gracefully at a tableldquoIrsquom not sure but I think thatrsquos Gore Vidalrdquo my interviewer whis-pers in a hungry voice ldquoHersquos here for the writersrsquo festival youknowrdquo

I rise and exit as though led by a brass quintetThe charming Mrs Winters slips on her comfortable beige rain-

coat

I would like to thank a number of others who in one way or another encouraged me in the writing of Unless SharonAllan Marjorie Anderson the late Joan Austen-Leigh JoanBarfoot Clare Boylan Marg Edmond Brown Joan ClarkAnne Collins Cynthia Coop Patrick Crowe Maggie DwyerDarlene Hammell Blanche Howard Isabel Huggan CarlLenthe Madeline Li Elinor Lipman Anna and Sylvie MatasMargaret Shaw-Mackinnon Don McCarthy Peter ParkerBella Pomer Christopher Potter Linda Rogers CaroleSabiston Floyd St Clair Eleanor Wachtel Cindi WarnerMindy Werner the John Simon Guggenheim Foundationand as always my family John Audrey Anne CatherineMeg Sara and especially Don

About the Author

Carol Shields is the author of eight novels and two collections of short stories

The Stone Diaries won the Pulitzer Prize and was shortlisted for the Booker

Prize Larryrsquos Party won the Orange Prize Born and brought up in Chicago

Carol Shields has lived in Canada since 1957

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 1

Others

Intersect

Coming to Canada

Larryrsquos Party

The Stone Diaries

The Republic of Love

A Celibate Season (with Blanche Howard)Swann

A Fairly Conventional Woman

Happenstance

The Box Garden

Small Ceremonies

Various Miracles

The Orange Fish

Dressing Up for the Carnival

Departures and Arrivals

Thirteen Hands

Fashion Power Guilt and the Charity of Families

(with Catherine Shields)Anniversary (with David Williamson)

Susanna Moodie Voice and Vision

Jane Austen

Dropped Threads What We Arenrsquot Told

(Edited with Marjorie Anderson)

Credits

Design by Julian HumphriesPhotographer by Michael CrouserDesigned by Dinah Drazin

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 2

If you enjoyed reading this excerpt please visitHarperCollins Publishers to find out where to buy thisand other PerfectBound e-books

Australiahttpwwwharpercollinscomau

Canadahttpwwwharpercanadacom

New Zealandhttpwwwharpercollinsconz

United Kingdomhttpwwwfireandwatercom

United Stateshttpwwwperfectboundcom

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 3

The Pajama Game Words and Music by Richard Adler Music

and Jerry Ross copy Richard Adler Music and J amp J Ross Co USA

WarnerChappell Music Ltd London w6 8bs

Reproduced by permission of International Music Publications

Ltd All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction Names characters places and incidents

either are the products of the authorrsquos imagination or are used

fictitiously Any resemblance to actual events locales organiza-

tions or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and

beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher

UNLESS Copyright copy 2002 by Carol Shields All rights

reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright

Conventions By payment of the required fees you have been

granted the non-exclusive non-transferable right to access and

read the text of this e-book on-screen No part of this text may

be reproduced transmitted down-loaded decompiled reverse

engineered or stored in or introduced into any information stor-

age and retrieval system in any form or by any means whether

electronic or mechanical now known or hereinafter invented

without the express written permission of PerfectBoundtrade

PerfectBound trade and the PerfectBoundtrade logo are trademarks

of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

Adobe Acrobat E-Book Reader edition v 1 May 2002

ISBN 0-06-052370-0

Print edition first published in 2002

by Forth Estate a division of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 4

Contents

EPIGRAPH

HerersquosNearlyOnceWhereinNeverthelessSoOtherwiseInsteadThusYetInsofar AsThereofEveryRegardingHence

Unless_TOC_X 43002 1042 AM Page 2

NextNotwithstandingThereuponDespiteThroughoutFollowingHardlySinceOnlyUnlessTowardWhateverAnyWhetherEverWhenceForthwithAsBeginning WithAlreadyHithertoNot Yet

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

THE WORK OF CAROL SHIELDS

CREDITS

ABOUT THE PUBLISHER

COVER IMAGE

COPYRIGHT

Unless_TOC_X 43002 1042 AM Page 3

Herersquos

It happens that I am going through a period of great unhappi-ness and loss just now All my life Irsquove heard people speak of finding themselves in acute pain bankrupt in spirit and

body but Irsquove never understood what they meant To lose Tohave lost I believed these visitations of darkness lasted only a fewminutes or hours and that these saddened people in betweenbouts were occupied as we all were with the useful monotonyof happiness But happiness is not what I thought Happiness isthe lucky pane of glass you carry in your head It takes all yourcunning just to hang on to it and once itrsquos smashed you have tomove into a different sort of life

In my new lifemdashthe summer of the year mdashI am attemptingto ldquocount my blessingsrdquo Everyone I know advises me to take upthis repellent strategy as though they really believe a dramatic losscan be replaced by the renewed appreciation of all one has beengiven I have a husband Tom who loves me and is faithful to meand is very decent looking as well tallish thin and losing his hairnicely We live in a house with a paid-up mortgage and our houseis set in the prosperous rolling hills of Ontario only an hourrsquos drivenorth of Toronto Two of our three daughters Natalie fifteenand Christine sixteen live at home They are intelligent and livelyand attractive and loving though they too have shared in the lossas has Tom

And I have my writingldquoYou have your writingrdquo friends say A murmuring chorus But

you have your writing Reta No one is crude enough to suggest that

my sorrow will eventually become material for my writing butprobably they think it

And itrsquos true There is a curious and faintly distasteful comfortat the age of forty-three forty-four in September in contemplat-ing what I have managed to write and publish during thoseimpossibly childish and sunlit days before I understood the mean-ing of grief ldquoMy Writingrdquo this is a very small poultice to hold upagainst my damaged self but better I have been persuaded thanno comfort at all

Itrsquos June the first year of the new century and herersquos what Irsquove written so far in my life Irsquom not including my old schoolgirlsonnets from the seventiesmdashSatin-slippered April you glidethrough time And lubricate spring days de dum de dummdashandmy dozen or so fawning book reviews from the early eighties Iam posting this list not on the screen but on my consciousness afar safer computer tool and easier to access

A translation and introduction to Danielle Westermanrsquos bookof poetry Isolation April one month before our daughterNorah was born a home birth naturally a midwife you couldalmost hear the guitars plinking in the background except we did not feast on the placenta as some of our friends were doing at the time My French came from my Queacutebeacutecoise mother and my acquaintance with Danielle from the University of Torontowhere she taught French civilization in my student days She wasa poor teacher hesitant and in awe I think of the tanned healthystudents sitting in her classroom taking notes worshipfully andstretching their small suburban notion of what the word civiliz-

ation might mean She was already a recognized writer of kinetictough-corded prose both beguiling and dangerous Her mannerwas to take the reader by surprise In the middle of a flattenedrambling paragraph deceived by warm stretches of reflectionyou came upon hard cartilage

I am a little uneasy about claiming Isolation as my own writingbut Dr Westerman doing one of her hurrying over-the-headgestures insisted that translation especially of poetry is a creative

act Writing and translating are convivial she said not opposi-tional and not at all hierarchical Of course she would say thatMy introduction to Isolation was certainly creative though since I had no idea what I was talking about

I hauled it out recently and while I read it experienced theBurrowing of the Palpable Worm of Shame as my friend LynnKelly calls it Pretension is what I see now The part about arttransmuting the despair of life to the ldquomerely frangiblerdquo andpoetryrsquos attempt to ldquorepair the gap between ought and naughtrdquomdashwhat on earth did I mean Too much Derrida might be theproblem I was into all that pretty heavily in the early eighties

After that came ldquoThe Brightness of a Starrdquo a short story thatappeared in An Anthology of Young Ontario Voices (Pink Onion Press) Itrsquos hard to believe that I qualified as ldquoa young voicerdquo in but in fact I was only twenty-nine mother of Norah agedfour her sister Christine aged two and about to give birth toNataliemdashin a hospital this time Three daughters and not eventhirty ldquoHow did you find the timerdquo people used to chorus and inthat query I often registered a hint of blame was I neglecting mydarling sprogs for my writing career Well no I never thought interms of career I dabbled in writing It was my macrameacute my knit-ting Not long after however I did start to get serious and joineda local ldquowritersrsquo workshoprdquo for women which met every secondweek for two hours where we drank coffee and had a good timeand deeply appreciated each otherrsquos company and that led to

ldquoIconrdquo a short story rather Jamesian Gwen Reidmanthe only published author in the workshop group was our leaderThe Glenmar Collective (an acronym of our first namesmdashnot veryoriginal) was what we called ourselves One day Gwen said mov-ing a muffin to her mouth that she was touched by the ldquoauster-ityrdquo of my short storymdashwhich was based but only roughly on myresponse to the Russian icon show at the Art Gallery of OntarioMy fictional piece was a case of art ldquoembracingrepudiating artrdquoas Gwen put it and then she reminded us of the famous ldquoOn FirstLooking Into Chapmanrsquos Homerrdquo and the whole aesthetic of art

begetting art art worshipping art which I no longer believe in bythe way Either you do or you donrsquot The seven of us GwenLorna Emma Allen Nan Marcella Annette and I (my name isReta Wintersmdashpronounced Ree-tah) self-published our pieces in avolume titled Incursions and Interruptions throwing in fifty dollarseach for the printing bill The five hundred copies sold quickly inthe local bookstores mostly to our friends and families Publishingwas cheap we discovered What a surprise We called ourselvesthe Stepping Stone Press and in that name we expressed our mildembarrassment at the idea of self-publishing but also the hopethat we would ldquosteprdquo along to authentic publishing in the verynear future Except Gwen of course who was already there AndEmma who was beginning to publish op-ed pieces in the Globe

and Mail

Alive (Random House ) a translation of Pour Vivre vol-ume one of Danielle Westermanrsquos memoirs I may appear to beclaiming translation as an act of originality but as I have alreadysaid it was Danielle in her benign way wrinkling her disorderlyforehead who had urged me to believe that the act of shufflingelegant French into readable and stable English is an aestheticperformance The book was well received by the critics and evensold moderately well a dense but popular book offered withoutshame and nary a footnote The translation itself was slammed inthe Toronto Star (ldquoclumsyrdquo) by one Stanley Harold Howard butDanielle Westerman said never mind the man was un maquereau

which translates crudely as something between a pimp and aprick

I then wrote a commissioned pamphlet for a series put outby a press calling itself Encyclopeacutedie de lrsquoart The press producedtiny hold-in-the-hand booklets each devoted to a single artsubject covering everything from Braque to Calder to Klee toMondrian to Villon The editor in New York operating out of aphone booth it seemed to me and knowing nothing of my igno-rance had stumbled on my short story ldquoIconrdquo and believed me tobe an expert on the subject He asked for three thousand words

for a volume (volumette really) to be called Russian Icons pub-lished finally in It took me a whole year to do what withTom and the three girls and the house and garden and meals andlaundry and too much inwardness They published my ldquotextrdquosuch a cold jellied word along with a series of coloured plates inboth English and French (I did the French as well) and paid mefour hundred dollars I learned all about the schools of Suzdal andVladimir and what went on in Novgorod (a lot) and how imagesof saints made medieval people quake with fear To my knowl-edge the book was never reviewed but I can read it today with-out shame It is almost impossible to be pseudo when writingabout innocent paintings that obey no rules of perspective andthat are done on slabs of ordinary wood

I lost a year after this which I donrsquot understand since allthree girls had started school though Natalie was only in morningkindergarten I think I was too busy thinking about the business ofbeing a writer about being writerly and fretting over whetherTomrsquos ego was threatened and being in Daniellersquos shadow nevermind Derrida and needing my own writing space and turningthirty-five and feeling older than Irsquove ever felt since My agemdashthirty-fivemdashshouted at me all the time standing tall and wide inmy head and blocking access to what my life afforded Thirty-fivenever sat down with its hands folded Thirty-five had no compo-sure It was always humming mean terse tunes on a piece offolded cellophane (ldquoI am composedrdquo said John Quincy Adams onhis deathbed How admirable and enviable and beyond belief Iloved him for this)

This anguish of mine was unnecessary Tomrsquos ego was unchal-lenged by my slender publications He turned out to be one ofthose men we were worried about in the seventies and eightieswho might shrivel in acknowledgment of his own insignificanceOrdinary was what he wanted to be an ordinary man embeddedin a family he loved We put a skylight in the box room bought a used office desk installed a fax and a computer and I sat downon my straight-from-a-catalogue Freedom Chair and translated

Danielle Westermanrsquos immense Les femmes et le pouvoir the Eng-lish version published in volume two of her memoirs InEnglish the title was changed to Women Waiting which onlymakes sense if yoursquove read the book (Women possess power butit is power that has yet to be seized ignited and released and soforth) This time no one grumped about my translation ldquoSpark-ling and full of easerdquo the Globe said and the New York Times wentone better and called it ldquoan achievementrdquo

ldquoYou are my true sisterrdquo said Danielle Westerman at the timeof publication Ma vraie soeur I hugged her back Her craving forphysical touch has not slackened even in her eighties thoughnowadays it is mostly her doctor who touches her or me with myweekly embrace or the manicurist Dr Danielle Westerman isthe only person I know who has her nails done twice a weekTuesday and Saturday ( just a touch-up) beautiful long nail bedsmatching her long quizzing eyes

I was giddy All at once translation offers were arriving in themail but I kept thinking I could maybe write short stories eventhough our Glenmar group was dwindling what with Emmataking a job in Newfoundland Annette getting her divorce andGwen moving to the States The trouble was I hated my shortstories I wanted to write about the overheard and the glimpsedbut this kind of evanescence sent me into whimsy mode andalthough I believed whimsicality to be a strand of the humanpersonality I was embarrassed at what I was pumping into mynew Apple computer sitting there under the clean brightness ofthe skylight Pernicious precious my moments of recognitionAhahmdashand then she realized I was so fetching with my ldquoEllen wassetting the table and she knew tonight would be differentrdquo Alittle bug sat in my ear and buzzed Who cares about Ellen andher woven placemats and her hopes for the future

I certainly didnrsquot careBecause I had three kids everyone said I should be writing

kiddy lit but I couldnrsquot find the voice Kiddy lit screeched in mybrain Talking ducks and chuckling frogs I wanted something

sterner and more contained as a task which is how I came to writeShakespeare and Flowers (San Francisco Cyclone Press ) Thecontract was negotiated before I wrote one word Along came alittle bundle of cash to start me off with the rest promised on pub-lication I thought it was going to be a scholarly endeavour but Iended up producing a wee ldquogiftierdquo book You could send this bookto anyone on your list who was maidenly or semi-academic orwhom you didnrsquot know very well Shakespeare and Flowers wassold in the kind of outlets that stock greeting cards and stuffedbears I simply scanned the canon and picked up references to saythe eglantine (A Midsummer Nightrsquos Dream) or the blackberry(Troilus and Cressida) and then I puffed out a little description of theflower and conferenced on the phone (twice) with the illustratorin Berkeley and threw in lots of Shakespearean quotes A sweetlittle book excellent slick paper US$ At sixty-eight pages it fits in a small mailer Two hundred thousand copies and stillselling though the royalty rate is scandalous Theyrsquod like me to do something on Shakespeare and animals and I just might

Eros Essays by Danielle Westerman translation by RetaWinters hastily translatedmdasheverything was hasty in those dayseverything still ismdashand published in Hugely successful aftera tiny advance We put the dog in a kennel and Tom and I andthe girls took the first translation payment and went to France fora month southern Burgundy a village called La Roche-Vineusewhere Danielle had grown up halfway between Cluny andMacirccon red-tiled roofs set in the midst of rolling vineyards incan-descent air Our rental house was built around a cobbled court-yard full of ancient roses and hydrangeas ldquoHow old is thishouserdquo we asked the neighbours who invited us in for an aperi-tif ldquoVery oldrdquo was all we got The stone walls were two feetthick The three girls took tennis lessons at lrsquoeacutecole drsquoeacuteteacute Tom wenthacking for trilobites happy under the French sun and I sat in awicker chair in the flower-filled courtyard shorts and halter andbare feet a floppy straw hat on my head reading novels day afterday and thinking I want to write a novel About something

happening About characters moving against a ldquothererdquo That waswhat I really wanted to do

Looking back I can scarcely believe in such innocence I didnrsquotthink about our girls growing older and leaving home and fallingaway from us Norah had been a good docile baby and then shebecame a good obedient little girl Now at nineteen shersquos sobrimming with goodness that she sits on a Toronto street cornerwhich has its own textual archaeology though Norah probablydoesnrsquot know about that She sits beneath the lamppost where thepoet Ed Lewinski hanged himself in and where MargheritaTolles burst out of the subway exit into the sunshine of heradopted country and decided to write a great play Norah sitscross-legged with a begging bowl in her lap and asks nothing ofthe world Nine-tenths of what she gathers she distributes at theend of the day to other street people She wears a cardboard signon her chest a single word printed in black markermdash

I donrsquot know what that word really means though words aremy business The Old English word wearth I discovered the otherday on the Internet means outcast the other English word itstwin its cancellation is worthmdashwe know what that means andknow to distrust it It is the word wearth that Norah has swal-lowed This is the place shersquos claimed a whole world constructedon stillness An easy stance says the condemning grievingmother easy to find and maintain given enough practice Asharper focus could be achieved by tossing in an astringent fluid apeppery sauce irony rebellion tattoos and pierced tongue andspiked purple hair but no Norah embodies invisibility and good-ness or at least she is on the pathmdashso she said in our last conver-sation which was eight weeks ago the eleventh of April Shewore torn jeans that day and a rough plaid shawl that was almostcertainly a car blanket Her long pale hair was matted Sherefused to look us in the eye but she did blink in acknowledge-mentmdashIrsquom sure of itmdashwhen I handed her a sack of cheesesandwiches and Tom dropped a roll of twenty-dollar bills in herlap Then she spoke in her own voice but emptied of connection

She could not come home She was on the path to goodness Atthat moment I her mother was more absent from myself thanshe I felt that She was steadfast She could not be diverted Shecould not ldquoberdquo with us

How did this part of the narrative happen We know it didnrsquotrise out of the ordinary plot lines of a life story An intelligent andbeautiful girl from a loving family grows up in OrangetownOntario her motherrsquos a writer her fatherrsquos a doctor and then shegoes off the track Therersquos nothing natural about her efflorescenceof goodness Itrsquos abrupt and brutal Itrsquos killing us What will reallykill us though is the day we donrsquot find her sitting on her chosensquare of pavement

But I didnrsquot know any of this when I sat in that Burgundygarden dreaming about writing a novel I thought I understoodsomething of a novelrsquos architecture the lovely slope of predica-ment the tendrils of surface detail the calculated curving upwardinto inevitability yet allowing spells of incorrigibility and thenthe ending a corruption of cause and effect and the gatheringtogether of all the characters into a framed operatic circle ofconsolation and ecstasy backlit with fibre-optic gold just for amoment on the second-to-last page just for an atomic particle oftime

I had an idea for my novel a seed and nothing more Twoappealing characters had suggested themselves a woman and aman Alicia and Roman who live in Wychwood which is a citythe size of Toronto who clamour and romp and cling to theisland that is their lifersquos predicamentmdashthey long for love butselfishly strive for self-preservation Roman is proud to be cholericin temperament Alicia thinks of herself as being reflective buther job as assistant editor on a fashion magazine keeps her toooccupied to reflect

And I had a title My Thyme Is Up It was a pun of coursefrom an old family joke and I meant to write a jokey novel Alight novel A novel for summertime a book to read while seatedin an Ikea wicker chair with the sun falling on the pages as faintly

and evenly as human breath Naturally the novel would have ahappy ending I never doubted but that I could write this noveland I did in mdashin a swoop alone during three dark wintermonths when the girls were away all day at school

The Middle Years the translation of volume three of Wester-manrsquos memoirs is coming out this fall Volume three exploresWestermanrsquos numerous love affairs with both men and womenand none of this will be shocking or even surprising to her read-ers What is new is the suppleness and strength of her sentencesAlways an artist of concision and selflessness she has arrived inher old age at a gorgeous fluidity and expansion of phrase Mytranslation doesnrsquot begin to express what she has accomplishedThe book is stark itrsquos also sentimental one balances and rescuesthe other strangely enough I can only imagine that those end-less calcium pills Danielle chokes down every morning and the vitamin E and the emu oil capsules have fed directly into hervein of language so that what lands on the page is larger morerapturous more self-forgetful than anything shersquos written beforeand all of it sprouting short swift digressions that pretend to be just careless asides little swoons of surrender to her ownexperience inviting us her readers to believe in the totality ofher abandonment

Either that or shersquos gone senile to good effect a grand loosen-ing of language in her old age The thought has more than onceoccurred to me

Another thought has drifted by silken as a breeze against alattice Therersquos something missing in these memoirs or so I thinkin my solipsistic view Danielle Westerman suffers she feels the pangs of existential loneliness the absence of sexual love thetreason of her own womanrsquos body She has no partner no one forwhom she is the first person in the world order no one to dependon as I do on Tom She does not have a child or any survivingblood connection for that matter and perhaps itrsquos this that makesthe memoirs themselves childlike They go down like good milkfoaming swirling in the glass

I shouldnrsquot mention Book Number Eleven since it is not afait accompli but I will Irsquom going to write a second novel asequel to My Thyme Is Up Today is the day I intend to begin Thefirst sentence is already tapped into my computer ldquoAlicia was notas happy as she deserved to berdquo

I have no idea what will happen in this book It is a mereabstraction at the moment something thatrsquos popped out of theground like the rounded snout of a crocus on a cold lawn Irsquovestumbled up against this idea in my clumsy manner and now the urge to write it wonrsquot go away This will be a book about lostchildren about goodness and going home and being happy andtrying to keep the poison of the printed page in perspective Irsquomdesperate to know how the story will turn out

Nearly

We are more than halfway through the year Toward the beginning of August Tomrsquos old friendColin Glass came to dinner one night driving out

from Toronto Over coffee he attempted to explain the theory ofrelativity to me

I was the one who invited him to launch into the subjectRelativity is a piece of knowledge Irsquove always longed to under-stand a big piece but the explainers tend to go too fast or elsethey skip over a step they assume their audience has alreadyabsorbed Apparently there was once a time when only oneperson in the world understood relativity (Einstein) then twopeople then three or four and now most of the high-school kidswho take physics have at least an inkling or so Irsquom told Howhard can it be And itrsquos passed according to Colin from crazyspeculation to confirmed fact which makes it even more impor-tant to understand Irsquove tried but my grasp feels tenuous So thespeed of light is constant Is that all

Ordinarily I love these long August evenings the splash ofamber light that falls on the white dining-room walls just beforethe separate shades of twilight take over The medallion leavesthat flutter their round ghost shadows All day Irsquod listened to the white-throated sparrows in the woods behind our house their song resembles the Canadian national anthem at least theopening bars Summer was dying but in pieces Wersquod be eatingoutside if it werenrsquot for the wasps Good food the company of agood friend what more could anyone desire But I kept thinking

of Norah sitting on her square of pavement and holding up thepiece of cardboard with the word and then I lost trackof what Colin was saying

E=mc Energy equals mass times the speed of light squaredThe tidiness of the equation raised my immediate suspicion Howcan massmdashthis solid oak dining table for instancemdashhave any con-nection with how fast light travels Theyrsquore two different thingsColin who is a physicist was patient with my objections Hetook the linen napkin from his lap and stretched it taut across thetop of his coffee cup Then he took a cherry from the fruit bowland placed it on the napkin creating a small dimple He tipped thecup slightly so that the cherry rotated around the surface of the napkin He spoke of energy and mass but already I had lost a critical filament of the argument I worried slightly about hiscoffee sloshing up onto the napkin and staining it and thoughthow seldom in the last few years I had bothered with clothnapkins Nobody except maybe Danielle Westerman does realnapkins anymore it was understood that modern professionalwomen had better things to do with their time than launder linen

By now I had forgotten completely what the cherry (more thanfour dollars a pound) represented and what the little dimple wassupposed to be Colin talked on and on and Tom who is a familyphysician and has a broad scientific background seemed to befollowing at least he was nodding his head appropriately Mymother-in-law Lois had politely excused herself and returned toher house next door she would never miss the ten-orsquoclock newsher watching of the ten-orsquoclock news helps the country of Canadato go forward Christine and Natalie had long since drifted fromthe table and I could hear the buzz and burst of TV noises in the den

Pet our golden retriever parked his shaggy self under thetable his whole dog body humming away against my footSometimes in his dreams he groans and sometimes he chortleswith happiness I found myself thinking about Marietta Colinrsquoswife who had packed her bags a few months ago and moved to

Calgary to be with another man She claimed Colin was toowrapped up in his research and teaching to be a true partner Abeautiful woman with a neck like a plant stem she hinted thatthere had been a collapse of passion in their marriage She had left suddenly coldly he had been shocked he had had no idea hetold us in the early days that she had been unhappy all theseyears but he found her diaries in a desk drawer and read themsick with realization that a gulf of misunderstanding separatedthem

Why would a woman leave such personal diaries behind To punish to hurt of course Colin for the most part a decentkind-hearted man used to address her in a dry admonitory wayas though she were a graduate student instead of his wife ldquoDonrsquottell me this is processed cheeserdquo he asked her once when we were having dinner at their house Another time ldquoThis coffee isundrinkablerdquo He loved pleasuremdashhe was that kind of manmdashandtook it for granted and couldnrsquot help his little yelps of outragewhen pleasure failed You could call him an innocent in his expec-tations almost naive on this particular August evening It was asthough he were alone in a vaulted chamber echoing with immen-sities while Tom and I stood attendance just outside the doorcatching the overflow the odd glimpse of his skewed but calmbrilliance Even the little pockets under his eyes were phlegmaticHe was not a shallow person but perhaps he suspected that wewere I had to stop myself interrupting with a joke I often do thisIrsquom afraid ask for an explanation and then drift off into my ownthoughts

How could he now be sitting at our table so calmly toyingwith cherries and coffee cups and rolling the edge of his strawplacemat and pressing this heft of information on us It was closeto midnight he had an hourrsquos drive ahead of him What did thetheory of relativity really matter to his ongoing life Colin withhis small specs and trim moustache was at ease with big ideas likerelativity As a theory relativity worked it held all sorts of impor-tant ldquoconceptsrdquo together with its precision and elegance Think of

glue lavishly applied he said helpfully about relativity think ofthe power of the shrewd guess Such a sweeping perspective hadbeen visionary at the beginning but had been assessed and re-inforced and it was moreover Colin was now insisting usefulIn the face of lifersquos uncertainties relativityrsquos weight could beassumed and then set aside part of the package of consciousness

He finished awkwardly sat back in his chair with his two longarms extended ldquoSordquo Thatrsquos it he seemed to say or thatrsquos asmuch as I can do to simplify and explain so brilliant an idea Heglanced at his watch then sat back again exhausted pleased withhimself He wore a well-pressed cotton shirt with blue and yellowstripes neatly tucked into his black jeans He has no interest in clothes This shirt must go back to his married days chosen for him ironed for him by Marietta herself and put on a hangerperhaps a summer ago

The theory of relativity would not bring Colinrsquos wife hurryingback to the old stone house on Oriole Parkway It would notbring my daughter Norah home from the corner of Bathurst andBloor or the Promise Hostel where she beds at night Tom and I followed her one day we had to know how she managedwhether she was safe The weather would be turning cold soonHow does she bear it Cold concrete Dirt Uncombed hair

ldquoWould you sayrdquo I asked ColinmdashI had not spoken for severalminutesmdashldquothat the theory of relativity has reduced the weight ofgoodness and depravity in the worldrdquo

He stared at me ldquoRelativity has no moral position None what-everrdquo (ldquoThis coffee is undrinkablerdquo)

I looked to Tom for support but he was gazing with his mildeyes at the ceiling smiling I knew that smile

ldquoBut isnrsquot it possiblerdquo I said to Colin ldquoto think that goodnessor virtue if you like could be a wave or particle of energyrdquo

ldquoNordquo he said ldquoNo it is not possiblerdquoI made an abrupt move to clear the table I was suddenly

exhaustedStill I am thankful for the friendship and intellectual ardour of

such an unpretentious man as Colin Glass who despite his suffer-ing and shame really wanted me to understand a key concept ofthe twentieth century Or was he simply diverting himself for anhour This is what I must learn the art of diversion He said notone word about Marietta all evening long Tom and I understandthat he is reconstructing his life without her But a daughter issomething different A daughter of nineteen cannot be erased

Once

It was understood that I would do the publicity such as it was for Danielle Westermanrsquos third volume of memoirs Ateighty-five she was too old and too distinguished to handle

a day of interviews in Toronto even though she lives there I asthe translator could easily field questions from the press A verylight schedule was organized by the publisher since Dr Wester-man already possesses a long twilight of faithful readership

In early September I drove into Orangetown down its calmold-fashioned main street and into the countryside again The cityof Toronto monumental and lonely glowed in front of me Itsoutskirts are ragged though its numbered exits pretend at a kindof order Traffic was light I drove slowly by the corner of Bloorand Bathurst for a glimpse of Norah There she was as always onthe northeast corner seated on the ground near the subwayentrance with her bowl and cardboard sign even though it wasnot yet nine orsquoclock Had she had breakfast Did she have nits inher hair What is she thinking or is her mind a great blank

I parked the car and walked over to where she was ldquoHellodarling Norahrdquo I said setting down a plastic bag of food breadand cheese fruit and raw vegetables And in an envelope arecent photo of Pet with his straight proud muzzle and furry ruff Norah of all the girls doted on Pet and now I was bribingher shamelessly It was a chilly day and it iced my heart to see herunreadable immobility but I was glad to notice that she waswearing warm mittens Glad Me glad The least little signal willgladden my heart these days Today she looked not quite at me

and nodded Another wave of gladness struck I allow myself onlyone such glimpse a week since shersquos made it clear she doesnrsquotwant to see us

It is like watching her through plate glass All week I will drawexpensively on this brief moment of voyeurism at the same timetrying to blot it out with images of Norah on her bicycle Norahsitting at the kitchen table studying for exams Norah reaching forher green raincoat Norah trying on new school shoes Norahsleeping safe

After a while I went to have my eyebrows arched and tinted atSylviarsquos which calls itself a ldquospirit spardquo meaning it seemed thatwhile Madame Sylvia swiped at my brow with a little paintbrushshe murmured and sang into my ear It was now nine-thirty in themorning and I lay on a narrow table in a tiny white room ldquoYouare at the age when you must protect the fine skin around theeyesrdquo she warned ldquoA womanrsquos face falls it is inevitable but the eyes go on and on giving light You will be eighty ninety and your eyes will still charmrdquo

She knows nothing about my life Irsquove never been here beforeand have never thought of having an eyebrow tint I have per-fectly decent eyebrows nicely shaped and regular but I did lookinto a mirror a week or so ago and noticed that the small hairs atthe outside corners were coming in grey There was a little greyat the temples too but nothing to be surprised about not for a woman whose forty-fourth birthday is approaching not for awoman who has never even thought of herself as possessingldquotemplesrdquo such august body parts

ldquoAre you by any chance a Geminirdquo Madame Sylvia askedintimately Swish went the paintbrush She stopped peered at meclosely then swished again a deft little stroke

ldquoNordquo I said ashamed to acknowledge the astrological universeldquoMy birthdayrsquos in September Next week in factrdquo

ldquoI can tell yesrdquo She had a touch of the harridan in her voice ldquoIcan always tellrdquo

What could she tell

ldquoTwenty-four dollarsrdquo she said ldquoLet me give you my card Fornext timerdquo

Presumptuous but yes there will be a next time I calculatedquickly My face would make it through the next few weeks butby November I will probably be back in Madame Sylviarsquos hushedwhite cell I may well become a regular Eyebrows lashes fullfacials neck massage I have led a reflective life a life of thoughta writer a translator but all this is about to change The delicateskin around my eyes was demanding attention Has Tom noticedI donrsquot think so Christine and Natalie donrsquot really look at me inthat way they just see this watercolour blob that means motherwhich is rather how I see myself

ldquoA womanrsquos charm is with her for liferdquo Madame Sylvia saidldquobut you must pay attentionrdquo

No I thought an hour later no Irsquom sorry but I have no plansto be charming on a regular basis Anyone can be charming Itrsquosreally a cheap trick mere charm so astonishingly easy to per-form screwing up your face into sunbeams and spewing themforth The calculated lift of the wrist chin up thumb and fore-finger brought together to form a little feminine loop that trick of pretending to sit on a little glass chair that concentration ofradiance lrsquoesprit little sprinkles of it everywhere misting the airlike bargain scent Ingenue spritz Emma Allen calls it

I know that cheapness so intimatelymdashthe grainy sugary per-severing way charm enters a fresh mouth and rubs against themolars sticking there in soft wads promoting mouth ulcers or whatever it is thatrsquos the metaphoric projection of self-hatredOf all the social virtues charm is in the end the most unreward-ing And compared to goodness real goodness or the unmovableself-abnegation my daughter Norah practises charm is nothingbut crumpled tissue paper soiled from previous use

Sincerity No Sincerityrsquos over Sincerityrsquos lost whatever edge ithad Itrsquos fine fine matter but wasted on the press who all grew uppost-Holocaust devoted readers of Mad Magazine and wouldnrsquotrecognize a bar of willed innocence if it came wrapped in foil

Nor will I ever again be pointlessly endlessly polite I got overthat two years ago when I did my author tour It seems Irsquove lostlike a stream of pebbles leaving my hand the kind of endurancethat professional courtesy demands suck in your breath let yourface go numb listen to the interviewerrsquos questions registeroptimally let your breath out evaluate the feelings of those whodepend on you (agent publisher editor that nice Sheila personwho does publicity and of course Danielle Westerman) andperform again and again like the tuned-up athlete you are the fitphysical specimen that each new book demands then move on tothe next task

Mrs Winters who has just translated The Middle Years the un-

folding memoir of Holocaust survivor Danielle Westerman is a woman

of grace and charm whose thick brown hair is arranged into a bun

Putting down her coffee cup she shrugs off her beige raincoat and

Irsquove entered early middle age now and I have a nineteen-year-old daughter who lives on the street I no longer require a reputa-tion for charm those saving lilac shadows and contours Maybe Inever did I wonrsquotmdashnot nowmdashtuck the ends of my sentences intolittle licks of favour and the next time a journalist pins me downwith a personal question trolling for informationmdashTell me MrsWinters how are you able to balance your family and profes-sional lifemdashI will stare back hard with my newly practised stareHow do I balance my life Tinted eyebrows up Just what kind ofinquiry is this Wouldnrsquot you prefer Mrs Winters to pursue youown writing rather than translate Dr Westermanrsquos work Pleasenot that again How did you and your husband meet What doeshe think of your writing

I will in the future address my interviewer directly and saywith firmness ldquoThis interview is overrdquo There is nothing to loseRude and difficult people are more likely to be taken seriouslyCurmudgeons are positively adored Irsquove noticed this Even thefascinatingly unknowable earn respect

And when I read in the paper tomorrow that ldquoMrs Winterslooked all of her forty-three yearsrdquo and that ldquoMrs Winters with

her familiar overbite was reluctant to talk about her work sched-ulerdquo I will want to phone the editor and complain bitterly Thisfrom the pen of a small unattractive man almost entirely lip-less beneath a bony domineering nose sweating with minorambition head tilted like something carved out of yellow wax

He interviewed me in a cappuccino bar in mid-Toronto Achilly stooped round-headed man in his thirties or fortiesmdashitwas hard to tellmdashslow to smile pathetically in need of humanattention thinking his superior thoughts Fluff on his shouldersbegged to be picked off I on the other hand was wearing a softjade jacket of cashmere lined with silk which represented a raresplurge on my part but I could be sure this man would over-look this garment with its crystal buttons and mandarin collar andconcentrate instead on my drab raincoat beige and not quitepristine at the cuffs In print he will be certain to refer to mychignon as a bun Itrsquos taken me years to learn to do a glossy littlechignonmdashI can get my hair brushed back and securely pinned up each morning in a mere two and a half minutes and I considermy coiffure one of my major life accomplishments I really meanthis

Sheila from publicity had filled me in before the interview andI felt the information packet hovering what to do with it Thisyoungyoungish man was the newly appointed books columnistat Booktimes He was well known for holding pious opinions aboutthe literature of the Great North about his own role as advocateof a diverse new outpouring of Canadian voices the post-colonialcry of blaming anguish The stream of current fiction aboutmiddle-class people living in cities was diluting the authenticnational voice that rose from the landscape itself andmdash

Oh shut up shut upCappuccino foam dotted the corners of his undistinguished

mouth And just one more question Mrs WintersmdashOf course he didnrsquot call me Reta even though there might be

only a year or two between us The ldquoMrsrdquo gave him power overme that vexing r rucking things up in the middle and making one

think of such distractions as clotheslines and baking tins He wasthe barking terrier going at Mrs Wintersrsquos ankles shaking out hisfur and asking me to justify myself wanting me to explain thespluttering dying whimpering bonfire of my life which I wouldnot dream of sharing He seemed to forget he was interviewingme about Danielle Westermanrsquos new book

I understand yoursquore working on a second novel said heWell yesTakes nerveUh-huhActuallymdashactually well he had a novel on the go himselfReally What a surpriseAt the end of the hour he did not ask for the bill I asked for the

bill ldquoIrsquoll just put it on my Visardquo I said breaking a tenuous breadthof silence I announced this with all the majesty I could musterover a vinyl table like a grande dame adding twenty years to myage and feeling the vowels shifting in my beautifully mouldedthroat Such dignity I surprised myself with my own resonanceand I may have managed a pained smile displaying no doubtthat famous overbite He turned off the tape recorder at the wordldquoVisardquo

He had two young children at home he said Christ what aresponsibility although he loved the little bastards One of themwas quite quite gifted well they both were in their separateways But the work of raising kids Never enough time to read thebooks he had to review books all over the house with little mark-ers in them books he would never finish So much was expectedand of course like all journalists he was underpaid

Oh shut upThey also expected him to do a feature on the weekendUh-huhAnd last week hersquod actually broken the MacBunna storyReally Macumba MarimbaCongratulations said Mrs Reta Winters from OrangetownThanks

I should be getting on my way I said My parking meter Alunch date A long drive home

I understand you and your family live in a lovely old housenear Orangetown

And then slyly I understand one of your daughters now livesin Toronto and

Irsquove been here before There is something about having anestablished family a long-lasting spousal arrangement threedaughters in their teens a house in the country a suggestion ofimpermeability that draws the curiosity of others so that theycan as Tom says probe with probity

But no this man across the table will not be feeding on myflesh nor will his colleaguesmdashthough one can tell that he has nocolleagues there is no possibility of colleagues He has no contextfor friends or co-workers though there are the kids and therersquosthe wife hersquos referred to her three times now Nicola She has herprofessional life too he tells me as though the matter were indispute

I canrsquot resist ldquoDoes Nicolamdashis she a journalist toordquoldquoJournalistrdquoldquoLike you I meanrdquoHis hand jumps and for a moment I think hersquos going to turn

the tape recorder on again But no hersquos reaching into his pocketand now hersquos releasing two coins onto the table The tip They liethere moist from his hand Two dimes I focus on them withwhat I hope is a cool censorious gaze

But hersquos not looking at me Hersquos looking across the roomwhere a silver-haired man is seating himself gracefully at a tableldquoIrsquom not sure but I think thatrsquos Gore Vidalrdquo my interviewer whis-pers in a hungry voice ldquoHersquos here for the writersrsquo festival youknowrdquo

I rise and exit as though led by a brass quintetThe charming Mrs Winters slips on her comfortable beige rain-

coat

I would like to thank a number of others who in one way or another encouraged me in the writing of Unless SharonAllan Marjorie Anderson the late Joan Austen-Leigh JoanBarfoot Clare Boylan Marg Edmond Brown Joan ClarkAnne Collins Cynthia Coop Patrick Crowe Maggie DwyerDarlene Hammell Blanche Howard Isabel Huggan CarlLenthe Madeline Li Elinor Lipman Anna and Sylvie MatasMargaret Shaw-Mackinnon Don McCarthy Peter ParkerBella Pomer Christopher Potter Linda Rogers CaroleSabiston Floyd St Clair Eleanor Wachtel Cindi WarnerMindy Werner the John Simon Guggenheim Foundationand as always my family John Audrey Anne CatherineMeg Sara and especially Don

About the Author

Carol Shields is the author of eight novels and two collections of short stories

The Stone Diaries won the Pulitzer Prize and was shortlisted for the Booker

Prize Larryrsquos Party won the Orange Prize Born and brought up in Chicago

Carol Shields has lived in Canada since 1957

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 1

Others

Intersect

Coming to Canada

Larryrsquos Party

The Stone Diaries

The Republic of Love

A Celibate Season (with Blanche Howard)Swann

A Fairly Conventional Woman

Happenstance

The Box Garden

Small Ceremonies

Various Miracles

The Orange Fish

Dressing Up for the Carnival

Departures and Arrivals

Thirteen Hands

Fashion Power Guilt and the Charity of Families

(with Catherine Shields)Anniversary (with David Williamson)

Susanna Moodie Voice and Vision

Jane Austen

Dropped Threads What We Arenrsquot Told

(Edited with Marjorie Anderson)

Credits

Design by Julian HumphriesPhotographer by Michael CrouserDesigned by Dinah Drazin

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 2

If you enjoyed reading this excerpt please visitHarperCollins Publishers to find out where to buy thisand other PerfectBound e-books

Australiahttpwwwharpercollinscomau

Canadahttpwwwharpercanadacom

New Zealandhttpwwwharpercollinsconz

United Kingdomhttpwwwfireandwatercom

United Stateshttpwwwperfectboundcom

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 3

The Pajama Game Words and Music by Richard Adler Music

and Jerry Ross copy Richard Adler Music and J amp J Ross Co USA

WarnerChappell Music Ltd London w6 8bs

Reproduced by permission of International Music Publications

Ltd All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction Names characters places and incidents

either are the products of the authorrsquos imagination or are used

fictitiously Any resemblance to actual events locales organiza-

tions or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and

beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher

UNLESS Copyright copy 2002 by Carol Shields All rights

reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright

Conventions By payment of the required fees you have been

granted the non-exclusive non-transferable right to access and

read the text of this e-book on-screen No part of this text may

be reproduced transmitted down-loaded decompiled reverse

engineered or stored in or introduced into any information stor-

age and retrieval system in any form or by any means whether

electronic or mechanical now known or hereinafter invented

without the express written permission of PerfectBoundtrade

PerfectBound trade and the PerfectBoundtrade logo are trademarks

of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

Adobe Acrobat E-Book Reader edition v 1 May 2002

ISBN 0-06-052370-0

Print edition first published in 2002

by Forth Estate a division of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 4

NextNotwithstandingThereuponDespiteThroughoutFollowingHardlySinceOnlyUnlessTowardWhateverAnyWhetherEverWhenceForthwithAsBeginning WithAlreadyHithertoNot Yet

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

THE WORK OF CAROL SHIELDS

CREDITS

ABOUT THE PUBLISHER

COVER IMAGE

COPYRIGHT

Unless_TOC_X 43002 1042 AM Page 3

Herersquos

It happens that I am going through a period of great unhappi-ness and loss just now All my life Irsquove heard people speak of finding themselves in acute pain bankrupt in spirit and

body but Irsquove never understood what they meant To lose Tohave lost I believed these visitations of darkness lasted only a fewminutes or hours and that these saddened people in betweenbouts were occupied as we all were with the useful monotonyof happiness But happiness is not what I thought Happiness isthe lucky pane of glass you carry in your head It takes all yourcunning just to hang on to it and once itrsquos smashed you have tomove into a different sort of life

In my new lifemdashthe summer of the year mdashI am attemptingto ldquocount my blessingsrdquo Everyone I know advises me to take upthis repellent strategy as though they really believe a dramatic losscan be replaced by the renewed appreciation of all one has beengiven I have a husband Tom who loves me and is faithful to meand is very decent looking as well tallish thin and losing his hairnicely We live in a house with a paid-up mortgage and our houseis set in the prosperous rolling hills of Ontario only an hourrsquos drivenorth of Toronto Two of our three daughters Natalie fifteenand Christine sixteen live at home They are intelligent and livelyand attractive and loving though they too have shared in the lossas has Tom

And I have my writingldquoYou have your writingrdquo friends say A murmuring chorus But

you have your writing Reta No one is crude enough to suggest that

my sorrow will eventually become material for my writing butprobably they think it

And itrsquos true There is a curious and faintly distasteful comfortat the age of forty-three forty-four in September in contemplat-ing what I have managed to write and publish during thoseimpossibly childish and sunlit days before I understood the mean-ing of grief ldquoMy Writingrdquo this is a very small poultice to hold upagainst my damaged self but better I have been persuaded thanno comfort at all

Itrsquos June the first year of the new century and herersquos what Irsquove written so far in my life Irsquom not including my old schoolgirlsonnets from the seventiesmdashSatin-slippered April you glidethrough time And lubricate spring days de dum de dummdashandmy dozen or so fawning book reviews from the early eighties Iam posting this list not on the screen but on my consciousness afar safer computer tool and easier to access

A translation and introduction to Danielle Westermanrsquos bookof poetry Isolation April one month before our daughterNorah was born a home birth naturally a midwife you couldalmost hear the guitars plinking in the background except we did not feast on the placenta as some of our friends were doing at the time My French came from my Queacutebeacutecoise mother and my acquaintance with Danielle from the University of Torontowhere she taught French civilization in my student days She wasa poor teacher hesitant and in awe I think of the tanned healthystudents sitting in her classroom taking notes worshipfully andstretching their small suburban notion of what the word civiliz-

ation might mean She was already a recognized writer of kinetictough-corded prose both beguiling and dangerous Her mannerwas to take the reader by surprise In the middle of a flattenedrambling paragraph deceived by warm stretches of reflectionyou came upon hard cartilage

I am a little uneasy about claiming Isolation as my own writingbut Dr Westerman doing one of her hurrying over-the-headgestures insisted that translation especially of poetry is a creative

act Writing and translating are convivial she said not opposi-tional and not at all hierarchical Of course she would say thatMy introduction to Isolation was certainly creative though since I had no idea what I was talking about

I hauled it out recently and while I read it experienced theBurrowing of the Palpable Worm of Shame as my friend LynnKelly calls it Pretension is what I see now The part about arttransmuting the despair of life to the ldquomerely frangiblerdquo andpoetryrsquos attempt to ldquorepair the gap between ought and naughtrdquomdashwhat on earth did I mean Too much Derrida might be theproblem I was into all that pretty heavily in the early eighties

After that came ldquoThe Brightness of a Starrdquo a short story thatappeared in An Anthology of Young Ontario Voices (Pink Onion Press) Itrsquos hard to believe that I qualified as ldquoa young voicerdquo in but in fact I was only twenty-nine mother of Norah agedfour her sister Christine aged two and about to give birth toNataliemdashin a hospital this time Three daughters and not eventhirty ldquoHow did you find the timerdquo people used to chorus and inthat query I often registered a hint of blame was I neglecting mydarling sprogs for my writing career Well no I never thought interms of career I dabbled in writing It was my macrameacute my knit-ting Not long after however I did start to get serious and joineda local ldquowritersrsquo workshoprdquo for women which met every secondweek for two hours where we drank coffee and had a good timeand deeply appreciated each otherrsquos company and that led to

ldquoIconrdquo a short story rather Jamesian Gwen Reidmanthe only published author in the workshop group was our leaderThe Glenmar Collective (an acronym of our first namesmdashnot veryoriginal) was what we called ourselves One day Gwen said mov-ing a muffin to her mouth that she was touched by the ldquoauster-ityrdquo of my short storymdashwhich was based but only roughly on myresponse to the Russian icon show at the Art Gallery of OntarioMy fictional piece was a case of art ldquoembracingrepudiating artrdquoas Gwen put it and then she reminded us of the famous ldquoOn FirstLooking Into Chapmanrsquos Homerrdquo and the whole aesthetic of art

begetting art art worshipping art which I no longer believe in bythe way Either you do or you donrsquot The seven of us GwenLorna Emma Allen Nan Marcella Annette and I (my name isReta Wintersmdashpronounced Ree-tah) self-published our pieces in avolume titled Incursions and Interruptions throwing in fifty dollarseach for the printing bill The five hundred copies sold quickly inthe local bookstores mostly to our friends and families Publishingwas cheap we discovered What a surprise We called ourselvesthe Stepping Stone Press and in that name we expressed our mildembarrassment at the idea of self-publishing but also the hopethat we would ldquosteprdquo along to authentic publishing in the verynear future Except Gwen of course who was already there AndEmma who was beginning to publish op-ed pieces in the Globe

and Mail

Alive (Random House ) a translation of Pour Vivre vol-ume one of Danielle Westermanrsquos memoirs I may appear to beclaiming translation as an act of originality but as I have alreadysaid it was Danielle in her benign way wrinkling her disorderlyforehead who had urged me to believe that the act of shufflingelegant French into readable and stable English is an aestheticperformance The book was well received by the critics and evensold moderately well a dense but popular book offered withoutshame and nary a footnote The translation itself was slammed inthe Toronto Star (ldquoclumsyrdquo) by one Stanley Harold Howard butDanielle Westerman said never mind the man was un maquereau

which translates crudely as something between a pimp and aprick

I then wrote a commissioned pamphlet for a series put outby a press calling itself Encyclopeacutedie de lrsquoart The press producedtiny hold-in-the-hand booklets each devoted to a single artsubject covering everything from Braque to Calder to Klee toMondrian to Villon The editor in New York operating out of aphone booth it seemed to me and knowing nothing of my igno-rance had stumbled on my short story ldquoIconrdquo and believed me tobe an expert on the subject He asked for three thousand words

for a volume (volumette really) to be called Russian Icons pub-lished finally in It took me a whole year to do what withTom and the three girls and the house and garden and meals andlaundry and too much inwardness They published my ldquotextrdquosuch a cold jellied word along with a series of coloured plates inboth English and French (I did the French as well) and paid mefour hundred dollars I learned all about the schools of Suzdal andVladimir and what went on in Novgorod (a lot) and how imagesof saints made medieval people quake with fear To my knowl-edge the book was never reviewed but I can read it today with-out shame It is almost impossible to be pseudo when writingabout innocent paintings that obey no rules of perspective andthat are done on slabs of ordinary wood

I lost a year after this which I donrsquot understand since allthree girls had started school though Natalie was only in morningkindergarten I think I was too busy thinking about the business ofbeing a writer about being writerly and fretting over whetherTomrsquos ego was threatened and being in Daniellersquos shadow nevermind Derrida and needing my own writing space and turningthirty-five and feeling older than Irsquove ever felt since My agemdashthirty-fivemdashshouted at me all the time standing tall and wide inmy head and blocking access to what my life afforded Thirty-fivenever sat down with its hands folded Thirty-five had no compo-sure It was always humming mean terse tunes on a piece offolded cellophane (ldquoI am composedrdquo said John Quincy Adams onhis deathbed How admirable and enviable and beyond belief Iloved him for this)

This anguish of mine was unnecessary Tomrsquos ego was unchal-lenged by my slender publications He turned out to be one ofthose men we were worried about in the seventies and eightieswho might shrivel in acknowledgment of his own insignificanceOrdinary was what he wanted to be an ordinary man embeddedin a family he loved We put a skylight in the box room bought a used office desk installed a fax and a computer and I sat downon my straight-from-a-catalogue Freedom Chair and translated

Danielle Westermanrsquos immense Les femmes et le pouvoir the Eng-lish version published in volume two of her memoirs InEnglish the title was changed to Women Waiting which onlymakes sense if yoursquove read the book (Women possess power butit is power that has yet to be seized ignited and released and soforth) This time no one grumped about my translation ldquoSpark-ling and full of easerdquo the Globe said and the New York Times wentone better and called it ldquoan achievementrdquo

ldquoYou are my true sisterrdquo said Danielle Westerman at the timeof publication Ma vraie soeur I hugged her back Her craving forphysical touch has not slackened even in her eighties thoughnowadays it is mostly her doctor who touches her or me with myweekly embrace or the manicurist Dr Danielle Westerman isthe only person I know who has her nails done twice a weekTuesday and Saturday ( just a touch-up) beautiful long nail bedsmatching her long quizzing eyes

I was giddy All at once translation offers were arriving in themail but I kept thinking I could maybe write short stories eventhough our Glenmar group was dwindling what with Emmataking a job in Newfoundland Annette getting her divorce andGwen moving to the States The trouble was I hated my shortstories I wanted to write about the overheard and the glimpsedbut this kind of evanescence sent me into whimsy mode andalthough I believed whimsicality to be a strand of the humanpersonality I was embarrassed at what I was pumping into mynew Apple computer sitting there under the clean brightness ofthe skylight Pernicious precious my moments of recognitionAhahmdashand then she realized I was so fetching with my ldquoEllen wassetting the table and she knew tonight would be differentrdquo Alittle bug sat in my ear and buzzed Who cares about Ellen andher woven placemats and her hopes for the future

I certainly didnrsquot careBecause I had three kids everyone said I should be writing

kiddy lit but I couldnrsquot find the voice Kiddy lit screeched in mybrain Talking ducks and chuckling frogs I wanted something

sterner and more contained as a task which is how I came to writeShakespeare and Flowers (San Francisco Cyclone Press ) Thecontract was negotiated before I wrote one word Along came alittle bundle of cash to start me off with the rest promised on pub-lication I thought it was going to be a scholarly endeavour but Iended up producing a wee ldquogiftierdquo book You could send this bookto anyone on your list who was maidenly or semi-academic orwhom you didnrsquot know very well Shakespeare and Flowers wassold in the kind of outlets that stock greeting cards and stuffedbears I simply scanned the canon and picked up references to saythe eglantine (A Midsummer Nightrsquos Dream) or the blackberry(Troilus and Cressida) and then I puffed out a little description of theflower and conferenced on the phone (twice) with the illustratorin Berkeley and threw in lots of Shakespearean quotes A sweetlittle book excellent slick paper US$ At sixty-eight pages it fits in a small mailer Two hundred thousand copies and stillselling though the royalty rate is scandalous Theyrsquod like me to do something on Shakespeare and animals and I just might

Eros Essays by Danielle Westerman translation by RetaWinters hastily translatedmdasheverything was hasty in those dayseverything still ismdashand published in Hugely successful aftera tiny advance We put the dog in a kennel and Tom and I andthe girls took the first translation payment and went to France fora month southern Burgundy a village called La Roche-Vineusewhere Danielle had grown up halfway between Cluny andMacirccon red-tiled roofs set in the midst of rolling vineyards incan-descent air Our rental house was built around a cobbled court-yard full of ancient roses and hydrangeas ldquoHow old is thishouserdquo we asked the neighbours who invited us in for an aperi-tif ldquoVery oldrdquo was all we got The stone walls were two feetthick The three girls took tennis lessons at lrsquoeacutecole drsquoeacuteteacute Tom wenthacking for trilobites happy under the French sun and I sat in awicker chair in the flower-filled courtyard shorts and halter andbare feet a floppy straw hat on my head reading novels day afterday and thinking I want to write a novel About something

happening About characters moving against a ldquothererdquo That waswhat I really wanted to do

Looking back I can scarcely believe in such innocence I didnrsquotthink about our girls growing older and leaving home and fallingaway from us Norah had been a good docile baby and then shebecame a good obedient little girl Now at nineteen shersquos sobrimming with goodness that she sits on a Toronto street cornerwhich has its own textual archaeology though Norah probablydoesnrsquot know about that She sits beneath the lamppost where thepoet Ed Lewinski hanged himself in and where MargheritaTolles burst out of the subway exit into the sunshine of heradopted country and decided to write a great play Norah sitscross-legged with a begging bowl in her lap and asks nothing ofthe world Nine-tenths of what she gathers she distributes at theend of the day to other street people She wears a cardboard signon her chest a single word printed in black markermdash

I donrsquot know what that word really means though words aremy business The Old English word wearth I discovered the otherday on the Internet means outcast the other English word itstwin its cancellation is worthmdashwe know what that means andknow to distrust it It is the word wearth that Norah has swal-lowed This is the place shersquos claimed a whole world constructedon stillness An easy stance says the condemning grievingmother easy to find and maintain given enough practice Asharper focus could be achieved by tossing in an astringent fluid apeppery sauce irony rebellion tattoos and pierced tongue andspiked purple hair but no Norah embodies invisibility and good-ness or at least she is on the pathmdashso she said in our last conver-sation which was eight weeks ago the eleventh of April Shewore torn jeans that day and a rough plaid shawl that was almostcertainly a car blanket Her long pale hair was matted Sherefused to look us in the eye but she did blink in acknowledge-mentmdashIrsquom sure of itmdashwhen I handed her a sack of cheesesandwiches and Tom dropped a roll of twenty-dollar bills in herlap Then she spoke in her own voice but emptied of connection

She could not come home She was on the path to goodness Atthat moment I her mother was more absent from myself thanshe I felt that She was steadfast She could not be diverted Shecould not ldquoberdquo with us

How did this part of the narrative happen We know it didnrsquotrise out of the ordinary plot lines of a life story An intelligent andbeautiful girl from a loving family grows up in OrangetownOntario her motherrsquos a writer her fatherrsquos a doctor and then shegoes off the track Therersquos nothing natural about her efflorescenceof goodness Itrsquos abrupt and brutal Itrsquos killing us What will reallykill us though is the day we donrsquot find her sitting on her chosensquare of pavement

But I didnrsquot know any of this when I sat in that Burgundygarden dreaming about writing a novel I thought I understoodsomething of a novelrsquos architecture the lovely slope of predica-ment the tendrils of surface detail the calculated curving upwardinto inevitability yet allowing spells of incorrigibility and thenthe ending a corruption of cause and effect and the gatheringtogether of all the characters into a framed operatic circle ofconsolation and ecstasy backlit with fibre-optic gold just for amoment on the second-to-last page just for an atomic particle oftime

I had an idea for my novel a seed and nothing more Twoappealing characters had suggested themselves a woman and aman Alicia and Roman who live in Wychwood which is a citythe size of Toronto who clamour and romp and cling to theisland that is their lifersquos predicamentmdashthey long for love butselfishly strive for self-preservation Roman is proud to be cholericin temperament Alicia thinks of herself as being reflective buther job as assistant editor on a fashion magazine keeps her toooccupied to reflect

And I had a title My Thyme Is Up It was a pun of coursefrom an old family joke and I meant to write a jokey novel Alight novel A novel for summertime a book to read while seatedin an Ikea wicker chair with the sun falling on the pages as faintly

and evenly as human breath Naturally the novel would have ahappy ending I never doubted but that I could write this noveland I did in mdashin a swoop alone during three dark wintermonths when the girls were away all day at school

The Middle Years the translation of volume three of Wester-manrsquos memoirs is coming out this fall Volume three exploresWestermanrsquos numerous love affairs with both men and womenand none of this will be shocking or even surprising to her read-ers What is new is the suppleness and strength of her sentencesAlways an artist of concision and selflessness she has arrived inher old age at a gorgeous fluidity and expansion of phrase Mytranslation doesnrsquot begin to express what she has accomplishedThe book is stark itrsquos also sentimental one balances and rescuesthe other strangely enough I can only imagine that those end-less calcium pills Danielle chokes down every morning and the vitamin E and the emu oil capsules have fed directly into hervein of language so that what lands on the page is larger morerapturous more self-forgetful than anything shersquos written beforeand all of it sprouting short swift digressions that pretend to be just careless asides little swoons of surrender to her ownexperience inviting us her readers to believe in the totality ofher abandonment

Either that or shersquos gone senile to good effect a grand loosen-ing of language in her old age The thought has more than onceoccurred to me

Another thought has drifted by silken as a breeze against alattice Therersquos something missing in these memoirs or so I thinkin my solipsistic view Danielle Westerman suffers she feels the pangs of existential loneliness the absence of sexual love thetreason of her own womanrsquos body She has no partner no one forwhom she is the first person in the world order no one to dependon as I do on Tom She does not have a child or any survivingblood connection for that matter and perhaps itrsquos this that makesthe memoirs themselves childlike They go down like good milkfoaming swirling in the glass

I shouldnrsquot mention Book Number Eleven since it is not afait accompli but I will Irsquom going to write a second novel asequel to My Thyme Is Up Today is the day I intend to begin Thefirst sentence is already tapped into my computer ldquoAlicia was notas happy as she deserved to berdquo

I have no idea what will happen in this book It is a mereabstraction at the moment something thatrsquos popped out of theground like the rounded snout of a crocus on a cold lawn Irsquovestumbled up against this idea in my clumsy manner and now the urge to write it wonrsquot go away This will be a book about lostchildren about goodness and going home and being happy andtrying to keep the poison of the printed page in perspective Irsquomdesperate to know how the story will turn out

Nearly

We are more than halfway through the year Toward the beginning of August Tomrsquos old friendColin Glass came to dinner one night driving out

from Toronto Over coffee he attempted to explain the theory ofrelativity to me

I was the one who invited him to launch into the subjectRelativity is a piece of knowledge Irsquove always longed to under-stand a big piece but the explainers tend to go too fast or elsethey skip over a step they assume their audience has alreadyabsorbed Apparently there was once a time when only oneperson in the world understood relativity (Einstein) then twopeople then three or four and now most of the high-school kidswho take physics have at least an inkling or so Irsquom told Howhard can it be And itrsquos passed according to Colin from crazyspeculation to confirmed fact which makes it even more impor-tant to understand Irsquove tried but my grasp feels tenuous So thespeed of light is constant Is that all

Ordinarily I love these long August evenings the splash ofamber light that falls on the white dining-room walls just beforethe separate shades of twilight take over The medallion leavesthat flutter their round ghost shadows All day Irsquod listened to the white-throated sparrows in the woods behind our house their song resembles the Canadian national anthem at least theopening bars Summer was dying but in pieces Wersquod be eatingoutside if it werenrsquot for the wasps Good food the company of agood friend what more could anyone desire But I kept thinking

of Norah sitting on her square of pavement and holding up thepiece of cardboard with the word and then I lost trackof what Colin was saying

E=mc Energy equals mass times the speed of light squaredThe tidiness of the equation raised my immediate suspicion Howcan massmdashthis solid oak dining table for instancemdashhave any con-nection with how fast light travels Theyrsquore two different thingsColin who is a physicist was patient with my objections Hetook the linen napkin from his lap and stretched it taut across thetop of his coffee cup Then he took a cherry from the fruit bowland placed it on the napkin creating a small dimple He tipped thecup slightly so that the cherry rotated around the surface of the napkin He spoke of energy and mass but already I had lost a critical filament of the argument I worried slightly about hiscoffee sloshing up onto the napkin and staining it and thoughthow seldom in the last few years I had bothered with clothnapkins Nobody except maybe Danielle Westerman does realnapkins anymore it was understood that modern professionalwomen had better things to do with their time than launder linen

By now I had forgotten completely what the cherry (more thanfour dollars a pound) represented and what the little dimple wassupposed to be Colin talked on and on and Tom who is a familyphysician and has a broad scientific background seemed to befollowing at least he was nodding his head appropriately Mymother-in-law Lois had politely excused herself and returned toher house next door she would never miss the ten-orsquoclock newsher watching of the ten-orsquoclock news helps the country of Canadato go forward Christine and Natalie had long since drifted fromthe table and I could hear the buzz and burst of TV noises in the den

Pet our golden retriever parked his shaggy self under thetable his whole dog body humming away against my footSometimes in his dreams he groans and sometimes he chortleswith happiness I found myself thinking about Marietta Colinrsquoswife who had packed her bags a few months ago and moved to

Calgary to be with another man She claimed Colin was toowrapped up in his research and teaching to be a true partner Abeautiful woman with a neck like a plant stem she hinted thatthere had been a collapse of passion in their marriage She had left suddenly coldly he had been shocked he had had no idea hetold us in the early days that she had been unhappy all theseyears but he found her diaries in a desk drawer and read themsick with realization that a gulf of misunderstanding separatedthem

Why would a woman leave such personal diaries behind To punish to hurt of course Colin for the most part a decentkind-hearted man used to address her in a dry admonitory wayas though she were a graduate student instead of his wife ldquoDonrsquottell me this is processed cheeserdquo he asked her once when we were having dinner at their house Another time ldquoThis coffee isundrinkablerdquo He loved pleasuremdashhe was that kind of manmdashandtook it for granted and couldnrsquot help his little yelps of outragewhen pleasure failed You could call him an innocent in his expec-tations almost naive on this particular August evening It was asthough he were alone in a vaulted chamber echoing with immen-sities while Tom and I stood attendance just outside the doorcatching the overflow the odd glimpse of his skewed but calmbrilliance Even the little pockets under his eyes were phlegmaticHe was not a shallow person but perhaps he suspected that wewere I had to stop myself interrupting with a joke I often do thisIrsquom afraid ask for an explanation and then drift off into my ownthoughts

How could he now be sitting at our table so calmly toyingwith cherries and coffee cups and rolling the edge of his strawplacemat and pressing this heft of information on us It was closeto midnight he had an hourrsquos drive ahead of him What did thetheory of relativity really matter to his ongoing life Colin withhis small specs and trim moustache was at ease with big ideas likerelativity As a theory relativity worked it held all sorts of impor-tant ldquoconceptsrdquo together with its precision and elegance Think of

glue lavishly applied he said helpfully about relativity think ofthe power of the shrewd guess Such a sweeping perspective hadbeen visionary at the beginning but had been assessed and re-inforced and it was moreover Colin was now insisting usefulIn the face of lifersquos uncertainties relativityrsquos weight could beassumed and then set aside part of the package of consciousness

He finished awkwardly sat back in his chair with his two longarms extended ldquoSordquo Thatrsquos it he seemed to say or thatrsquos asmuch as I can do to simplify and explain so brilliant an idea Heglanced at his watch then sat back again exhausted pleased withhimself He wore a well-pressed cotton shirt with blue and yellowstripes neatly tucked into his black jeans He has no interest in clothes This shirt must go back to his married days chosen for him ironed for him by Marietta herself and put on a hangerperhaps a summer ago

The theory of relativity would not bring Colinrsquos wife hurryingback to the old stone house on Oriole Parkway It would notbring my daughter Norah home from the corner of Bathurst andBloor or the Promise Hostel where she beds at night Tom and I followed her one day we had to know how she managedwhether she was safe The weather would be turning cold soonHow does she bear it Cold concrete Dirt Uncombed hair

ldquoWould you sayrdquo I asked ColinmdashI had not spoken for severalminutesmdashldquothat the theory of relativity has reduced the weight ofgoodness and depravity in the worldrdquo

He stared at me ldquoRelativity has no moral position None what-everrdquo (ldquoThis coffee is undrinkablerdquo)

I looked to Tom for support but he was gazing with his mildeyes at the ceiling smiling I knew that smile

ldquoBut isnrsquot it possiblerdquo I said to Colin ldquoto think that goodnessor virtue if you like could be a wave or particle of energyrdquo

ldquoNordquo he said ldquoNo it is not possiblerdquoI made an abrupt move to clear the table I was suddenly

exhaustedStill I am thankful for the friendship and intellectual ardour of

such an unpretentious man as Colin Glass who despite his suffer-ing and shame really wanted me to understand a key concept ofthe twentieth century Or was he simply diverting himself for anhour This is what I must learn the art of diversion He said notone word about Marietta all evening long Tom and I understandthat he is reconstructing his life without her But a daughter issomething different A daughter of nineteen cannot be erased

Once

It was understood that I would do the publicity such as it was for Danielle Westermanrsquos third volume of memoirs Ateighty-five she was too old and too distinguished to handle

a day of interviews in Toronto even though she lives there I asthe translator could easily field questions from the press A verylight schedule was organized by the publisher since Dr Wester-man already possesses a long twilight of faithful readership

In early September I drove into Orangetown down its calmold-fashioned main street and into the countryside again The cityof Toronto monumental and lonely glowed in front of me Itsoutskirts are ragged though its numbered exits pretend at a kindof order Traffic was light I drove slowly by the corner of Bloorand Bathurst for a glimpse of Norah There she was as always onthe northeast corner seated on the ground near the subwayentrance with her bowl and cardboard sign even though it wasnot yet nine orsquoclock Had she had breakfast Did she have nits inher hair What is she thinking or is her mind a great blank

I parked the car and walked over to where she was ldquoHellodarling Norahrdquo I said setting down a plastic bag of food breadand cheese fruit and raw vegetables And in an envelope arecent photo of Pet with his straight proud muzzle and furry ruff Norah of all the girls doted on Pet and now I was bribingher shamelessly It was a chilly day and it iced my heart to see herunreadable immobility but I was glad to notice that she waswearing warm mittens Glad Me glad The least little signal willgladden my heart these days Today she looked not quite at me

and nodded Another wave of gladness struck I allow myself onlyone such glimpse a week since shersquos made it clear she doesnrsquotwant to see us

It is like watching her through plate glass All week I will drawexpensively on this brief moment of voyeurism at the same timetrying to blot it out with images of Norah on her bicycle Norahsitting at the kitchen table studying for exams Norah reaching forher green raincoat Norah trying on new school shoes Norahsleeping safe

After a while I went to have my eyebrows arched and tinted atSylviarsquos which calls itself a ldquospirit spardquo meaning it seemed thatwhile Madame Sylvia swiped at my brow with a little paintbrushshe murmured and sang into my ear It was now nine-thirty in themorning and I lay on a narrow table in a tiny white room ldquoYouare at the age when you must protect the fine skin around theeyesrdquo she warned ldquoA womanrsquos face falls it is inevitable but the eyes go on and on giving light You will be eighty ninety and your eyes will still charmrdquo

She knows nothing about my life Irsquove never been here beforeand have never thought of having an eyebrow tint I have per-fectly decent eyebrows nicely shaped and regular but I did lookinto a mirror a week or so ago and noticed that the small hairs atthe outside corners were coming in grey There was a little greyat the temples too but nothing to be surprised about not for a woman whose forty-fourth birthday is approaching not for awoman who has never even thought of herself as possessingldquotemplesrdquo such august body parts

ldquoAre you by any chance a Geminirdquo Madame Sylvia askedintimately Swish went the paintbrush She stopped peered at meclosely then swished again a deft little stroke

ldquoNordquo I said ashamed to acknowledge the astrological universeldquoMy birthdayrsquos in September Next week in factrdquo

ldquoI can tell yesrdquo She had a touch of the harridan in her voice ldquoIcan always tellrdquo

What could she tell

ldquoTwenty-four dollarsrdquo she said ldquoLet me give you my card Fornext timerdquo

Presumptuous but yes there will be a next time I calculatedquickly My face would make it through the next few weeks butby November I will probably be back in Madame Sylviarsquos hushedwhite cell I may well become a regular Eyebrows lashes fullfacials neck massage I have led a reflective life a life of thoughta writer a translator but all this is about to change The delicateskin around my eyes was demanding attention Has Tom noticedI donrsquot think so Christine and Natalie donrsquot really look at me inthat way they just see this watercolour blob that means motherwhich is rather how I see myself

ldquoA womanrsquos charm is with her for liferdquo Madame Sylvia saidldquobut you must pay attentionrdquo

No I thought an hour later no Irsquom sorry but I have no plansto be charming on a regular basis Anyone can be charming Itrsquosreally a cheap trick mere charm so astonishingly easy to per-form screwing up your face into sunbeams and spewing themforth The calculated lift of the wrist chin up thumb and fore-finger brought together to form a little feminine loop that trick of pretending to sit on a little glass chair that concentration ofradiance lrsquoesprit little sprinkles of it everywhere misting the airlike bargain scent Ingenue spritz Emma Allen calls it

I know that cheapness so intimatelymdashthe grainy sugary per-severing way charm enters a fresh mouth and rubs against themolars sticking there in soft wads promoting mouth ulcers or whatever it is thatrsquos the metaphoric projection of self-hatredOf all the social virtues charm is in the end the most unreward-ing And compared to goodness real goodness or the unmovableself-abnegation my daughter Norah practises charm is nothingbut crumpled tissue paper soiled from previous use

Sincerity No Sincerityrsquos over Sincerityrsquos lost whatever edge ithad Itrsquos fine fine matter but wasted on the press who all grew uppost-Holocaust devoted readers of Mad Magazine and wouldnrsquotrecognize a bar of willed innocence if it came wrapped in foil

Nor will I ever again be pointlessly endlessly polite I got overthat two years ago when I did my author tour It seems Irsquove lostlike a stream of pebbles leaving my hand the kind of endurancethat professional courtesy demands suck in your breath let yourface go numb listen to the interviewerrsquos questions registeroptimally let your breath out evaluate the feelings of those whodepend on you (agent publisher editor that nice Sheila personwho does publicity and of course Danielle Westerman) andperform again and again like the tuned-up athlete you are the fitphysical specimen that each new book demands then move on tothe next task

Mrs Winters who has just translated The Middle Years the un-

folding memoir of Holocaust survivor Danielle Westerman is a woman

of grace and charm whose thick brown hair is arranged into a bun

Putting down her coffee cup she shrugs off her beige raincoat and

Irsquove entered early middle age now and I have a nineteen-year-old daughter who lives on the street I no longer require a reputa-tion for charm those saving lilac shadows and contours Maybe Inever did I wonrsquotmdashnot nowmdashtuck the ends of my sentences intolittle licks of favour and the next time a journalist pins me downwith a personal question trolling for informationmdashTell me MrsWinters how are you able to balance your family and profes-sional lifemdashI will stare back hard with my newly practised stareHow do I balance my life Tinted eyebrows up Just what kind ofinquiry is this Wouldnrsquot you prefer Mrs Winters to pursue youown writing rather than translate Dr Westermanrsquos work Pleasenot that again How did you and your husband meet What doeshe think of your writing

I will in the future address my interviewer directly and saywith firmness ldquoThis interview is overrdquo There is nothing to loseRude and difficult people are more likely to be taken seriouslyCurmudgeons are positively adored Irsquove noticed this Even thefascinatingly unknowable earn respect

And when I read in the paper tomorrow that ldquoMrs Winterslooked all of her forty-three yearsrdquo and that ldquoMrs Winters with

her familiar overbite was reluctant to talk about her work sched-ulerdquo I will want to phone the editor and complain bitterly Thisfrom the pen of a small unattractive man almost entirely lip-less beneath a bony domineering nose sweating with minorambition head tilted like something carved out of yellow wax

He interviewed me in a cappuccino bar in mid-Toronto Achilly stooped round-headed man in his thirties or fortiesmdashitwas hard to tellmdashslow to smile pathetically in need of humanattention thinking his superior thoughts Fluff on his shouldersbegged to be picked off I on the other hand was wearing a softjade jacket of cashmere lined with silk which represented a raresplurge on my part but I could be sure this man would over-look this garment with its crystal buttons and mandarin collar andconcentrate instead on my drab raincoat beige and not quitepristine at the cuffs In print he will be certain to refer to mychignon as a bun Itrsquos taken me years to learn to do a glossy littlechignonmdashI can get my hair brushed back and securely pinned up each morning in a mere two and a half minutes and I considermy coiffure one of my major life accomplishments I really meanthis

Sheila from publicity had filled me in before the interview andI felt the information packet hovering what to do with it Thisyoungyoungish man was the newly appointed books columnistat Booktimes He was well known for holding pious opinions aboutthe literature of the Great North about his own role as advocateof a diverse new outpouring of Canadian voices the post-colonialcry of blaming anguish The stream of current fiction aboutmiddle-class people living in cities was diluting the authenticnational voice that rose from the landscape itself andmdash

Oh shut up shut upCappuccino foam dotted the corners of his undistinguished

mouth And just one more question Mrs WintersmdashOf course he didnrsquot call me Reta even though there might be

only a year or two between us The ldquoMrsrdquo gave him power overme that vexing r rucking things up in the middle and making one

think of such distractions as clotheslines and baking tins He wasthe barking terrier going at Mrs Wintersrsquos ankles shaking out hisfur and asking me to justify myself wanting me to explain thespluttering dying whimpering bonfire of my life which I wouldnot dream of sharing He seemed to forget he was interviewingme about Danielle Westermanrsquos new book

I understand yoursquore working on a second novel said heWell yesTakes nerveUh-huhActuallymdashactually well he had a novel on the go himselfReally What a surpriseAt the end of the hour he did not ask for the bill I asked for the

bill ldquoIrsquoll just put it on my Visardquo I said breaking a tenuous breadthof silence I announced this with all the majesty I could musterover a vinyl table like a grande dame adding twenty years to myage and feeling the vowels shifting in my beautifully mouldedthroat Such dignity I surprised myself with my own resonanceand I may have managed a pained smile displaying no doubtthat famous overbite He turned off the tape recorder at the wordldquoVisardquo

He had two young children at home he said Christ what aresponsibility although he loved the little bastards One of themwas quite quite gifted well they both were in their separateways But the work of raising kids Never enough time to read thebooks he had to review books all over the house with little mark-ers in them books he would never finish So much was expectedand of course like all journalists he was underpaid

Oh shut upThey also expected him to do a feature on the weekendUh-huhAnd last week hersquod actually broken the MacBunna storyReally Macumba MarimbaCongratulations said Mrs Reta Winters from OrangetownThanks

I should be getting on my way I said My parking meter Alunch date A long drive home

I understand you and your family live in a lovely old housenear Orangetown

And then slyly I understand one of your daughters now livesin Toronto and

Irsquove been here before There is something about having anestablished family a long-lasting spousal arrangement threedaughters in their teens a house in the country a suggestion ofimpermeability that draws the curiosity of others so that theycan as Tom says probe with probity

But no this man across the table will not be feeding on myflesh nor will his colleaguesmdashthough one can tell that he has nocolleagues there is no possibility of colleagues He has no contextfor friends or co-workers though there are the kids and therersquosthe wife hersquos referred to her three times now Nicola She has herprofessional life too he tells me as though the matter were indispute

I canrsquot resist ldquoDoes Nicolamdashis she a journalist toordquoldquoJournalistrdquoldquoLike you I meanrdquoHis hand jumps and for a moment I think hersquos going to turn

the tape recorder on again But no hersquos reaching into his pocketand now hersquos releasing two coins onto the table The tip They liethere moist from his hand Two dimes I focus on them withwhat I hope is a cool censorious gaze

But hersquos not looking at me Hersquos looking across the roomwhere a silver-haired man is seating himself gracefully at a tableldquoIrsquom not sure but I think thatrsquos Gore Vidalrdquo my interviewer whis-pers in a hungry voice ldquoHersquos here for the writersrsquo festival youknowrdquo

I rise and exit as though led by a brass quintetThe charming Mrs Winters slips on her comfortable beige rain-

coat

I would like to thank a number of others who in one way or another encouraged me in the writing of Unless SharonAllan Marjorie Anderson the late Joan Austen-Leigh JoanBarfoot Clare Boylan Marg Edmond Brown Joan ClarkAnne Collins Cynthia Coop Patrick Crowe Maggie DwyerDarlene Hammell Blanche Howard Isabel Huggan CarlLenthe Madeline Li Elinor Lipman Anna and Sylvie MatasMargaret Shaw-Mackinnon Don McCarthy Peter ParkerBella Pomer Christopher Potter Linda Rogers CaroleSabiston Floyd St Clair Eleanor Wachtel Cindi WarnerMindy Werner the John Simon Guggenheim Foundationand as always my family John Audrey Anne CatherineMeg Sara and especially Don

About the Author

Carol Shields is the author of eight novels and two collections of short stories

The Stone Diaries won the Pulitzer Prize and was shortlisted for the Booker

Prize Larryrsquos Party won the Orange Prize Born and brought up in Chicago

Carol Shields has lived in Canada since 1957

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 1

Others

Intersect

Coming to Canada

Larryrsquos Party

The Stone Diaries

The Republic of Love

A Celibate Season (with Blanche Howard)Swann

A Fairly Conventional Woman

Happenstance

The Box Garden

Small Ceremonies

Various Miracles

The Orange Fish

Dressing Up for the Carnival

Departures and Arrivals

Thirteen Hands

Fashion Power Guilt and the Charity of Families

(with Catherine Shields)Anniversary (with David Williamson)

Susanna Moodie Voice and Vision

Jane Austen

Dropped Threads What We Arenrsquot Told

(Edited with Marjorie Anderson)

Credits

Design by Julian HumphriesPhotographer by Michael CrouserDesigned by Dinah Drazin

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 2

If you enjoyed reading this excerpt please visitHarperCollins Publishers to find out where to buy thisand other PerfectBound e-books

Australiahttpwwwharpercollinscomau

Canadahttpwwwharpercanadacom

New Zealandhttpwwwharpercollinsconz

United Kingdomhttpwwwfireandwatercom

United Stateshttpwwwperfectboundcom

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 3

The Pajama Game Words and Music by Richard Adler Music

and Jerry Ross copy Richard Adler Music and J amp J Ross Co USA

WarnerChappell Music Ltd London w6 8bs

Reproduced by permission of International Music Publications

Ltd All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction Names characters places and incidents

either are the products of the authorrsquos imagination or are used

fictitiously Any resemblance to actual events locales organiza-

tions or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and

beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher

UNLESS Copyright copy 2002 by Carol Shields All rights

reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright

Conventions By payment of the required fees you have been

granted the non-exclusive non-transferable right to access and

read the text of this e-book on-screen No part of this text may

be reproduced transmitted down-loaded decompiled reverse

engineered or stored in or introduced into any information stor-

age and retrieval system in any form or by any means whether

electronic or mechanical now known or hereinafter invented

without the express written permission of PerfectBoundtrade

PerfectBound trade and the PerfectBoundtrade logo are trademarks

of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

Adobe Acrobat E-Book Reader edition v 1 May 2002

ISBN 0-06-052370-0

Print edition first published in 2002

by Forth Estate a division of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 4

Herersquos

It happens that I am going through a period of great unhappi-ness and loss just now All my life Irsquove heard people speak of finding themselves in acute pain bankrupt in spirit and

body but Irsquove never understood what they meant To lose Tohave lost I believed these visitations of darkness lasted only a fewminutes or hours and that these saddened people in betweenbouts were occupied as we all were with the useful monotonyof happiness But happiness is not what I thought Happiness isthe lucky pane of glass you carry in your head It takes all yourcunning just to hang on to it and once itrsquos smashed you have tomove into a different sort of life

In my new lifemdashthe summer of the year mdashI am attemptingto ldquocount my blessingsrdquo Everyone I know advises me to take upthis repellent strategy as though they really believe a dramatic losscan be replaced by the renewed appreciation of all one has beengiven I have a husband Tom who loves me and is faithful to meand is very decent looking as well tallish thin and losing his hairnicely We live in a house with a paid-up mortgage and our houseis set in the prosperous rolling hills of Ontario only an hourrsquos drivenorth of Toronto Two of our three daughters Natalie fifteenand Christine sixteen live at home They are intelligent and livelyand attractive and loving though they too have shared in the lossas has Tom

And I have my writingldquoYou have your writingrdquo friends say A murmuring chorus But

you have your writing Reta No one is crude enough to suggest that

my sorrow will eventually become material for my writing butprobably they think it

And itrsquos true There is a curious and faintly distasteful comfortat the age of forty-three forty-four in September in contemplat-ing what I have managed to write and publish during thoseimpossibly childish and sunlit days before I understood the mean-ing of grief ldquoMy Writingrdquo this is a very small poultice to hold upagainst my damaged self but better I have been persuaded thanno comfort at all

Itrsquos June the first year of the new century and herersquos what Irsquove written so far in my life Irsquom not including my old schoolgirlsonnets from the seventiesmdashSatin-slippered April you glidethrough time And lubricate spring days de dum de dummdashandmy dozen or so fawning book reviews from the early eighties Iam posting this list not on the screen but on my consciousness afar safer computer tool and easier to access

A translation and introduction to Danielle Westermanrsquos bookof poetry Isolation April one month before our daughterNorah was born a home birth naturally a midwife you couldalmost hear the guitars plinking in the background except we did not feast on the placenta as some of our friends were doing at the time My French came from my Queacutebeacutecoise mother and my acquaintance with Danielle from the University of Torontowhere she taught French civilization in my student days She wasa poor teacher hesitant and in awe I think of the tanned healthystudents sitting in her classroom taking notes worshipfully andstretching their small suburban notion of what the word civiliz-

ation might mean She was already a recognized writer of kinetictough-corded prose both beguiling and dangerous Her mannerwas to take the reader by surprise In the middle of a flattenedrambling paragraph deceived by warm stretches of reflectionyou came upon hard cartilage

I am a little uneasy about claiming Isolation as my own writingbut Dr Westerman doing one of her hurrying over-the-headgestures insisted that translation especially of poetry is a creative

act Writing and translating are convivial she said not opposi-tional and not at all hierarchical Of course she would say thatMy introduction to Isolation was certainly creative though since I had no idea what I was talking about

I hauled it out recently and while I read it experienced theBurrowing of the Palpable Worm of Shame as my friend LynnKelly calls it Pretension is what I see now The part about arttransmuting the despair of life to the ldquomerely frangiblerdquo andpoetryrsquos attempt to ldquorepair the gap between ought and naughtrdquomdashwhat on earth did I mean Too much Derrida might be theproblem I was into all that pretty heavily in the early eighties

After that came ldquoThe Brightness of a Starrdquo a short story thatappeared in An Anthology of Young Ontario Voices (Pink Onion Press) Itrsquos hard to believe that I qualified as ldquoa young voicerdquo in but in fact I was only twenty-nine mother of Norah agedfour her sister Christine aged two and about to give birth toNataliemdashin a hospital this time Three daughters and not eventhirty ldquoHow did you find the timerdquo people used to chorus and inthat query I often registered a hint of blame was I neglecting mydarling sprogs for my writing career Well no I never thought interms of career I dabbled in writing It was my macrameacute my knit-ting Not long after however I did start to get serious and joineda local ldquowritersrsquo workshoprdquo for women which met every secondweek for two hours where we drank coffee and had a good timeand deeply appreciated each otherrsquos company and that led to

ldquoIconrdquo a short story rather Jamesian Gwen Reidmanthe only published author in the workshop group was our leaderThe Glenmar Collective (an acronym of our first namesmdashnot veryoriginal) was what we called ourselves One day Gwen said mov-ing a muffin to her mouth that she was touched by the ldquoauster-ityrdquo of my short storymdashwhich was based but only roughly on myresponse to the Russian icon show at the Art Gallery of OntarioMy fictional piece was a case of art ldquoembracingrepudiating artrdquoas Gwen put it and then she reminded us of the famous ldquoOn FirstLooking Into Chapmanrsquos Homerrdquo and the whole aesthetic of art

begetting art art worshipping art which I no longer believe in bythe way Either you do or you donrsquot The seven of us GwenLorna Emma Allen Nan Marcella Annette and I (my name isReta Wintersmdashpronounced Ree-tah) self-published our pieces in avolume titled Incursions and Interruptions throwing in fifty dollarseach for the printing bill The five hundred copies sold quickly inthe local bookstores mostly to our friends and families Publishingwas cheap we discovered What a surprise We called ourselvesthe Stepping Stone Press and in that name we expressed our mildembarrassment at the idea of self-publishing but also the hopethat we would ldquosteprdquo along to authentic publishing in the verynear future Except Gwen of course who was already there AndEmma who was beginning to publish op-ed pieces in the Globe

and Mail

Alive (Random House ) a translation of Pour Vivre vol-ume one of Danielle Westermanrsquos memoirs I may appear to beclaiming translation as an act of originality but as I have alreadysaid it was Danielle in her benign way wrinkling her disorderlyforehead who had urged me to believe that the act of shufflingelegant French into readable and stable English is an aestheticperformance The book was well received by the critics and evensold moderately well a dense but popular book offered withoutshame and nary a footnote The translation itself was slammed inthe Toronto Star (ldquoclumsyrdquo) by one Stanley Harold Howard butDanielle Westerman said never mind the man was un maquereau

which translates crudely as something between a pimp and aprick

I then wrote a commissioned pamphlet for a series put outby a press calling itself Encyclopeacutedie de lrsquoart The press producedtiny hold-in-the-hand booklets each devoted to a single artsubject covering everything from Braque to Calder to Klee toMondrian to Villon The editor in New York operating out of aphone booth it seemed to me and knowing nothing of my igno-rance had stumbled on my short story ldquoIconrdquo and believed me tobe an expert on the subject He asked for three thousand words

for a volume (volumette really) to be called Russian Icons pub-lished finally in It took me a whole year to do what withTom and the three girls and the house and garden and meals andlaundry and too much inwardness They published my ldquotextrdquosuch a cold jellied word along with a series of coloured plates inboth English and French (I did the French as well) and paid mefour hundred dollars I learned all about the schools of Suzdal andVladimir and what went on in Novgorod (a lot) and how imagesof saints made medieval people quake with fear To my knowl-edge the book was never reviewed but I can read it today with-out shame It is almost impossible to be pseudo when writingabout innocent paintings that obey no rules of perspective andthat are done on slabs of ordinary wood

I lost a year after this which I donrsquot understand since allthree girls had started school though Natalie was only in morningkindergarten I think I was too busy thinking about the business ofbeing a writer about being writerly and fretting over whetherTomrsquos ego was threatened and being in Daniellersquos shadow nevermind Derrida and needing my own writing space and turningthirty-five and feeling older than Irsquove ever felt since My agemdashthirty-fivemdashshouted at me all the time standing tall and wide inmy head and blocking access to what my life afforded Thirty-fivenever sat down with its hands folded Thirty-five had no compo-sure It was always humming mean terse tunes on a piece offolded cellophane (ldquoI am composedrdquo said John Quincy Adams onhis deathbed How admirable and enviable and beyond belief Iloved him for this)

This anguish of mine was unnecessary Tomrsquos ego was unchal-lenged by my slender publications He turned out to be one ofthose men we were worried about in the seventies and eightieswho might shrivel in acknowledgment of his own insignificanceOrdinary was what he wanted to be an ordinary man embeddedin a family he loved We put a skylight in the box room bought a used office desk installed a fax and a computer and I sat downon my straight-from-a-catalogue Freedom Chair and translated

Danielle Westermanrsquos immense Les femmes et le pouvoir the Eng-lish version published in volume two of her memoirs InEnglish the title was changed to Women Waiting which onlymakes sense if yoursquove read the book (Women possess power butit is power that has yet to be seized ignited and released and soforth) This time no one grumped about my translation ldquoSpark-ling and full of easerdquo the Globe said and the New York Times wentone better and called it ldquoan achievementrdquo

ldquoYou are my true sisterrdquo said Danielle Westerman at the timeof publication Ma vraie soeur I hugged her back Her craving forphysical touch has not slackened even in her eighties thoughnowadays it is mostly her doctor who touches her or me with myweekly embrace or the manicurist Dr Danielle Westerman isthe only person I know who has her nails done twice a weekTuesday and Saturday ( just a touch-up) beautiful long nail bedsmatching her long quizzing eyes

I was giddy All at once translation offers were arriving in themail but I kept thinking I could maybe write short stories eventhough our Glenmar group was dwindling what with Emmataking a job in Newfoundland Annette getting her divorce andGwen moving to the States The trouble was I hated my shortstories I wanted to write about the overheard and the glimpsedbut this kind of evanescence sent me into whimsy mode andalthough I believed whimsicality to be a strand of the humanpersonality I was embarrassed at what I was pumping into mynew Apple computer sitting there under the clean brightness ofthe skylight Pernicious precious my moments of recognitionAhahmdashand then she realized I was so fetching with my ldquoEllen wassetting the table and she knew tonight would be differentrdquo Alittle bug sat in my ear and buzzed Who cares about Ellen andher woven placemats and her hopes for the future

I certainly didnrsquot careBecause I had three kids everyone said I should be writing

kiddy lit but I couldnrsquot find the voice Kiddy lit screeched in mybrain Talking ducks and chuckling frogs I wanted something

sterner and more contained as a task which is how I came to writeShakespeare and Flowers (San Francisco Cyclone Press ) Thecontract was negotiated before I wrote one word Along came alittle bundle of cash to start me off with the rest promised on pub-lication I thought it was going to be a scholarly endeavour but Iended up producing a wee ldquogiftierdquo book You could send this bookto anyone on your list who was maidenly or semi-academic orwhom you didnrsquot know very well Shakespeare and Flowers wassold in the kind of outlets that stock greeting cards and stuffedbears I simply scanned the canon and picked up references to saythe eglantine (A Midsummer Nightrsquos Dream) or the blackberry(Troilus and Cressida) and then I puffed out a little description of theflower and conferenced on the phone (twice) with the illustratorin Berkeley and threw in lots of Shakespearean quotes A sweetlittle book excellent slick paper US$ At sixty-eight pages it fits in a small mailer Two hundred thousand copies and stillselling though the royalty rate is scandalous Theyrsquod like me to do something on Shakespeare and animals and I just might

Eros Essays by Danielle Westerman translation by RetaWinters hastily translatedmdasheverything was hasty in those dayseverything still ismdashand published in Hugely successful aftera tiny advance We put the dog in a kennel and Tom and I andthe girls took the first translation payment and went to France fora month southern Burgundy a village called La Roche-Vineusewhere Danielle had grown up halfway between Cluny andMacirccon red-tiled roofs set in the midst of rolling vineyards incan-descent air Our rental house was built around a cobbled court-yard full of ancient roses and hydrangeas ldquoHow old is thishouserdquo we asked the neighbours who invited us in for an aperi-tif ldquoVery oldrdquo was all we got The stone walls were two feetthick The three girls took tennis lessons at lrsquoeacutecole drsquoeacuteteacute Tom wenthacking for trilobites happy under the French sun and I sat in awicker chair in the flower-filled courtyard shorts and halter andbare feet a floppy straw hat on my head reading novels day afterday and thinking I want to write a novel About something

happening About characters moving against a ldquothererdquo That waswhat I really wanted to do

Looking back I can scarcely believe in such innocence I didnrsquotthink about our girls growing older and leaving home and fallingaway from us Norah had been a good docile baby and then shebecame a good obedient little girl Now at nineteen shersquos sobrimming with goodness that she sits on a Toronto street cornerwhich has its own textual archaeology though Norah probablydoesnrsquot know about that She sits beneath the lamppost where thepoet Ed Lewinski hanged himself in and where MargheritaTolles burst out of the subway exit into the sunshine of heradopted country and decided to write a great play Norah sitscross-legged with a begging bowl in her lap and asks nothing ofthe world Nine-tenths of what she gathers she distributes at theend of the day to other street people She wears a cardboard signon her chest a single word printed in black markermdash

I donrsquot know what that word really means though words aremy business The Old English word wearth I discovered the otherday on the Internet means outcast the other English word itstwin its cancellation is worthmdashwe know what that means andknow to distrust it It is the word wearth that Norah has swal-lowed This is the place shersquos claimed a whole world constructedon stillness An easy stance says the condemning grievingmother easy to find and maintain given enough practice Asharper focus could be achieved by tossing in an astringent fluid apeppery sauce irony rebellion tattoos and pierced tongue andspiked purple hair but no Norah embodies invisibility and good-ness or at least she is on the pathmdashso she said in our last conver-sation which was eight weeks ago the eleventh of April Shewore torn jeans that day and a rough plaid shawl that was almostcertainly a car blanket Her long pale hair was matted Sherefused to look us in the eye but she did blink in acknowledge-mentmdashIrsquom sure of itmdashwhen I handed her a sack of cheesesandwiches and Tom dropped a roll of twenty-dollar bills in herlap Then she spoke in her own voice but emptied of connection

She could not come home She was on the path to goodness Atthat moment I her mother was more absent from myself thanshe I felt that She was steadfast She could not be diverted Shecould not ldquoberdquo with us

How did this part of the narrative happen We know it didnrsquotrise out of the ordinary plot lines of a life story An intelligent andbeautiful girl from a loving family grows up in OrangetownOntario her motherrsquos a writer her fatherrsquos a doctor and then shegoes off the track Therersquos nothing natural about her efflorescenceof goodness Itrsquos abrupt and brutal Itrsquos killing us What will reallykill us though is the day we donrsquot find her sitting on her chosensquare of pavement

But I didnrsquot know any of this when I sat in that Burgundygarden dreaming about writing a novel I thought I understoodsomething of a novelrsquos architecture the lovely slope of predica-ment the tendrils of surface detail the calculated curving upwardinto inevitability yet allowing spells of incorrigibility and thenthe ending a corruption of cause and effect and the gatheringtogether of all the characters into a framed operatic circle ofconsolation and ecstasy backlit with fibre-optic gold just for amoment on the second-to-last page just for an atomic particle oftime

I had an idea for my novel a seed and nothing more Twoappealing characters had suggested themselves a woman and aman Alicia and Roman who live in Wychwood which is a citythe size of Toronto who clamour and romp and cling to theisland that is their lifersquos predicamentmdashthey long for love butselfishly strive for self-preservation Roman is proud to be cholericin temperament Alicia thinks of herself as being reflective buther job as assistant editor on a fashion magazine keeps her toooccupied to reflect

And I had a title My Thyme Is Up It was a pun of coursefrom an old family joke and I meant to write a jokey novel Alight novel A novel for summertime a book to read while seatedin an Ikea wicker chair with the sun falling on the pages as faintly

and evenly as human breath Naturally the novel would have ahappy ending I never doubted but that I could write this noveland I did in mdashin a swoop alone during three dark wintermonths when the girls were away all day at school

The Middle Years the translation of volume three of Wester-manrsquos memoirs is coming out this fall Volume three exploresWestermanrsquos numerous love affairs with both men and womenand none of this will be shocking or even surprising to her read-ers What is new is the suppleness and strength of her sentencesAlways an artist of concision and selflessness she has arrived inher old age at a gorgeous fluidity and expansion of phrase Mytranslation doesnrsquot begin to express what she has accomplishedThe book is stark itrsquos also sentimental one balances and rescuesthe other strangely enough I can only imagine that those end-less calcium pills Danielle chokes down every morning and the vitamin E and the emu oil capsules have fed directly into hervein of language so that what lands on the page is larger morerapturous more self-forgetful than anything shersquos written beforeand all of it sprouting short swift digressions that pretend to be just careless asides little swoons of surrender to her ownexperience inviting us her readers to believe in the totality ofher abandonment

Either that or shersquos gone senile to good effect a grand loosen-ing of language in her old age The thought has more than onceoccurred to me

Another thought has drifted by silken as a breeze against alattice Therersquos something missing in these memoirs or so I thinkin my solipsistic view Danielle Westerman suffers she feels the pangs of existential loneliness the absence of sexual love thetreason of her own womanrsquos body She has no partner no one forwhom she is the first person in the world order no one to dependon as I do on Tom She does not have a child or any survivingblood connection for that matter and perhaps itrsquos this that makesthe memoirs themselves childlike They go down like good milkfoaming swirling in the glass

I shouldnrsquot mention Book Number Eleven since it is not afait accompli but I will Irsquom going to write a second novel asequel to My Thyme Is Up Today is the day I intend to begin Thefirst sentence is already tapped into my computer ldquoAlicia was notas happy as she deserved to berdquo

I have no idea what will happen in this book It is a mereabstraction at the moment something thatrsquos popped out of theground like the rounded snout of a crocus on a cold lawn Irsquovestumbled up against this idea in my clumsy manner and now the urge to write it wonrsquot go away This will be a book about lostchildren about goodness and going home and being happy andtrying to keep the poison of the printed page in perspective Irsquomdesperate to know how the story will turn out

Nearly

We are more than halfway through the year Toward the beginning of August Tomrsquos old friendColin Glass came to dinner one night driving out

from Toronto Over coffee he attempted to explain the theory ofrelativity to me

I was the one who invited him to launch into the subjectRelativity is a piece of knowledge Irsquove always longed to under-stand a big piece but the explainers tend to go too fast or elsethey skip over a step they assume their audience has alreadyabsorbed Apparently there was once a time when only oneperson in the world understood relativity (Einstein) then twopeople then three or four and now most of the high-school kidswho take physics have at least an inkling or so Irsquom told Howhard can it be And itrsquos passed according to Colin from crazyspeculation to confirmed fact which makes it even more impor-tant to understand Irsquove tried but my grasp feels tenuous So thespeed of light is constant Is that all

Ordinarily I love these long August evenings the splash ofamber light that falls on the white dining-room walls just beforethe separate shades of twilight take over The medallion leavesthat flutter their round ghost shadows All day Irsquod listened to the white-throated sparrows in the woods behind our house their song resembles the Canadian national anthem at least theopening bars Summer was dying but in pieces Wersquod be eatingoutside if it werenrsquot for the wasps Good food the company of agood friend what more could anyone desire But I kept thinking

of Norah sitting on her square of pavement and holding up thepiece of cardboard with the word and then I lost trackof what Colin was saying

E=mc Energy equals mass times the speed of light squaredThe tidiness of the equation raised my immediate suspicion Howcan massmdashthis solid oak dining table for instancemdashhave any con-nection with how fast light travels Theyrsquore two different thingsColin who is a physicist was patient with my objections Hetook the linen napkin from his lap and stretched it taut across thetop of his coffee cup Then he took a cherry from the fruit bowland placed it on the napkin creating a small dimple He tipped thecup slightly so that the cherry rotated around the surface of the napkin He spoke of energy and mass but already I had lost a critical filament of the argument I worried slightly about hiscoffee sloshing up onto the napkin and staining it and thoughthow seldom in the last few years I had bothered with clothnapkins Nobody except maybe Danielle Westerman does realnapkins anymore it was understood that modern professionalwomen had better things to do with their time than launder linen

By now I had forgotten completely what the cherry (more thanfour dollars a pound) represented and what the little dimple wassupposed to be Colin talked on and on and Tom who is a familyphysician and has a broad scientific background seemed to befollowing at least he was nodding his head appropriately Mymother-in-law Lois had politely excused herself and returned toher house next door she would never miss the ten-orsquoclock newsher watching of the ten-orsquoclock news helps the country of Canadato go forward Christine and Natalie had long since drifted fromthe table and I could hear the buzz and burst of TV noises in the den

Pet our golden retriever parked his shaggy self under thetable his whole dog body humming away against my footSometimes in his dreams he groans and sometimes he chortleswith happiness I found myself thinking about Marietta Colinrsquoswife who had packed her bags a few months ago and moved to

Calgary to be with another man She claimed Colin was toowrapped up in his research and teaching to be a true partner Abeautiful woman with a neck like a plant stem she hinted thatthere had been a collapse of passion in their marriage She had left suddenly coldly he had been shocked he had had no idea hetold us in the early days that she had been unhappy all theseyears but he found her diaries in a desk drawer and read themsick with realization that a gulf of misunderstanding separatedthem

Why would a woman leave such personal diaries behind To punish to hurt of course Colin for the most part a decentkind-hearted man used to address her in a dry admonitory wayas though she were a graduate student instead of his wife ldquoDonrsquottell me this is processed cheeserdquo he asked her once when we were having dinner at their house Another time ldquoThis coffee isundrinkablerdquo He loved pleasuremdashhe was that kind of manmdashandtook it for granted and couldnrsquot help his little yelps of outragewhen pleasure failed You could call him an innocent in his expec-tations almost naive on this particular August evening It was asthough he were alone in a vaulted chamber echoing with immen-sities while Tom and I stood attendance just outside the doorcatching the overflow the odd glimpse of his skewed but calmbrilliance Even the little pockets under his eyes were phlegmaticHe was not a shallow person but perhaps he suspected that wewere I had to stop myself interrupting with a joke I often do thisIrsquom afraid ask for an explanation and then drift off into my ownthoughts

How could he now be sitting at our table so calmly toyingwith cherries and coffee cups and rolling the edge of his strawplacemat and pressing this heft of information on us It was closeto midnight he had an hourrsquos drive ahead of him What did thetheory of relativity really matter to his ongoing life Colin withhis small specs and trim moustache was at ease with big ideas likerelativity As a theory relativity worked it held all sorts of impor-tant ldquoconceptsrdquo together with its precision and elegance Think of

glue lavishly applied he said helpfully about relativity think ofthe power of the shrewd guess Such a sweeping perspective hadbeen visionary at the beginning but had been assessed and re-inforced and it was moreover Colin was now insisting usefulIn the face of lifersquos uncertainties relativityrsquos weight could beassumed and then set aside part of the package of consciousness

He finished awkwardly sat back in his chair with his two longarms extended ldquoSordquo Thatrsquos it he seemed to say or thatrsquos asmuch as I can do to simplify and explain so brilliant an idea Heglanced at his watch then sat back again exhausted pleased withhimself He wore a well-pressed cotton shirt with blue and yellowstripes neatly tucked into his black jeans He has no interest in clothes This shirt must go back to his married days chosen for him ironed for him by Marietta herself and put on a hangerperhaps a summer ago

The theory of relativity would not bring Colinrsquos wife hurryingback to the old stone house on Oriole Parkway It would notbring my daughter Norah home from the corner of Bathurst andBloor or the Promise Hostel where she beds at night Tom and I followed her one day we had to know how she managedwhether she was safe The weather would be turning cold soonHow does she bear it Cold concrete Dirt Uncombed hair

ldquoWould you sayrdquo I asked ColinmdashI had not spoken for severalminutesmdashldquothat the theory of relativity has reduced the weight ofgoodness and depravity in the worldrdquo

He stared at me ldquoRelativity has no moral position None what-everrdquo (ldquoThis coffee is undrinkablerdquo)

I looked to Tom for support but he was gazing with his mildeyes at the ceiling smiling I knew that smile

ldquoBut isnrsquot it possiblerdquo I said to Colin ldquoto think that goodnessor virtue if you like could be a wave or particle of energyrdquo

ldquoNordquo he said ldquoNo it is not possiblerdquoI made an abrupt move to clear the table I was suddenly

exhaustedStill I am thankful for the friendship and intellectual ardour of

such an unpretentious man as Colin Glass who despite his suffer-ing and shame really wanted me to understand a key concept ofthe twentieth century Or was he simply diverting himself for anhour This is what I must learn the art of diversion He said notone word about Marietta all evening long Tom and I understandthat he is reconstructing his life without her But a daughter issomething different A daughter of nineteen cannot be erased

Once

It was understood that I would do the publicity such as it was for Danielle Westermanrsquos third volume of memoirs Ateighty-five she was too old and too distinguished to handle

a day of interviews in Toronto even though she lives there I asthe translator could easily field questions from the press A verylight schedule was organized by the publisher since Dr Wester-man already possesses a long twilight of faithful readership

In early September I drove into Orangetown down its calmold-fashioned main street and into the countryside again The cityof Toronto monumental and lonely glowed in front of me Itsoutskirts are ragged though its numbered exits pretend at a kindof order Traffic was light I drove slowly by the corner of Bloorand Bathurst for a glimpse of Norah There she was as always onthe northeast corner seated on the ground near the subwayentrance with her bowl and cardboard sign even though it wasnot yet nine orsquoclock Had she had breakfast Did she have nits inher hair What is she thinking or is her mind a great blank

I parked the car and walked over to where she was ldquoHellodarling Norahrdquo I said setting down a plastic bag of food breadand cheese fruit and raw vegetables And in an envelope arecent photo of Pet with his straight proud muzzle and furry ruff Norah of all the girls doted on Pet and now I was bribingher shamelessly It was a chilly day and it iced my heart to see herunreadable immobility but I was glad to notice that she waswearing warm mittens Glad Me glad The least little signal willgladden my heart these days Today she looked not quite at me

and nodded Another wave of gladness struck I allow myself onlyone such glimpse a week since shersquos made it clear she doesnrsquotwant to see us

It is like watching her through plate glass All week I will drawexpensively on this brief moment of voyeurism at the same timetrying to blot it out with images of Norah on her bicycle Norahsitting at the kitchen table studying for exams Norah reaching forher green raincoat Norah trying on new school shoes Norahsleeping safe

After a while I went to have my eyebrows arched and tinted atSylviarsquos which calls itself a ldquospirit spardquo meaning it seemed thatwhile Madame Sylvia swiped at my brow with a little paintbrushshe murmured and sang into my ear It was now nine-thirty in themorning and I lay on a narrow table in a tiny white room ldquoYouare at the age when you must protect the fine skin around theeyesrdquo she warned ldquoA womanrsquos face falls it is inevitable but the eyes go on and on giving light You will be eighty ninety and your eyes will still charmrdquo

She knows nothing about my life Irsquove never been here beforeand have never thought of having an eyebrow tint I have per-fectly decent eyebrows nicely shaped and regular but I did lookinto a mirror a week or so ago and noticed that the small hairs atthe outside corners were coming in grey There was a little greyat the temples too but nothing to be surprised about not for a woman whose forty-fourth birthday is approaching not for awoman who has never even thought of herself as possessingldquotemplesrdquo such august body parts

ldquoAre you by any chance a Geminirdquo Madame Sylvia askedintimately Swish went the paintbrush She stopped peered at meclosely then swished again a deft little stroke

ldquoNordquo I said ashamed to acknowledge the astrological universeldquoMy birthdayrsquos in September Next week in factrdquo

ldquoI can tell yesrdquo She had a touch of the harridan in her voice ldquoIcan always tellrdquo

What could she tell

ldquoTwenty-four dollarsrdquo she said ldquoLet me give you my card Fornext timerdquo

Presumptuous but yes there will be a next time I calculatedquickly My face would make it through the next few weeks butby November I will probably be back in Madame Sylviarsquos hushedwhite cell I may well become a regular Eyebrows lashes fullfacials neck massage I have led a reflective life a life of thoughta writer a translator but all this is about to change The delicateskin around my eyes was demanding attention Has Tom noticedI donrsquot think so Christine and Natalie donrsquot really look at me inthat way they just see this watercolour blob that means motherwhich is rather how I see myself

ldquoA womanrsquos charm is with her for liferdquo Madame Sylvia saidldquobut you must pay attentionrdquo

No I thought an hour later no Irsquom sorry but I have no plansto be charming on a regular basis Anyone can be charming Itrsquosreally a cheap trick mere charm so astonishingly easy to per-form screwing up your face into sunbeams and spewing themforth The calculated lift of the wrist chin up thumb and fore-finger brought together to form a little feminine loop that trick of pretending to sit on a little glass chair that concentration ofradiance lrsquoesprit little sprinkles of it everywhere misting the airlike bargain scent Ingenue spritz Emma Allen calls it

I know that cheapness so intimatelymdashthe grainy sugary per-severing way charm enters a fresh mouth and rubs against themolars sticking there in soft wads promoting mouth ulcers or whatever it is thatrsquos the metaphoric projection of self-hatredOf all the social virtues charm is in the end the most unreward-ing And compared to goodness real goodness or the unmovableself-abnegation my daughter Norah practises charm is nothingbut crumpled tissue paper soiled from previous use

Sincerity No Sincerityrsquos over Sincerityrsquos lost whatever edge ithad Itrsquos fine fine matter but wasted on the press who all grew uppost-Holocaust devoted readers of Mad Magazine and wouldnrsquotrecognize a bar of willed innocence if it came wrapped in foil

Nor will I ever again be pointlessly endlessly polite I got overthat two years ago when I did my author tour It seems Irsquove lostlike a stream of pebbles leaving my hand the kind of endurancethat professional courtesy demands suck in your breath let yourface go numb listen to the interviewerrsquos questions registeroptimally let your breath out evaluate the feelings of those whodepend on you (agent publisher editor that nice Sheila personwho does publicity and of course Danielle Westerman) andperform again and again like the tuned-up athlete you are the fitphysical specimen that each new book demands then move on tothe next task

Mrs Winters who has just translated The Middle Years the un-

folding memoir of Holocaust survivor Danielle Westerman is a woman

of grace and charm whose thick brown hair is arranged into a bun

Putting down her coffee cup she shrugs off her beige raincoat and

Irsquove entered early middle age now and I have a nineteen-year-old daughter who lives on the street I no longer require a reputa-tion for charm those saving lilac shadows and contours Maybe Inever did I wonrsquotmdashnot nowmdashtuck the ends of my sentences intolittle licks of favour and the next time a journalist pins me downwith a personal question trolling for informationmdashTell me MrsWinters how are you able to balance your family and profes-sional lifemdashI will stare back hard with my newly practised stareHow do I balance my life Tinted eyebrows up Just what kind ofinquiry is this Wouldnrsquot you prefer Mrs Winters to pursue youown writing rather than translate Dr Westermanrsquos work Pleasenot that again How did you and your husband meet What doeshe think of your writing

I will in the future address my interviewer directly and saywith firmness ldquoThis interview is overrdquo There is nothing to loseRude and difficult people are more likely to be taken seriouslyCurmudgeons are positively adored Irsquove noticed this Even thefascinatingly unknowable earn respect

And when I read in the paper tomorrow that ldquoMrs Winterslooked all of her forty-three yearsrdquo and that ldquoMrs Winters with

her familiar overbite was reluctant to talk about her work sched-ulerdquo I will want to phone the editor and complain bitterly Thisfrom the pen of a small unattractive man almost entirely lip-less beneath a bony domineering nose sweating with minorambition head tilted like something carved out of yellow wax

He interviewed me in a cappuccino bar in mid-Toronto Achilly stooped round-headed man in his thirties or fortiesmdashitwas hard to tellmdashslow to smile pathetically in need of humanattention thinking his superior thoughts Fluff on his shouldersbegged to be picked off I on the other hand was wearing a softjade jacket of cashmere lined with silk which represented a raresplurge on my part but I could be sure this man would over-look this garment with its crystal buttons and mandarin collar andconcentrate instead on my drab raincoat beige and not quitepristine at the cuffs In print he will be certain to refer to mychignon as a bun Itrsquos taken me years to learn to do a glossy littlechignonmdashI can get my hair brushed back and securely pinned up each morning in a mere two and a half minutes and I considermy coiffure one of my major life accomplishments I really meanthis

Sheila from publicity had filled me in before the interview andI felt the information packet hovering what to do with it Thisyoungyoungish man was the newly appointed books columnistat Booktimes He was well known for holding pious opinions aboutthe literature of the Great North about his own role as advocateof a diverse new outpouring of Canadian voices the post-colonialcry of blaming anguish The stream of current fiction aboutmiddle-class people living in cities was diluting the authenticnational voice that rose from the landscape itself andmdash

Oh shut up shut upCappuccino foam dotted the corners of his undistinguished

mouth And just one more question Mrs WintersmdashOf course he didnrsquot call me Reta even though there might be

only a year or two between us The ldquoMrsrdquo gave him power overme that vexing r rucking things up in the middle and making one

think of such distractions as clotheslines and baking tins He wasthe barking terrier going at Mrs Wintersrsquos ankles shaking out hisfur and asking me to justify myself wanting me to explain thespluttering dying whimpering bonfire of my life which I wouldnot dream of sharing He seemed to forget he was interviewingme about Danielle Westermanrsquos new book

I understand yoursquore working on a second novel said heWell yesTakes nerveUh-huhActuallymdashactually well he had a novel on the go himselfReally What a surpriseAt the end of the hour he did not ask for the bill I asked for the

bill ldquoIrsquoll just put it on my Visardquo I said breaking a tenuous breadthof silence I announced this with all the majesty I could musterover a vinyl table like a grande dame adding twenty years to myage and feeling the vowels shifting in my beautifully mouldedthroat Such dignity I surprised myself with my own resonanceand I may have managed a pained smile displaying no doubtthat famous overbite He turned off the tape recorder at the wordldquoVisardquo

He had two young children at home he said Christ what aresponsibility although he loved the little bastards One of themwas quite quite gifted well they both were in their separateways But the work of raising kids Never enough time to read thebooks he had to review books all over the house with little mark-ers in them books he would never finish So much was expectedand of course like all journalists he was underpaid

Oh shut upThey also expected him to do a feature on the weekendUh-huhAnd last week hersquod actually broken the MacBunna storyReally Macumba MarimbaCongratulations said Mrs Reta Winters from OrangetownThanks

I should be getting on my way I said My parking meter Alunch date A long drive home

I understand you and your family live in a lovely old housenear Orangetown

And then slyly I understand one of your daughters now livesin Toronto and

Irsquove been here before There is something about having anestablished family a long-lasting spousal arrangement threedaughters in their teens a house in the country a suggestion ofimpermeability that draws the curiosity of others so that theycan as Tom says probe with probity

But no this man across the table will not be feeding on myflesh nor will his colleaguesmdashthough one can tell that he has nocolleagues there is no possibility of colleagues He has no contextfor friends or co-workers though there are the kids and therersquosthe wife hersquos referred to her three times now Nicola She has herprofessional life too he tells me as though the matter were indispute

I canrsquot resist ldquoDoes Nicolamdashis she a journalist toordquoldquoJournalistrdquoldquoLike you I meanrdquoHis hand jumps and for a moment I think hersquos going to turn

the tape recorder on again But no hersquos reaching into his pocketand now hersquos releasing two coins onto the table The tip They liethere moist from his hand Two dimes I focus on them withwhat I hope is a cool censorious gaze

But hersquos not looking at me Hersquos looking across the roomwhere a silver-haired man is seating himself gracefully at a tableldquoIrsquom not sure but I think thatrsquos Gore Vidalrdquo my interviewer whis-pers in a hungry voice ldquoHersquos here for the writersrsquo festival youknowrdquo

I rise and exit as though led by a brass quintetThe charming Mrs Winters slips on her comfortable beige rain-

coat

I would like to thank a number of others who in one way or another encouraged me in the writing of Unless SharonAllan Marjorie Anderson the late Joan Austen-Leigh JoanBarfoot Clare Boylan Marg Edmond Brown Joan ClarkAnne Collins Cynthia Coop Patrick Crowe Maggie DwyerDarlene Hammell Blanche Howard Isabel Huggan CarlLenthe Madeline Li Elinor Lipman Anna and Sylvie MatasMargaret Shaw-Mackinnon Don McCarthy Peter ParkerBella Pomer Christopher Potter Linda Rogers CaroleSabiston Floyd St Clair Eleanor Wachtel Cindi WarnerMindy Werner the John Simon Guggenheim Foundationand as always my family John Audrey Anne CatherineMeg Sara and especially Don

About the Author

Carol Shields is the author of eight novels and two collections of short stories

The Stone Diaries won the Pulitzer Prize and was shortlisted for the Booker

Prize Larryrsquos Party won the Orange Prize Born and brought up in Chicago

Carol Shields has lived in Canada since 1957

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 1

Others

Intersect

Coming to Canada

Larryrsquos Party

The Stone Diaries

The Republic of Love

A Celibate Season (with Blanche Howard)Swann

A Fairly Conventional Woman

Happenstance

The Box Garden

Small Ceremonies

Various Miracles

The Orange Fish

Dressing Up for the Carnival

Departures and Arrivals

Thirteen Hands

Fashion Power Guilt and the Charity of Families

(with Catherine Shields)Anniversary (with David Williamson)

Susanna Moodie Voice and Vision

Jane Austen

Dropped Threads What We Arenrsquot Told

(Edited with Marjorie Anderson)

Credits

Design by Julian HumphriesPhotographer by Michael CrouserDesigned by Dinah Drazin

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 2

If you enjoyed reading this excerpt please visitHarperCollins Publishers to find out where to buy thisand other PerfectBound e-books

Australiahttpwwwharpercollinscomau

Canadahttpwwwharpercanadacom

New Zealandhttpwwwharpercollinsconz

United Kingdomhttpwwwfireandwatercom

United Stateshttpwwwperfectboundcom

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 3

The Pajama Game Words and Music by Richard Adler Music

and Jerry Ross copy Richard Adler Music and J amp J Ross Co USA

WarnerChappell Music Ltd London w6 8bs

Reproduced by permission of International Music Publications

Ltd All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction Names characters places and incidents

either are the products of the authorrsquos imagination or are used

fictitiously Any resemblance to actual events locales organiza-

tions or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and

beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher

UNLESS Copyright copy 2002 by Carol Shields All rights

reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright

Conventions By payment of the required fees you have been

granted the non-exclusive non-transferable right to access and

read the text of this e-book on-screen No part of this text may

be reproduced transmitted down-loaded decompiled reverse

engineered or stored in or introduced into any information stor-

age and retrieval system in any form or by any means whether

electronic or mechanical now known or hereinafter invented

without the express written permission of PerfectBoundtrade

PerfectBound trade and the PerfectBoundtrade logo are trademarks

of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

Adobe Acrobat E-Book Reader edition v 1 May 2002

ISBN 0-06-052370-0

Print edition first published in 2002

by Forth Estate a division of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 4

my sorrow will eventually become material for my writing butprobably they think it

And itrsquos true There is a curious and faintly distasteful comfortat the age of forty-three forty-four in September in contemplat-ing what I have managed to write and publish during thoseimpossibly childish and sunlit days before I understood the mean-ing of grief ldquoMy Writingrdquo this is a very small poultice to hold upagainst my damaged self but better I have been persuaded thanno comfort at all

Itrsquos June the first year of the new century and herersquos what Irsquove written so far in my life Irsquom not including my old schoolgirlsonnets from the seventiesmdashSatin-slippered April you glidethrough time And lubricate spring days de dum de dummdashandmy dozen or so fawning book reviews from the early eighties Iam posting this list not on the screen but on my consciousness afar safer computer tool and easier to access

A translation and introduction to Danielle Westermanrsquos bookof poetry Isolation April one month before our daughterNorah was born a home birth naturally a midwife you couldalmost hear the guitars plinking in the background except we did not feast on the placenta as some of our friends were doing at the time My French came from my Queacutebeacutecoise mother and my acquaintance with Danielle from the University of Torontowhere she taught French civilization in my student days She wasa poor teacher hesitant and in awe I think of the tanned healthystudents sitting in her classroom taking notes worshipfully andstretching their small suburban notion of what the word civiliz-

ation might mean She was already a recognized writer of kinetictough-corded prose both beguiling and dangerous Her mannerwas to take the reader by surprise In the middle of a flattenedrambling paragraph deceived by warm stretches of reflectionyou came upon hard cartilage

I am a little uneasy about claiming Isolation as my own writingbut Dr Westerman doing one of her hurrying over-the-headgestures insisted that translation especially of poetry is a creative

act Writing and translating are convivial she said not opposi-tional and not at all hierarchical Of course she would say thatMy introduction to Isolation was certainly creative though since I had no idea what I was talking about

I hauled it out recently and while I read it experienced theBurrowing of the Palpable Worm of Shame as my friend LynnKelly calls it Pretension is what I see now The part about arttransmuting the despair of life to the ldquomerely frangiblerdquo andpoetryrsquos attempt to ldquorepair the gap between ought and naughtrdquomdashwhat on earth did I mean Too much Derrida might be theproblem I was into all that pretty heavily in the early eighties

After that came ldquoThe Brightness of a Starrdquo a short story thatappeared in An Anthology of Young Ontario Voices (Pink Onion Press) Itrsquos hard to believe that I qualified as ldquoa young voicerdquo in but in fact I was only twenty-nine mother of Norah agedfour her sister Christine aged two and about to give birth toNataliemdashin a hospital this time Three daughters and not eventhirty ldquoHow did you find the timerdquo people used to chorus and inthat query I often registered a hint of blame was I neglecting mydarling sprogs for my writing career Well no I never thought interms of career I dabbled in writing It was my macrameacute my knit-ting Not long after however I did start to get serious and joineda local ldquowritersrsquo workshoprdquo for women which met every secondweek for two hours where we drank coffee and had a good timeand deeply appreciated each otherrsquos company and that led to

ldquoIconrdquo a short story rather Jamesian Gwen Reidmanthe only published author in the workshop group was our leaderThe Glenmar Collective (an acronym of our first namesmdashnot veryoriginal) was what we called ourselves One day Gwen said mov-ing a muffin to her mouth that she was touched by the ldquoauster-ityrdquo of my short storymdashwhich was based but only roughly on myresponse to the Russian icon show at the Art Gallery of OntarioMy fictional piece was a case of art ldquoembracingrepudiating artrdquoas Gwen put it and then she reminded us of the famous ldquoOn FirstLooking Into Chapmanrsquos Homerrdquo and the whole aesthetic of art

begetting art art worshipping art which I no longer believe in bythe way Either you do or you donrsquot The seven of us GwenLorna Emma Allen Nan Marcella Annette and I (my name isReta Wintersmdashpronounced Ree-tah) self-published our pieces in avolume titled Incursions and Interruptions throwing in fifty dollarseach for the printing bill The five hundred copies sold quickly inthe local bookstores mostly to our friends and families Publishingwas cheap we discovered What a surprise We called ourselvesthe Stepping Stone Press and in that name we expressed our mildembarrassment at the idea of self-publishing but also the hopethat we would ldquosteprdquo along to authentic publishing in the verynear future Except Gwen of course who was already there AndEmma who was beginning to publish op-ed pieces in the Globe

and Mail

Alive (Random House ) a translation of Pour Vivre vol-ume one of Danielle Westermanrsquos memoirs I may appear to beclaiming translation as an act of originality but as I have alreadysaid it was Danielle in her benign way wrinkling her disorderlyforehead who had urged me to believe that the act of shufflingelegant French into readable and stable English is an aestheticperformance The book was well received by the critics and evensold moderately well a dense but popular book offered withoutshame and nary a footnote The translation itself was slammed inthe Toronto Star (ldquoclumsyrdquo) by one Stanley Harold Howard butDanielle Westerman said never mind the man was un maquereau

which translates crudely as something between a pimp and aprick

I then wrote a commissioned pamphlet for a series put outby a press calling itself Encyclopeacutedie de lrsquoart The press producedtiny hold-in-the-hand booklets each devoted to a single artsubject covering everything from Braque to Calder to Klee toMondrian to Villon The editor in New York operating out of aphone booth it seemed to me and knowing nothing of my igno-rance had stumbled on my short story ldquoIconrdquo and believed me tobe an expert on the subject He asked for three thousand words

for a volume (volumette really) to be called Russian Icons pub-lished finally in It took me a whole year to do what withTom and the three girls and the house and garden and meals andlaundry and too much inwardness They published my ldquotextrdquosuch a cold jellied word along with a series of coloured plates inboth English and French (I did the French as well) and paid mefour hundred dollars I learned all about the schools of Suzdal andVladimir and what went on in Novgorod (a lot) and how imagesof saints made medieval people quake with fear To my knowl-edge the book was never reviewed but I can read it today with-out shame It is almost impossible to be pseudo when writingabout innocent paintings that obey no rules of perspective andthat are done on slabs of ordinary wood

I lost a year after this which I donrsquot understand since allthree girls had started school though Natalie was only in morningkindergarten I think I was too busy thinking about the business ofbeing a writer about being writerly and fretting over whetherTomrsquos ego was threatened and being in Daniellersquos shadow nevermind Derrida and needing my own writing space and turningthirty-five and feeling older than Irsquove ever felt since My agemdashthirty-fivemdashshouted at me all the time standing tall and wide inmy head and blocking access to what my life afforded Thirty-fivenever sat down with its hands folded Thirty-five had no compo-sure It was always humming mean terse tunes on a piece offolded cellophane (ldquoI am composedrdquo said John Quincy Adams onhis deathbed How admirable and enviable and beyond belief Iloved him for this)

This anguish of mine was unnecessary Tomrsquos ego was unchal-lenged by my slender publications He turned out to be one ofthose men we were worried about in the seventies and eightieswho might shrivel in acknowledgment of his own insignificanceOrdinary was what he wanted to be an ordinary man embeddedin a family he loved We put a skylight in the box room bought a used office desk installed a fax and a computer and I sat downon my straight-from-a-catalogue Freedom Chair and translated

Danielle Westermanrsquos immense Les femmes et le pouvoir the Eng-lish version published in volume two of her memoirs InEnglish the title was changed to Women Waiting which onlymakes sense if yoursquove read the book (Women possess power butit is power that has yet to be seized ignited and released and soforth) This time no one grumped about my translation ldquoSpark-ling and full of easerdquo the Globe said and the New York Times wentone better and called it ldquoan achievementrdquo

ldquoYou are my true sisterrdquo said Danielle Westerman at the timeof publication Ma vraie soeur I hugged her back Her craving forphysical touch has not slackened even in her eighties thoughnowadays it is mostly her doctor who touches her or me with myweekly embrace or the manicurist Dr Danielle Westerman isthe only person I know who has her nails done twice a weekTuesday and Saturday ( just a touch-up) beautiful long nail bedsmatching her long quizzing eyes

I was giddy All at once translation offers were arriving in themail but I kept thinking I could maybe write short stories eventhough our Glenmar group was dwindling what with Emmataking a job in Newfoundland Annette getting her divorce andGwen moving to the States The trouble was I hated my shortstories I wanted to write about the overheard and the glimpsedbut this kind of evanescence sent me into whimsy mode andalthough I believed whimsicality to be a strand of the humanpersonality I was embarrassed at what I was pumping into mynew Apple computer sitting there under the clean brightness ofthe skylight Pernicious precious my moments of recognitionAhahmdashand then she realized I was so fetching with my ldquoEllen wassetting the table and she knew tonight would be differentrdquo Alittle bug sat in my ear and buzzed Who cares about Ellen andher woven placemats and her hopes for the future

I certainly didnrsquot careBecause I had three kids everyone said I should be writing

kiddy lit but I couldnrsquot find the voice Kiddy lit screeched in mybrain Talking ducks and chuckling frogs I wanted something

sterner and more contained as a task which is how I came to writeShakespeare and Flowers (San Francisco Cyclone Press ) Thecontract was negotiated before I wrote one word Along came alittle bundle of cash to start me off with the rest promised on pub-lication I thought it was going to be a scholarly endeavour but Iended up producing a wee ldquogiftierdquo book You could send this bookto anyone on your list who was maidenly or semi-academic orwhom you didnrsquot know very well Shakespeare and Flowers wassold in the kind of outlets that stock greeting cards and stuffedbears I simply scanned the canon and picked up references to saythe eglantine (A Midsummer Nightrsquos Dream) or the blackberry(Troilus and Cressida) and then I puffed out a little description of theflower and conferenced on the phone (twice) with the illustratorin Berkeley and threw in lots of Shakespearean quotes A sweetlittle book excellent slick paper US$ At sixty-eight pages it fits in a small mailer Two hundred thousand copies and stillselling though the royalty rate is scandalous Theyrsquod like me to do something on Shakespeare and animals and I just might

Eros Essays by Danielle Westerman translation by RetaWinters hastily translatedmdasheverything was hasty in those dayseverything still ismdashand published in Hugely successful aftera tiny advance We put the dog in a kennel and Tom and I andthe girls took the first translation payment and went to France fora month southern Burgundy a village called La Roche-Vineusewhere Danielle had grown up halfway between Cluny andMacirccon red-tiled roofs set in the midst of rolling vineyards incan-descent air Our rental house was built around a cobbled court-yard full of ancient roses and hydrangeas ldquoHow old is thishouserdquo we asked the neighbours who invited us in for an aperi-tif ldquoVery oldrdquo was all we got The stone walls were two feetthick The three girls took tennis lessons at lrsquoeacutecole drsquoeacuteteacute Tom wenthacking for trilobites happy under the French sun and I sat in awicker chair in the flower-filled courtyard shorts and halter andbare feet a floppy straw hat on my head reading novels day afterday and thinking I want to write a novel About something

happening About characters moving against a ldquothererdquo That waswhat I really wanted to do

Looking back I can scarcely believe in such innocence I didnrsquotthink about our girls growing older and leaving home and fallingaway from us Norah had been a good docile baby and then shebecame a good obedient little girl Now at nineteen shersquos sobrimming with goodness that she sits on a Toronto street cornerwhich has its own textual archaeology though Norah probablydoesnrsquot know about that She sits beneath the lamppost where thepoet Ed Lewinski hanged himself in and where MargheritaTolles burst out of the subway exit into the sunshine of heradopted country and decided to write a great play Norah sitscross-legged with a begging bowl in her lap and asks nothing ofthe world Nine-tenths of what she gathers she distributes at theend of the day to other street people She wears a cardboard signon her chest a single word printed in black markermdash

I donrsquot know what that word really means though words aremy business The Old English word wearth I discovered the otherday on the Internet means outcast the other English word itstwin its cancellation is worthmdashwe know what that means andknow to distrust it It is the word wearth that Norah has swal-lowed This is the place shersquos claimed a whole world constructedon stillness An easy stance says the condemning grievingmother easy to find and maintain given enough practice Asharper focus could be achieved by tossing in an astringent fluid apeppery sauce irony rebellion tattoos and pierced tongue andspiked purple hair but no Norah embodies invisibility and good-ness or at least she is on the pathmdashso she said in our last conver-sation which was eight weeks ago the eleventh of April Shewore torn jeans that day and a rough plaid shawl that was almostcertainly a car blanket Her long pale hair was matted Sherefused to look us in the eye but she did blink in acknowledge-mentmdashIrsquom sure of itmdashwhen I handed her a sack of cheesesandwiches and Tom dropped a roll of twenty-dollar bills in herlap Then she spoke in her own voice but emptied of connection

She could not come home She was on the path to goodness Atthat moment I her mother was more absent from myself thanshe I felt that She was steadfast She could not be diverted Shecould not ldquoberdquo with us

How did this part of the narrative happen We know it didnrsquotrise out of the ordinary plot lines of a life story An intelligent andbeautiful girl from a loving family grows up in OrangetownOntario her motherrsquos a writer her fatherrsquos a doctor and then shegoes off the track Therersquos nothing natural about her efflorescenceof goodness Itrsquos abrupt and brutal Itrsquos killing us What will reallykill us though is the day we donrsquot find her sitting on her chosensquare of pavement

But I didnrsquot know any of this when I sat in that Burgundygarden dreaming about writing a novel I thought I understoodsomething of a novelrsquos architecture the lovely slope of predica-ment the tendrils of surface detail the calculated curving upwardinto inevitability yet allowing spells of incorrigibility and thenthe ending a corruption of cause and effect and the gatheringtogether of all the characters into a framed operatic circle ofconsolation and ecstasy backlit with fibre-optic gold just for amoment on the second-to-last page just for an atomic particle oftime

I had an idea for my novel a seed and nothing more Twoappealing characters had suggested themselves a woman and aman Alicia and Roman who live in Wychwood which is a citythe size of Toronto who clamour and romp and cling to theisland that is their lifersquos predicamentmdashthey long for love butselfishly strive for self-preservation Roman is proud to be cholericin temperament Alicia thinks of herself as being reflective buther job as assistant editor on a fashion magazine keeps her toooccupied to reflect

And I had a title My Thyme Is Up It was a pun of coursefrom an old family joke and I meant to write a jokey novel Alight novel A novel for summertime a book to read while seatedin an Ikea wicker chair with the sun falling on the pages as faintly

and evenly as human breath Naturally the novel would have ahappy ending I never doubted but that I could write this noveland I did in mdashin a swoop alone during three dark wintermonths when the girls were away all day at school

The Middle Years the translation of volume three of Wester-manrsquos memoirs is coming out this fall Volume three exploresWestermanrsquos numerous love affairs with both men and womenand none of this will be shocking or even surprising to her read-ers What is new is the suppleness and strength of her sentencesAlways an artist of concision and selflessness she has arrived inher old age at a gorgeous fluidity and expansion of phrase Mytranslation doesnrsquot begin to express what she has accomplishedThe book is stark itrsquos also sentimental one balances and rescuesthe other strangely enough I can only imagine that those end-less calcium pills Danielle chokes down every morning and the vitamin E and the emu oil capsules have fed directly into hervein of language so that what lands on the page is larger morerapturous more self-forgetful than anything shersquos written beforeand all of it sprouting short swift digressions that pretend to be just careless asides little swoons of surrender to her ownexperience inviting us her readers to believe in the totality ofher abandonment

Either that or shersquos gone senile to good effect a grand loosen-ing of language in her old age The thought has more than onceoccurred to me

Another thought has drifted by silken as a breeze against alattice Therersquos something missing in these memoirs or so I thinkin my solipsistic view Danielle Westerman suffers she feels the pangs of existential loneliness the absence of sexual love thetreason of her own womanrsquos body She has no partner no one forwhom she is the first person in the world order no one to dependon as I do on Tom She does not have a child or any survivingblood connection for that matter and perhaps itrsquos this that makesthe memoirs themselves childlike They go down like good milkfoaming swirling in the glass

I shouldnrsquot mention Book Number Eleven since it is not afait accompli but I will Irsquom going to write a second novel asequel to My Thyme Is Up Today is the day I intend to begin Thefirst sentence is already tapped into my computer ldquoAlicia was notas happy as she deserved to berdquo

I have no idea what will happen in this book It is a mereabstraction at the moment something thatrsquos popped out of theground like the rounded snout of a crocus on a cold lawn Irsquovestumbled up against this idea in my clumsy manner and now the urge to write it wonrsquot go away This will be a book about lostchildren about goodness and going home and being happy andtrying to keep the poison of the printed page in perspective Irsquomdesperate to know how the story will turn out

Nearly

We are more than halfway through the year Toward the beginning of August Tomrsquos old friendColin Glass came to dinner one night driving out

from Toronto Over coffee he attempted to explain the theory ofrelativity to me

I was the one who invited him to launch into the subjectRelativity is a piece of knowledge Irsquove always longed to under-stand a big piece but the explainers tend to go too fast or elsethey skip over a step they assume their audience has alreadyabsorbed Apparently there was once a time when only oneperson in the world understood relativity (Einstein) then twopeople then three or four and now most of the high-school kidswho take physics have at least an inkling or so Irsquom told Howhard can it be And itrsquos passed according to Colin from crazyspeculation to confirmed fact which makes it even more impor-tant to understand Irsquove tried but my grasp feels tenuous So thespeed of light is constant Is that all

Ordinarily I love these long August evenings the splash ofamber light that falls on the white dining-room walls just beforethe separate shades of twilight take over The medallion leavesthat flutter their round ghost shadows All day Irsquod listened to the white-throated sparrows in the woods behind our house their song resembles the Canadian national anthem at least theopening bars Summer was dying but in pieces Wersquod be eatingoutside if it werenrsquot for the wasps Good food the company of agood friend what more could anyone desire But I kept thinking

of Norah sitting on her square of pavement and holding up thepiece of cardboard with the word and then I lost trackof what Colin was saying

E=mc Energy equals mass times the speed of light squaredThe tidiness of the equation raised my immediate suspicion Howcan massmdashthis solid oak dining table for instancemdashhave any con-nection with how fast light travels Theyrsquore two different thingsColin who is a physicist was patient with my objections Hetook the linen napkin from his lap and stretched it taut across thetop of his coffee cup Then he took a cherry from the fruit bowland placed it on the napkin creating a small dimple He tipped thecup slightly so that the cherry rotated around the surface of the napkin He spoke of energy and mass but already I had lost a critical filament of the argument I worried slightly about hiscoffee sloshing up onto the napkin and staining it and thoughthow seldom in the last few years I had bothered with clothnapkins Nobody except maybe Danielle Westerman does realnapkins anymore it was understood that modern professionalwomen had better things to do with their time than launder linen

By now I had forgotten completely what the cherry (more thanfour dollars a pound) represented and what the little dimple wassupposed to be Colin talked on and on and Tom who is a familyphysician and has a broad scientific background seemed to befollowing at least he was nodding his head appropriately Mymother-in-law Lois had politely excused herself and returned toher house next door she would never miss the ten-orsquoclock newsher watching of the ten-orsquoclock news helps the country of Canadato go forward Christine and Natalie had long since drifted fromthe table and I could hear the buzz and burst of TV noises in the den

Pet our golden retriever parked his shaggy self under thetable his whole dog body humming away against my footSometimes in his dreams he groans and sometimes he chortleswith happiness I found myself thinking about Marietta Colinrsquoswife who had packed her bags a few months ago and moved to

Calgary to be with another man She claimed Colin was toowrapped up in his research and teaching to be a true partner Abeautiful woman with a neck like a plant stem she hinted thatthere had been a collapse of passion in their marriage She had left suddenly coldly he had been shocked he had had no idea hetold us in the early days that she had been unhappy all theseyears but he found her diaries in a desk drawer and read themsick with realization that a gulf of misunderstanding separatedthem

Why would a woman leave such personal diaries behind To punish to hurt of course Colin for the most part a decentkind-hearted man used to address her in a dry admonitory wayas though she were a graduate student instead of his wife ldquoDonrsquottell me this is processed cheeserdquo he asked her once when we were having dinner at their house Another time ldquoThis coffee isundrinkablerdquo He loved pleasuremdashhe was that kind of manmdashandtook it for granted and couldnrsquot help his little yelps of outragewhen pleasure failed You could call him an innocent in his expec-tations almost naive on this particular August evening It was asthough he were alone in a vaulted chamber echoing with immen-sities while Tom and I stood attendance just outside the doorcatching the overflow the odd glimpse of his skewed but calmbrilliance Even the little pockets under his eyes were phlegmaticHe was not a shallow person but perhaps he suspected that wewere I had to stop myself interrupting with a joke I often do thisIrsquom afraid ask for an explanation and then drift off into my ownthoughts

How could he now be sitting at our table so calmly toyingwith cherries and coffee cups and rolling the edge of his strawplacemat and pressing this heft of information on us It was closeto midnight he had an hourrsquos drive ahead of him What did thetheory of relativity really matter to his ongoing life Colin withhis small specs and trim moustache was at ease with big ideas likerelativity As a theory relativity worked it held all sorts of impor-tant ldquoconceptsrdquo together with its precision and elegance Think of

glue lavishly applied he said helpfully about relativity think ofthe power of the shrewd guess Such a sweeping perspective hadbeen visionary at the beginning but had been assessed and re-inforced and it was moreover Colin was now insisting usefulIn the face of lifersquos uncertainties relativityrsquos weight could beassumed and then set aside part of the package of consciousness

He finished awkwardly sat back in his chair with his two longarms extended ldquoSordquo Thatrsquos it he seemed to say or thatrsquos asmuch as I can do to simplify and explain so brilliant an idea Heglanced at his watch then sat back again exhausted pleased withhimself He wore a well-pressed cotton shirt with blue and yellowstripes neatly tucked into his black jeans He has no interest in clothes This shirt must go back to his married days chosen for him ironed for him by Marietta herself and put on a hangerperhaps a summer ago

The theory of relativity would not bring Colinrsquos wife hurryingback to the old stone house on Oriole Parkway It would notbring my daughter Norah home from the corner of Bathurst andBloor or the Promise Hostel where she beds at night Tom and I followed her one day we had to know how she managedwhether she was safe The weather would be turning cold soonHow does she bear it Cold concrete Dirt Uncombed hair

ldquoWould you sayrdquo I asked ColinmdashI had not spoken for severalminutesmdashldquothat the theory of relativity has reduced the weight ofgoodness and depravity in the worldrdquo

He stared at me ldquoRelativity has no moral position None what-everrdquo (ldquoThis coffee is undrinkablerdquo)

I looked to Tom for support but he was gazing with his mildeyes at the ceiling smiling I knew that smile

ldquoBut isnrsquot it possiblerdquo I said to Colin ldquoto think that goodnessor virtue if you like could be a wave or particle of energyrdquo

ldquoNordquo he said ldquoNo it is not possiblerdquoI made an abrupt move to clear the table I was suddenly

exhaustedStill I am thankful for the friendship and intellectual ardour of

such an unpretentious man as Colin Glass who despite his suffer-ing and shame really wanted me to understand a key concept ofthe twentieth century Or was he simply diverting himself for anhour This is what I must learn the art of diversion He said notone word about Marietta all evening long Tom and I understandthat he is reconstructing his life without her But a daughter issomething different A daughter of nineteen cannot be erased

Once

It was understood that I would do the publicity such as it was for Danielle Westermanrsquos third volume of memoirs Ateighty-five she was too old and too distinguished to handle

a day of interviews in Toronto even though she lives there I asthe translator could easily field questions from the press A verylight schedule was organized by the publisher since Dr Wester-man already possesses a long twilight of faithful readership

In early September I drove into Orangetown down its calmold-fashioned main street and into the countryside again The cityof Toronto monumental and lonely glowed in front of me Itsoutskirts are ragged though its numbered exits pretend at a kindof order Traffic was light I drove slowly by the corner of Bloorand Bathurst for a glimpse of Norah There she was as always onthe northeast corner seated on the ground near the subwayentrance with her bowl and cardboard sign even though it wasnot yet nine orsquoclock Had she had breakfast Did she have nits inher hair What is she thinking or is her mind a great blank

I parked the car and walked over to where she was ldquoHellodarling Norahrdquo I said setting down a plastic bag of food breadand cheese fruit and raw vegetables And in an envelope arecent photo of Pet with his straight proud muzzle and furry ruff Norah of all the girls doted on Pet and now I was bribingher shamelessly It was a chilly day and it iced my heart to see herunreadable immobility but I was glad to notice that she waswearing warm mittens Glad Me glad The least little signal willgladden my heart these days Today she looked not quite at me

and nodded Another wave of gladness struck I allow myself onlyone such glimpse a week since shersquos made it clear she doesnrsquotwant to see us

It is like watching her through plate glass All week I will drawexpensively on this brief moment of voyeurism at the same timetrying to blot it out with images of Norah on her bicycle Norahsitting at the kitchen table studying for exams Norah reaching forher green raincoat Norah trying on new school shoes Norahsleeping safe

After a while I went to have my eyebrows arched and tinted atSylviarsquos which calls itself a ldquospirit spardquo meaning it seemed thatwhile Madame Sylvia swiped at my brow with a little paintbrushshe murmured and sang into my ear It was now nine-thirty in themorning and I lay on a narrow table in a tiny white room ldquoYouare at the age when you must protect the fine skin around theeyesrdquo she warned ldquoA womanrsquos face falls it is inevitable but the eyes go on and on giving light You will be eighty ninety and your eyes will still charmrdquo

She knows nothing about my life Irsquove never been here beforeand have never thought of having an eyebrow tint I have per-fectly decent eyebrows nicely shaped and regular but I did lookinto a mirror a week or so ago and noticed that the small hairs atthe outside corners were coming in grey There was a little greyat the temples too but nothing to be surprised about not for a woman whose forty-fourth birthday is approaching not for awoman who has never even thought of herself as possessingldquotemplesrdquo such august body parts

ldquoAre you by any chance a Geminirdquo Madame Sylvia askedintimately Swish went the paintbrush She stopped peered at meclosely then swished again a deft little stroke

ldquoNordquo I said ashamed to acknowledge the astrological universeldquoMy birthdayrsquos in September Next week in factrdquo

ldquoI can tell yesrdquo She had a touch of the harridan in her voice ldquoIcan always tellrdquo

What could she tell

ldquoTwenty-four dollarsrdquo she said ldquoLet me give you my card Fornext timerdquo

Presumptuous but yes there will be a next time I calculatedquickly My face would make it through the next few weeks butby November I will probably be back in Madame Sylviarsquos hushedwhite cell I may well become a regular Eyebrows lashes fullfacials neck massage I have led a reflective life a life of thoughta writer a translator but all this is about to change The delicateskin around my eyes was demanding attention Has Tom noticedI donrsquot think so Christine and Natalie donrsquot really look at me inthat way they just see this watercolour blob that means motherwhich is rather how I see myself

ldquoA womanrsquos charm is with her for liferdquo Madame Sylvia saidldquobut you must pay attentionrdquo

No I thought an hour later no Irsquom sorry but I have no plansto be charming on a regular basis Anyone can be charming Itrsquosreally a cheap trick mere charm so astonishingly easy to per-form screwing up your face into sunbeams and spewing themforth The calculated lift of the wrist chin up thumb and fore-finger brought together to form a little feminine loop that trick of pretending to sit on a little glass chair that concentration ofradiance lrsquoesprit little sprinkles of it everywhere misting the airlike bargain scent Ingenue spritz Emma Allen calls it

I know that cheapness so intimatelymdashthe grainy sugary per-severing way charm enters a fresh mouth and rubs against themolars sticking there in soft wads promoting mouth ulcers or whatever it is thatrsquos the metaphoric projection of self-hatredOf all the social virtues charm is in the end the most unreward-ing And compared to goodness real goodness or the unmovableself-abnegation my daughter Norah practises charm is nothingbut crumpled tissue paper soiled from previous use

Sincerity No Sincerityrsquos over Sincerityrsquos lost whatever edge ithad Itrsquos fine fine matter but wasted on the press who all grew uppost-Holocaust devoted readers of Mad Magazine and wouldnrsquotrecognize a bar of willed innocence if it came wrapped in foil

Nor will I ever again be pointlessly endlessly polite I got overthat two years ago when I did my author tour It seems Irsquove lostlike a stream of pebbles leaving my hand the kind of endurancethat professional courtesy demands suck in your breath let yourface go numb listen to the interviewerrsquos questions registeroptimally let your breath out evaluate the feelings of those whodepend on you (agent publisher editor that nice Sheila personwho does publicity and of course Danielle Westerman) andperform again and again like the tuned-up athlete you are the fitphysical specimen that each new book demands then move on tothe next task

Mrs Winters who has just translated The Middle Years the un-

folding memoir of Holocaust survivor Danielle Westerman is a woman

of grace and charm whose thick brown hair is arranged into a bun

Putting down her coffee cup she shrugs off her beige raincoat and

Irsquove entered early middle age now and I have a nineteen-year-old daughter who lives on the street I no longer require a reputa-tion for charm those saving lilac shadows and contours Maybe Inever did I wonrsquotmdashnot nowmdashtuck the ends of my sentences intolittle licks of favour and the next time a journalist pins me downwith a personal question trolling for informationmdashTell me MrsWinters how are you able to balance your family and profes-sional lifemdashI will stare back hard with my newly practised stareHow do I balance my life Tinted eyebrows up Just what kind ofinquiry is this Wouldnrsquot you prefer Mrs Winters to pursue youown writing rather than translate Dr Westermanrsquos work Pleasenot that again How did you and your husband meet What doeshe think of your writing

I will in the future address my interviewer directly and saywith firmness ldquoThis interview is overrdquo There is nothing to loseRude and difficult people are more likely to be taken seriouslyCurmudgeons are positively adored Irsquove noticed this Even thefascinatingly unknowable earn respect

And when I read in the paper tomorrow that ldquoMrs Winterslooked all of her forty-three yearsrdquo and that ldquoMrs Winters with

her familiar overbite was reluctant to talk about her work sched-ulerdquo I will want to phone the editor and complain bitterly Thisfrom the pen of a small unattractive man almost entirely lip-less beneath a bony domineering nose sweating with minorambition head tilted like something carved out of yellow wax

He interviewed me in a cappuccino bar in mid-Toronto Achilly stooped round-headed man in his thirties or fortiesmdashitwas hard to tellmdashslow to smile pathetically in need of humanattention thinking his superior thoughts Fluff on his shouldersbegged to be picked off I on the other hand was wearing a softjade jacket of cashmere lined with silk which represented a raresplurge on my part but I could be sure this man would over-look this garment with its crystal buttons and mandarin collar andconcentrate instead on my drab raincoat beige and not quitepristine at the cuffs In print he will be certain to refer to mychignon as a bun Itrsquos taken me years to learn to do a glossy littlechignonmdashI can get my hair brushed back and securely pinned up each morning in a mere two and a half minutes and I considermy coiffure one of my major life accomplishments I really meanthis

Sheila from publicity had filled me in before the interview andI felt the information packet hovering what to do with it Thisyoungyoungish man was the newly appointed books columnistat Booktimes He was well known for holding pious opinions aboutthe literature of the Great North about his own role as advocateof a diverse new outpouring of Canadian voices the post-colonialcry of blaming anguish The stream of current fiction aboutmiddle-class people living in cities was diluting the authenticnational voice that rose from the landscape itself andmdash

Oh shut up shut upCappuccino foam dotted the corners of his undistinguished

mouth And just one more question Mrs WintersmdashOf course he didnrsquot call me Reta even though there might be

only a year or two between us The ldquoMrsrdquo gave him power overme that vexing r rucking things up in the middle and making one

think of such distractions as clotheslines and baking tins He wasthe barking terrier going at Mrs Wintersrsquos ankles shaking out hisfur and asking me to justify myself wanting me to explain thespluttering dying whimpering bonfire of my life which I wouldnot dream of sharing He seemed to forget he was interviewingme about Danielle Westermanrsquos new book

I understand yoursquore working on a second novel said heWell yesTakes nerveUh-huhActuallymdashactually well he had a novel on the go himselfReally What a surpriseAt the end of the hour he did not ask for the bill I asked for the

bill ldquoIrsquoll just put it on my Visardquo I said breaking a tenuous breadthof silence I announced this with all the majesty I could musterover a vinyl table like a grande dame adding twenty years to myage and feeling the vowels shifting in my beautifully mouldedthroat Such dignity I surprised myself with my own resonanceand I may have managed a pained smile displaying no doubtthat famous overbite He turned off the tape recorder at the wordldquoVisardquo

He had two young children at home he said Christ what aresponsibility although he loved the little bastards One of themwas quite quite gifted well they both were in their separateways But the work of raising kids Never enough time to read thebooks he had to review books all over the house with little mark-ers in them books he would never finish So much was expectedand of course like all journalists he was underpaid

Oh shut upThey also expected him to do a feature on the weekendUh-huhAnd last week hersquod actually broken the MacBunna storyReally Macumba MarimbaCongratulations said Mrs Reta Winters from OrangetownThanks

I should be getting on my way I said My parking meter Alunch date A long drive home

I understand you and your family live in a lovely old housenear Orangetown

And then slyly I understand one of your daughters now livesin Toronto and

Irsquove been here before There is something about having anestablished family a long-lasting spousal arrangement threedaughters in their teens a house in the country a suggestion ofimpermeability that draws the curiosity of others so that theycan as Tom says probe with probity

But no this man across the table will not be feeding on myflesh nor will his colleaguesmdashthough one can tell that he has nocolleagues there is no possibility of colleagues He has no contextfor friends or co-workers though there are the kids and therersquosthe wife hersquos referred to her three times now Nicola She has herprofessional life too he tells me as though the matter were indispute

I canrsquot resist ldquoDoes Nicolamdashis she a journalist toordquoldquoJournalistrdquoldquoLike you I meanrdquoHis hand jumps and for a moment I think hersquos going to turn

the tape recorder on again But no hersquos reaching into his pocketand now hersquos releasing two coins onto the table The tip They liethere moist from his hand Two dimes I focus on them withwhat I hope is a cool censorious gaze

But hersquos not looking at me Hersquos looking across the roomwhere a silver-haired man is seating himself gracefully at a tableldquoIrsquom not sure but I think thatrsquos Gore Vidalrdquo my interviewer whis-pers in a hungry voice ldquoHersquos here for the writersrsquo festival youknowrdquo

I rise and exit as though led by a brass quintetThe charming Mrs Winters slips on her comfortable beige rain-

coat

I would like to thank a number of others who in one way or another encouraged me in the writing of Unless SharonAllan Marjorie Anderson the late Joan Austen-Leigh JoanBarfoot Clare Boylan Marg Edmond Brown Joan ClarkAnne Collins Cynthia Coop Patrick Crowe Maggie DwyerDarlene Hammell Blanche Howard Isabel Huggan CarlLenthe Madeline Li Elinor Lipman Anna and Sylvie MatasMargaret Shaw-Mackinnon Don McCarthy Peter ParkerBella Pomer Christopher Potter Linda Rogers CaroleSabiston Floyd St Clair Eleanor Wachtel Cindi WarnerMindy Werner the John Simon Guggenheim Foundationand as always my family John Audrey Anne CatherineMeg Sara and especially Don

About the Author

Carol Shields is the author of eight novels and two collections of short stories

The Stone Diaries won the Pulitzer Prize and was shortlisted for the Booker

Prize Larryrsquos Party won the Orange Prize Born and brought up in Chicago

Carol Shields has lived in Canada since 1957

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 1

Others

Intersect

Coming to Canada

Larryrsquos Party

The Stone Diaries

The Republic of Love

A Celibate Season (with Blanche Howard)Swann

A Fairly Conventional Woman

Happenstance

The Box Garden

Small Ceremonies

Various Miracles

The Orange Fish

Dressing Up for the Carnival

Departures and Arrivals

Thirteen Hands

Fashion Power Guilt and the Charity of Families

(with Catherine Shields)Anniversary (with David Williamson)

Susanna Moodie Voice and Vision

Jane Austen

Dropped Threads What We Arenrsquot Told

(Edited with Marjorie Anderson)

Credits

Design by Julian HumphriesPhotographer by Michael CrouserDesigned by Dinah Drazin

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 2

If you enjoyed reading this excerpt please visitHarperCollins Publishers to find out where to buy thisand other PerfectBound e-books

Australiahttpwwwharpercollinscomau

Canadahttpwwwharpercanadacom

New Zealandhttpwwwharpercollinsconz

United Kingdomhttpwwwfireandwatercom

United Stateshttpwwwperfectboundcom

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 3

The Pajama Game Words and Music by Richard Adler Music

and Jerry Ross copy Richard Adler Music and J amp J Ross Co USA

WarnerChappell Music Ltd London w6 8bs

Reproduced by permission of International Music Publications

Ltd All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction Names characters places and incidents

either are the products of the authorrsquos imagination or are used

fictitiously Any resemblance to actual events locales organiza-

tions or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and

beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher

UNLESS Copyright copy 2002 by Carol Shields All rights

reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright

Conventions By payment of the required fees you have been

granted the non-exclusive non-transferable right to access and

read the text of this e-book on-screen No part of this text may

be reproduced transmitted down-loaded decompiled reverse

engineered or stored in or introduced into any information stor-

age and retrieval system in any form or by any means whether

electronic or mechanical now known or hereinafter invented

without the express written permission of PerfectBoundtrade

PerfectBound trade and the PerfectBoundtrade logo are trademarks

of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

Adobe Acrobat E-Book Reader edition v 1 May 2002

ISBN 0-06-052370-0

Print edition first published in 2002

by Forth Estate a division of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 4

act Writing and translating are convivial she said not opposi-tional and not at all hierarchical Of course she would say thatMy introduction to Isolation was certainly creative though since I had no idea what I was talking about

I hauled it out recently and while I read it experienced theBurrowing of the Palpable Worm of Shame as my friend LynnKelly calls it Pretension is what I see now The part about arttransmuting the despair of life to the ldquomerely frangiblerdquo andpoetryrsquos attempt to ldquorepair the gap between ought and naughtrdquomdashwhat on earth did I mean Too much Derrida might be theproblem I was into all that pretty heavily in the early eighties

After that came ldquoThe Brightness of a Starrdquo a short story thatappeared in An Anthology of Young Ontario Voices (Pink Onion Press) Itrsquos hard to believe that I qualified as ldquoa young voicerdquo in but in fact I was only twenty-nine mother of Norah agedfour her sister Christine aged two and about to give birth toNataliemdashin a hospital this time Three daughters and not eventhirty ldquoHow did you find the timerdquo people used to chorus and inthat query I often registered a hint of blame was I neglecting mydarling sprogs for my writing career Well no I never thought interms of career I dabbled in writing It was my macrameacute my knit-ting Not long after however I did start to get serious and joineda local ldquowritersrsquo workshoprdquo for women which met every secondweek for two hours where we drank coffee and had a good timeand deeply appreciated each otherrsquos company and that led to

ldquoIconrdquo a short story rather Jamesian Gwen Reidmanthe only published author in the workshop group was our leaderThe Glenmar Collective (an acronym of our first namesmdashnot veryoriginal) was what we called ourselves One day Gwen said mov-ing a muffin to her mouth that she was touched by the ldquoauster-ityrdquo of my short storymdashwhich was based but only roughly on myresponse to the Russian icon show at the Art Gallery of OntarioMy fictional piece was a case of art ldquoembracingrepudiating artrdquoas Gwen put it and then she reminded us of the famous ldquoOn FirstLooking Into Chapmanrsquos Homerrdquo and the whole aesthetic of art

begetting art art worshipping art which I no longer believe in bythe way Either you do or you donrsquot The seven of us GwenLorna Emma Allen Nan Marcella Annette and I (my name isReta Wintersmdashpronounced Ree-tah) self-published our pieces in avolume titled Incursions and Interruptions throwing in fifty dollarseach for the printing bill The five hundred copies sold quickly inthe local bookstores mostly to our friends and families Publishingwas cheap we discovered What a surprise We called ourselvesthe Stepping Stone Press and in that name we expressed our mildembarrassment at the idea of self-publishing but also the hopethat we would ldquosteprdquo along to authentic publishing in the verynear future Except Gwen of course who was already there AndEmma who was beginning to publish op-ed pieces in the Globe

and Mail

Alive (Random House ) a translation of Pour Vivre vol-ume one of Danielle Westermanrsquos memoirs I may appear to beclaiming translation as an act of originality but as I have alreadysaid it was Danielle in her benign way wrinkling her disorderlyforehead who had urged me to believe that the act of shufflingelegant French into readable and stable English is an aestheticperformance The book was well received by the critics and evensold moderately well a dense but popular book offered withoutshame and nary a footnote The translation itself was slammed inthe Toronto Star (ldquoclumsyrdquo) by one Stanley Harold Howard butDanielle Westerman said never mind the man was un maquereau

which translates crudely as something between a pimp and aprick

I then wrote a commissioned pamphlet for a series put outby a press calling itself Encyclopeacutedie de lrsquoart The press producedtiny hold-in-the-hand booklets each devoted to a single artsubject covering everything from Braque to Calder to Klee toMondrian to Villon The editor in New York operating out of aphone booth it seemed to me and knowing nothing of my igno-rance had stumbled on my short story ldquoIconrdquo and believed me tobe an expert on the subject He asked for three thousand words

for a volume (volumette really) to be called Russian Icons pub-lished finally in It took me a whole year to do what withTom and the three girls and the house and garden and meals andlaundry and too much inwardness They published my ldquotextrdquosuch a cold jellied word along with a series of coloured plates inboth English and French (I did the French as well) and paid mefour hundred dollars I learned all about the schools of Suzdal andVladimir and what went on in Novgorod (a lot) and how imagesof saints made medieval people quake with fear To my knowl-edge the book was never reviewed but I can read it today with-out shame It is almost impossible to be pseudo when writingabout innocent paintings that obey no rules of perspective andthat are done on slabs of ordinary wood

I lost a year after this which I donrsquot understand since allthree girls had started school though Natalie was only in morningkindergarten I think I was too busy thinking about the business ofbeing a writer about being writerly and fretting over whetherTomrsquos ego was threatened and being in Daniellersquos shadow nevermind Derrida and needing my own writing space and turningthirty-five and feeling older than Irsquove ever felt since My agemdashthirty-fivemdashshouted at me all the time standing tall and wide inmy head and blocking access to what my life afforded Thirty-fivenever sat down with its hands folded Thirty-five had no compo-sure It was always humming mean terse tunes on a piece offolded cellophane (ldquoI am composedrdquo said John Quincy Adams onhis deathbed How admirable and enviable and beyond belief Iloved him for this)

This anguish of mine was unnecessary Tomrsquos ego was unchal-lenged by my slender publications He turned out to be one ofthose men we were worried about in the seventies and eightieswho might shrivel in acknowledgment of his own insignificanceOrdinary was what he wanted to be an ordinary man embeddedin a family he loved We put a skylight in the box room bought a used office desk installed a fax and a computer and I sat downon my straight-from-a-catalogue Freedom Chair and translated

Danielle Westermanrsquos immense Les femmes et le pouvoir the Eng-lish version published in volume two of her memoirs InEnglish the title was changed to Women Waiting which onlymakes sense if yoursquove read the book (Women possess power butit is power that has yet to be seized ignited and released and soforth) This time no one grumped about my translation ldquoSpark-ling and full of easerdquo the Globe said and the New York Times wentone better and called it ldquoan achievementrdquo

ldquoYou are my true sisterrdquo said Danielle Westerman at the timeof publication Ma vraie soeur I hugged her back Her craving forphysical touch has not slackened even in her eighties thoughnowadays it is mostly her doctor who touches her or me with myweekly embrace or the manicurist Dr Danielle Westerman isthe only person I know who has her nails done twice a weekTuesday and Saturday ( just a touch-up) beautiful long nail bedsmatching her long quizzing eyes

I was giddy All at once translation offers were arriving in themail but I kept thinking I could maybe write short stories eventhough our Glenmar group was dwindling what with Emmataking a job in Newfoundland Annette getting her divorce andGwen moving to the States The trouble was I hated my shortstories I wanted to write about the overheard and the glimpsedbut this kind of evanescence sent me into whimsy mode andalthough I believed whimsicality to be a strand of the humanpersonality I was embarrassed at what I was pumping into mynew Apple computer sitting there under the clean brightness ofthe skylight Pernicious precious my moments of recognitionAhahmdashand then she realized I was so fetching with my ldquoEllen wassetting the table and she knew tonight would be differentrdquo Alittle bug sat in my ear and buzzed Who cares about Ellen andher woven placemats and her hopes for the future

I certainly didnrsquot careBecause I had three kids everyone said I should be writing

kiddy lit but I couldnrsquot find the voice Kiddy lit screeched in mybrain Talking ducks and chuckling frogs I wanted something

sterner and more contained as a task which is how I came to writeShakespeare and Flowers (San Francisco Cyclone Press ) Thecontract was negotiated before I wrote one word Along came alittle bundle of cash to start me off with the rest promised on pub-lication I thought it was going to be a scholarly endeavour but Iended up producing a wee ldquogiftierdquo book You could send this bookto anyone on your list who was maidenly or semi-academic orwhom you didnrsquot know very well Shakespeare and Flowers wassold in the kind of outlets that stock greeting cards and stuffedbears I simply scanned the canon and picked up references to saythe eglantine (A Midsummer Nightrsquos Dream) or the blackberry(Troilus and Cressida) and then I puffed out a little description of theflower and conferenced on the phone (twice) with the illustratorin Berkeley and threw in lots of Shakespearean quotes A sweetlittle book excellent slick paper US$ At sixty-eight pages it fits in a small mailer Two hundred thousand copies and stillselling though the royalty rate is scandalous Theyrsquod like me to do something on Shakespeare and animals and I just might

Eros Essays by Danielle Westerman translation by RetaWinters hastily translatedmdasheverything was hasty in those dayseverything still ismdashand published in Hugely successful aftera tiny advance We put the dog in a kennel and Tom and I andthe girls took the first translation payment and went to France fora month southern Burgundy a village called La Roche-Vineusewhere Danielle had grown up halfway between Cluny andMacirccon red-tiled roofs set in the midst of rolling vineyards incan-descent air Our rental house was built around a cobbled court-yard full of ancient roses and hydrangeas ldquoHow old is thishouserdquo we asked the neighbours who invited us in for an aperi-tif ldquoVery oldrdquo was all we got The stone walls were two feetthick The three girls took tennis lessons at lrsquoeacutecole drsquoeacuteteacute Tom wenthacking for trilobites happy under the French sun and I sat in awicker chair in the flower-filled courtyard shorts and halter andbare feet a floppy straw hat on my head reading novels day afterday and thinking I want to write a novel About something

happening About characters moving against a ldquothererdquo That waswhat I really wanted to do

Looking back I can scarcely believe in such innocence I didnrsquotthink about our girls growing older and leaving home and fallingaway from us Norah had been a good docile baby and then shebecame a good obedient little girl Now at nineteen shersquos sobrimming with goodness that she sits on a Toronto street cornerwhich has its own textual archaeology though Norah probablydoesnrsquot know about that She sits beneath the lamppost where thepoet Ed Lewinski hanged himself in and where MargheritaTolles burst out of the subway exit into the sunshine of heradopted country and decided to write a great play Norah sitscross-legged with a begging bowl in her lap and asks nothing ofthe world Nine-tenths of what she gathers she distributes at theend of the day to other street people She wears a cardboard signon her chest a single word printed in black markermdash

I donrsquot know what that word really means though words aremy business The Old English word wearth I discovered the otherday on the Internet means outcast the other English word itstwin its cancellation is worthmdashwe know what that means andknow to distrust it It is the word wearth that Norah has swal-lowed This is the place shersquos claimed a whole world constructedon stillness An easy stance says the condemning grievingmother easy to find and maintain given enough practice Asharper focus could be achieved by tossing in an astringent fluid apeppery sauce irony rebellion tattoos and pierced tongue andspiked purple hair but no Norah embodies invisibility and good-ness or at least she is on the pathmdashso she said in our last conver-sation which was eight weeks ago the eleventh of April Shewore torn jeans that day and a rough plaid shawl that was almostcertainly a car blanket Her long pale hair was matted Sherefused to look us in the eye but she did blink in acknowledge-mentmdashIrsquom sure of itmdashwhen I handed her a sack of cheesesandwiches and Tom dropped a roll of twenty-dollar bills in herlap Then she spoke in her own voice but emptied of connection

She could not come home She was on the path to goodness Atthat moment I her mother was more absent from myself thanshe I felt that She was steadfast She could not be diverted Shecould not ldquoberdquo with us

How did this part of the narrative happen We know it didnrsquotrise out of the ordinary plot lines of a life story An intelligent andbeautiful girl from a loving family grows up in OrangetownOntario her motherrsquos a writer her fatherrsquos a doctor and then shegoes off the track Therersquos nothing natural about her efflorescenceof goodness Itrsquos abrupt and brutal Itrsquos killing us What will reallykill us though is the day we donrsquot find her sitting on her chosensquare of pavement

But I didnrsquot know any of this when I sat in that Burgundygarden dreaming about writing a novel I thought I understoodsomething of a novelrsquos architecture the lovely slope of predica-ment the tendrils of surface detail the calculated curving upwardinto inevitability yet allowing spells of incorrigibility and thenthe ending a corruption of cause and effect and the gatheringtogether of all the characters into a framed operatic circle ofconsolation and ecstasy backlit with fibre-optic gold just for amoment on the second-to-last page just for an atomic particle oftime

I had an idea for my novel a seed and nothing more Twoappealing characters had suggested themselves a woman and aman Alicia and Roman who live in Wychwood which is a citythe size of Toronto who clamour and romp and cling to theisland that is their lifersquos predicamentmdashthey long for love butselfishly strive for self-preservation Roman is proud to be cholericin temperament Alicia thinks of herself as being reflective buther job as assistant editor on a fashion magazine keeps her toooccupied to reflect

And I had a title My Thyme Is Up It was a pun of coursefrom an old family joke and I meant to write a jokey novel Alight novel A novel for summertime a book to read while seatedin an Ikea wicker chair with the sun falling on the pages as faintly

and evenly as human breath Naturally the novel would have ahappy ending I never doubted but that I could write this noveland I did in mdashin a swoop alone during three dark wintermonths when the girls were away all day at school

The Middle Years the translation of volume three of Wester-manrsquos memoirs is coming out this fall Volume three exploresWestermanrsquos numerous love affairs with both men and womenand none of this will be shocking or even surprising to her read-ers What is new is the suppleness and strength of her sentencesAlways an artist of concision and selflessness she has arrived inher old age at a gorgeous fluidity and expansion of phrase Mytranslation doesnrsquot begin to express what she has accomplishedThe book is stark itrsquos also sentimental one balances and rescuesthe other strangely enough I can only imagine that those end-less calcium pills Danielle chokes down every morning and the vitamin E and the emu oil capsules have fed directly into hervein of language so that what lands on the page is larger morerapturous more self-forgetful than anything shersquos written beforeand all of it sprouting short swift digressions that pretend to be just careless asides little swoons of surrender to her ownexperience inviting us her readers to believe in the totality ofher abandonment

Either that or shersquos gone senile to good effect a grand loosen-ing of language in her old age The thought has more than onceoccurred to me

Another thought has drifted by silken as a breeze against alattice Therersquos something missing in these memoirs or so I thinkin my solipsistic view Danielle Westerman suffers she feels the pangs of existential loneliness the absence of sexual love thetreason of her own womanrsquos body She has no partner no one forwhom she is the first person in the world order no one to dependon as I do on Tom She does not have a child or any survivingblood connection for that matter and perhaps itrsquos this that makesthe memoirs themselves childlike They go down like good milkfoaming swirling in the glass

I shouldnrsquot mention Book Number Eleven since it is not afait accompli but I will Irsquom going to write a second novel asequel to My Thyme Is Up Today is the day I intend to begin Thefirst sentence is already tapped into my computer ldquoAlicia was notas happy as she deserved to berdquo

I have no idea what will happen in this book It is a mereabstraction at the moment something thatrsquos popped out of theground like the rounded snout of a crocus on a cold lawn Irsquovestumbled up against this idea in my clumsy manner and now the urge to write it wonrsquot go away This will be a book about lostchildren about goodness and going home and being happy andtrying to keep the poison of the printed page in perspective Irsquomdesperate to know how the story will turn out

Nearly

We are more than halfway through the year Toward the beginning of August Tomrsquos old friendColin Glass came to dinner one night driving out

from Toronto Over coffee he attempted to explain the theory ofrelativity to me

I was the one who invited him to launch into the subjectRelativity is a piece of knowledge Irsquove always longed to under-stand a big piece but the explainers tend to go too fast or elsethey skip over a step they assume their audience has alreadyabsorbed Apparently there was once a time when only oneperson in the world understood relativity (Einstein) then twopeople then three or four and now most of the high-school kidswho take physics have at least an inkling or so Irsquom told Howhard can it be And itrsquos passed according to Colin from crazyspeculation to confirmed fact which makes it even more impor-tant to understand Irsquove tried but my grasp feels tenuous So thespeed of light is constant Is that all

Ordinarily I love these long August evenings the splash ofamber light that falls on the white dining-room walls just beforethe separate shades of twilight take over The medallion leavesthat flutter their round ghost shadows All day Irsquod listened to the white-throated sparrows in the woods behind our house their song resembles the Canadian national anthem at least theopening bars Summer was dying but in pieces Wersquod be eatingoutside if it werenrsquot for the wasps Good food the company of agood friend what more could anyone desire But I kept thinking

of Norah sitting on her square of pavement and holding up thepiece of cardboard with the word and then I lost trackof what Colin was saying

E=mc Energy equals mass times the speed of light squaredThe tidiness of the equation raised my immediate suspicion Howcan massmdashthis solid oak dining table for instancemdashhave any con-nection with how fast light travels Theyrsquore two different thingsColin who is a physicist was patient with my objections Hetook the linen napkin from his lap and stretched it taut across thetop of his coffee cup Then he took a cherry from the fruit bowland placed it on the napkin creating a small dimple He tipped thecup slightly so that the cherry rotated around the surface of the napkin He spoke of energy and mass but already I had lost a critical filament of the argument I worried slightly about hiscoffee sloshing up onto the napkin and staining it and thoughthow seldom in the last few years I had bothered with clothnapkins Nobody except maybe Danielle Westerman does realnapkins anymore it was understood that modern professionalwomen had better things to do with their time than launder linen

By now I had forgotten completely what the cherry (more thanfour dollars a pound) represented and what the little dimple wassupposed to be Colin talked on and on and Tom who is a familyphysician and has a broad scientific background seemed to befollowing at least he was nodding his head appropriately Mymother-in-law Lois had politely excused herself and returned toher house next door she would never miss the ten-orsquoclock newsher watching of the ten-orsquoclock news helps the country of Canadato go forward Christine and Natalie had long since drifted fromthe table and I could hear the buzz and burst of TV noises in the den

Pet our golden retriever parked his shaggy self under thetable his whole dog body humming away against my footSometimes in his dreams he groans and sometimes he chortleswith happiness I found myself thinking about Marietta Colinrsquoswife who had packed her bags a few months ago and moved to

Calgary to be with another man She claimed Colin was toowrapped up in his research and teaching to be a true partner Abeautiful woman with a neck like a plant stem she hinted thatthere had been a collapse of passion in their marriage She had left suddenly coldly he had been shocked he had had no idea hetold us in the early days that she had been unhappy all theseyears but he found her diaries in a desk drawer and read themsick with realization that a gulf of misunderstanding separatedthem

Why would a woman leave such personal diaries behind To punish to hurt of course Colin for the most part a decentkind-hearted man used to address her in a dry admonitory wayas though she were a graduate student instead of his wife ldquoDonrsquottell me this is processed cheeserdquo he asked her once when we were having dinner at their house Another time ldquoThis coffee isundrinkablerdquo He loved pleasuremdashhe was that kind of manmdashandtook it for granted and couldnrsquot help his little yelps of outragewhen pleasure failed You could call him an innocent in his expec-tations almost naive on this particular August evening It was asthough he were alone in a vaulted chamber echoing with immen-sities while Tom and I stood attendance just outside the doorcatching the overflow the odd glimpse of his skewed but calmbrilliance Even the little pockets under his eyes were phlegmaticHe was not a shallow person but perhaps he suspected that wewere I had to stop myself interrupting with a joke I often do thisIrsquom afraid ask for an explanation and then drift off into my ownthoughts

How could he now be sitting at our table so calmly toyingwith cherries and coffee cups and rolling the edge of his strawplacemat and pressing this heft of information on us It was closeto midnight he had an hourrsquos drive ahead of him What did thetheory of relativity really matter to his ongoing life Colin withhis small specs and trim moustache was at ease with big ideas likerelativity As a theory relativity worked it held all sorts of impor-tant ldquoconceptsrdquo together with its precision and elegance Think of

glue lavishly applied he said helpfully about relativity think ofthe power of the shrewd guess Such a sweeping perspective hadbeen visionary at the beginning but had been assessed and re-inforced and it was moreover Colin was now insisting usefulIn the face of lifersquos uncertainties relativityrsquos weight could beassumed and then set aside part of the package of consciousness

He finished awkwardly sat back in his chair with his two longarms extended ldquoSordquo Thatrsquos it he seemed to say or thatrsquos asmuch as I can do to simplify and explain so brilliant an idea Heglanced at his watch then sat back again exhausted pleased withhimself He wore a well-pressed cotton shirt with blue and yellowstripes neatly tucked into his black jeans He has no interest in clothes This shirt must go back to his married days chosen for him ironed for him by Marietta herself and put on a hangerperhaps a summer ago

The theory of relativity would not bring Colinrsquos wife hurryingback to the old stone house on Oriole Parkway It would notbring my daughter Norah home from the corner of Bathurst andBloor or the Promise Hostel where she beds at night Tom and I followed her one day we had to know how she managedwhether she was safe The weather would be turning cold soonHow does she bear it Cold concrete Dirt Uncombed hair

ldquoWould you sayrdquo I asked ColinmdashI had not spoken for severalminutesmdashldquothat the theory of relativity has reduced the weight ofgoodness and depravity in the worldrdquo

He stared at me ldquoRelativity has no moral position None what-everrdquo (ldquoThis coffee is undrinkablerdquo)

I looked to Tom for support but he was gazing with his mildeyes at the ceiling smiling I knew that smile

ldquoBut isnrsquot it possiblerdquo I said to Colin ldquoto think that goodnessor virtue if you like could be a wave or particle of energyrdquo

ldquoNordquo he said ldquoNo it is not possiblerdquoI made an abrupt move to clear the table I was suddenly

exhaustedStill I am thankful for the friendship and intellectual ardour of

such an unpretentious man as Colin Glass who despite his suffer-ing and shame really wanted me to understand a key concept ofthe twentieth century Or was he simply diverting himself for anhour This is what I must learn the art of diversion He said notone word about Marietta all evening long Tom and I understandthat he is reconstructing his life without her But a daughter issomething different A daughter of nineteen cannot be erased

Once

It was understood that I would do the publicity such as it was for Danielle Westermanrsquos third volume of memoirs Ateighty-five she was too old and too distinguished to handle

a day of interviews in Toronto even though she lives there I asthe translator could easily field questions from the press A verylight schedule was organized by the publisher since Dr Wester-man already possesses a long twilight of faithful readership

In early September I drove into Orangetown down its calmold-fashioned main street and into the countryside again The cityof Toronto monumental and lonely glowed in front of me Itsoutskirts are ragged though its numbered exits pretend at a kindof order Traffic was light I drove slowly by the corner of Bloorand Bathurst for a glimpse of Norah There she was as always onthe northeast corner seated on the ground near the subwayentrance with her bowl and cardboard sign even though it wasnot yet nine orsquoclock Had she had breakfast Did she have nits inher hair What is she thinking or is her mind a great blank

I parked the car and walked over to where she was ldquoHellodarling Norahrdquo I said setting down a plastic bag of food breadand cheese fruit and raw vegetables And in an envelope arecent photo of Pet with his straight proud muzzle and furry ruff Norah of all the girls doted on Pet and now I was bribingher shamelessly It was a chilly day and it iced my heart to see herunreadable immobility but I was glad to notice that she waswearing warm mittens Glad Me glad The least little signal willgladden my heart these days Today she looked not quite at me

and nodded Another wave of gladness struck I allow myself onlyone such glimpse a week since shersquos made it clear she doesnrsquotwant to see us

It is like watching her through plate glass All week I will drawexpensively on this brief moment of voyeurism at the same timetrying to blot it out with images of Norah on her bicycle Norahsitting at the kitchen table studying for exams Norah reaching forher green raincoat Norah trying on new school shoes Norahsleeping safe

After a while I went to have my eyebrows arched and tinted atSylviarsquos which calls itself a ldquospirit spardquo meaning it seemed thatwhile Madame Sylvia swiped at my brow with a little paintbrushshe murmured and sang into my ear It was now nine-thirty in themorning and I lay on a narrow table in a tiny white room ldquoYouare at the age when you must protect the fine skin around theeyesrdquo she warned ldquoA womanrsquos face falls it is inevitable but the eyes go on and on giving light You will be eighty ninety and your eyes will still charmrdquo

She knows nothing about my life Irsquove never been here beforeand have never thought of having an eyebrow tint I have per-fectly decent eyebrows nicely shaped and regular but I did lookinto a mirror a week or so ago and noticed that the small hairs atthe outside corners were coming in grey There was a little greyat the temples too but nothing to be surprised about not for a woman whose forty-fourth birthday is approaching not for awoman who has never even thought of herself as possessingldquotemplesrdquo such august body parts

ldquoAre you by any chance a Geminirdquo Madame Sylvia askedintimately Swish went the paintbrush She stopped peered at meclosely then swished again a deft little stroke

ldquoNordquo I said ashamed to acknowledge the astrological universeldquoMy birthdayrsquos in September Next week in factrdquo

ldquoI can tell yesrdquo She had a touch of the harridan in her voice ldquoIcan always tellrdquo

What could she tell

ldquoTwenty-four dollarsrdquo she said ldquoLet me give you my card Fornext timerdquo

Presumptuous but yes there will be a next time I calculatedquickly My face would make it through the next few weeks butby November I will probably be back in Madame Sylviarsquos hushedwhite cell I may well become a regular Eyebrows lashes fullfacials neck massage I have led a reflective life a life of thoughta writer a translator but all this is about to change The delicateskin around my eyes was demanding attention Has Tom noticedI donrsquot think so Christine and Natalie donrsquot really look at me inthat way they just see this watercolour blob that means motherwhich is rather how I see myself

ldquoA womanrsquos charm is with her for liferdquo Madame Sylvia saidldquobut you must pay attentionrdquo

No I thought an hour later no Irsquom sorry but I have no plansto be charming on a regular basis Anyone can be charming Itrsquosreally a cheap trick mere charm so astonishingly easy to per-form screwing up your face into sunbeams and spewing themforth The calculated lift of the wrist chin up thumb and fore-finger brought together to form a little feminine loop that trick of pretending to sit on a little glass chair that concentration ofradiance lrsquoesprit little sprinkles of it everywhere misting the airlike bargain scent Ingenue spritz Emma Allen calls it

I know that cheapness so intimatelymdashthe grainy sugary per-severing way charm enters a fresh mouth and rubs against themolars sticking there in soft wads promoting mouth ulcers or whatever it is thatrsquos the metaphoric projection of self-hatredOf all the social virtues charm is in the end the most unreward-ing And compared to goodness real goodness or the unmovableself-abnegation my daughter Norah practises charm is nothingbut crumpled tissue paper soiled from previous use

Sincerity No Sincerityrsquos over Sincerityrsquos lost whatever edge ithad Itrsquos fine fine matter but wasted on the press who all grew uppost-Holocaust devoted readers of Mad Magazine and wouldnrsquotrecognize a bar of willed innocence if it came wrapped in foil

Nor will I ever again be pointlessly endlessly polite I got overthat two years ago when I did my author tour It seems Irsquove lostlike a stream of pebbles leaving my hand the kind of endurancethat professional courtesy demands suck in your breath let yourface go numb listen to the interviewerrsquos questions registeroptimally let your breath out evaluate the feelings of those whodepend on you (agent publisher editor that nice Sheila personwho does publicity and of course Danielle Westerman) andperform again and again like the tuned-up athlete you are the fitphysical specimen that each new book demands then move on tothe next task

Mrs Winters who has just translated The Middle Years the un-

folding memoir of Holocaust survivor Danielle Westerman is a woman

of grace and charm whose thick brown hair is arranged into a bun

Putting down her coffee cup she shrugs off her beige raincoat and

Irsquove entered early middle age now and I have a nineteen-year-old daughter who lives on the street I no longer require a reputa-tion for charm those saving lilac shadows and contours Maybe Inever did I wonrsquotmdashnot nowmdashtuck the ends of my sentences intolittle licks of favour and the next time a journalist pins me downwith a personal question trolling for informationmdashTell me MrsWinters how are you able to balance your family and profes-sional lifemdashI will stare back hard with my newly practised stareHow do I balance my life Tinted eyebrows up Just what kind ofinquiry is this Wouldnrsquot you prefer Mrs Winters to pursue youown writing rather than translate Dr Westermanrsquos work Pleasenot that again How did you and your husband meet What doeshe think of your writing

I will in the future address my interviewer directly and saywith firmness ldquoThis interview is overrdquo There is nothing to loseRude and difficult people are more likely to be taken seriouslyCurmudgeons are positively adored Irsquove noticed this Even thefascinatingly unknowable earn respect

And when I read in the paper tomorrow that ldquoMrs Winterslooked all of her forty-three yearsrdquo and that ldquoMrs Winters with

her familiar overbite was reluctant to talk about her work sched-ulerdquo I will want to phone the editor and complain bitterly Thisfrom the pen of a small unattractive man almost entirely lip-less beneath a bony domineering nose sweating with minorambition head tilted like something carved out of yellow wax

He interviewed me in a cappuccino bar in mid-Toronto Achilly stooped round-headed man in his thirties or fortiesmdashitwas hard to tellmdashslow to smile pathetically in need of humanattention thinking his superior thoughts Fluff on his shouldersbegged to be picked off I on the other hand was wearing a softjade jacket of cashmere lined with silk which represented a raresplurge on my part but I could be sure this man would over-look this garment with its crystal buttons and mandarin collar andconcentrate instead on my drab raincoat beige and not quitepristine at the cuffs In print he will be certain to refer to mychignon as a bun Itrsquos taken me years to learn to do a glossy littlechignonmdashI can get my hair brushed back and securely pinned up each morning in a mere two and a half minutes and I considermy coiffure one of my major life accomplishments I really meanthis

Sheila from publicity had filled me in before the interview andI felt the information packet hovering what to do with it Thisyoungyoungish man was the newly appointed books columnistat Booktimes He was well known for holding pious opinions aboutthe literature of the Great North about his own role as advocateof a diverse new outpouring of Canadian voices the post-colonialcry of blaming anguish The stream of current fiction aboutmiddle-class people living in cities was diluting the authenticnational voice that rose from the landscape itself andmdash

Oh shut up shut upCappuccino foam dotted the corners of his undistinguished

mouth And just one more question Mrs WintersmdashOf course he didnrsquot call me Reta even though there might be

only a year or two between us The ldquoMrsrdquo gave him power overme that vexing r rucking things up in the middle and making one

think of such distractions as clotheslines and baking tins He wasthe barking terrier going at Mrs Wintersrsquos ankles shaking out hisfur and asking me to justify myself wanting me to explain thespluttering dying whimpering bonfire of my life which I wouldnot dream of sharing He seemed to forget he was interviewingme about Danielle Westermanrsquos new book

I understand yoursquore working on a second novel said heWell yesTakes nerveUh-huhActuallymdashactually well he had a novel on the go himselfReally What a surpriseAt the end of the hour he did not ask for the bill I asked for the

bill ldquoIrsquoll just put it on my Visardquo I said breaking a tenuous breadthof silence I announced this with all the majesty I could musterover a vinyl table like a grande dame adding twenty years to myage and feeling the vowels shifting in my beautifully mouldedthroat Such dignity I surprised myself with my own resonanceand I may have managed a pained smile displaying no doubtthat famous overbite He turned off the tape recorder at the wordldquoVisardquo

He had two young children at home he said Christ what aresponsibility although he loved the little bastards One of themwas quite quite gifted well they both were in their separateways But the work of raising kids Never enough time to read thebooks he had to review books all over the house with little mark-ers in them books he would never finish So much was expectedand of course like all journalists he was underpaid

Oh shut upThey also expected him to do a feature on the weekendUh-huhAnd last week hersquod actually broken the MacBunna storyReally Macumba MarimbaCongratulations said Mrs Reta Winters from OrangetownThanks

I should be getting on my way I said My parking meter Alunch date A long drive home

I understand you and your family live in a lovely old housenear Orangetown

And then slyly I understand one of your daughters now livesin Toronto and

Irsquove been here before There is something about having anestablished family a long-lasting spousal arrangement threedaughters in their teens a house in the country a suggestion ofimpermeability that draws the curiosity of others so that theycan as Tom says probe with probity

But no this man across the table will not be feeding on myflesh nor will his colleaguesmdashthough one can tell that he has nocolleagues there is no possibility of colleagues He has no contextfor friends or co-workers though there are the kids and therersquosthe wife hersquos referred to her three times now Nicola She has herprofessional life too he tells me as though the matter were indispute

I canrsquot resist ldquoDoes Nicolamdashis she a journalist toordquoldquoJournalistrdquoldquoLike you I meanrdquoHis hand jumps and for a moment I think hersquos going to turn

the tape recorder on again But no hersquos reaching into his pocketand now hersquos releasing two coins onto the table The tip They liethere moist from his hand Two dimes I focus on them withwhat I hope is a cool censorious gaze

But hersquos not looking at me Hersquos looking across the roomwhere a silver-haired man is seating himself gracefully at a tableldquoIrsquom not sure but I think thatrsquos Gore Vidalrdquo my interviewer whis-pers in a hungry voice ldquoHersquos here for the writersrsquo festival youknowrdquo

I rise and exit as though led by a brass quintetThe charming Mrs Winters slips on her comfortable beige rain-

coat

I would like to thank a number of others who in one way or another encouraged me in the writing of Unless SharonAllan Marjorie Anderson the late Joan Austen-Leigh JoanBarfoot Clare Boylan Marg Edmond Brown Joan ClarkAnne Collins Cynthia Coop Patrick Crowe Maggie DwyerDarlene Hammell Blanche Howard Isabel Huggan CarlLenthe Madeline Li Elinor Lipman Anna and Sylvie MatasMargaret Shaw-Mackinnon Don McCarthy Peter ParkerBella Pomer Christopher Potter Linda Rogers CaroleSabiston Floyd St Clair Eleanor Wachtel Cindi WarnerMindy Werner the John Simon Guggenheim Foundationand as always my family John Audrey Anne CatherineMeg Sara and especially Don

About the Author

Carol Shields is the author of eight novels and two collections of short stories

The Stone Diaries won the Pulitzer Prize and was shortlisted for the Booker

Prize Larryrsquos Party won the Orange Prize Born and brought up in Chicago

Carol Shields has lived in Canada since 1957

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 1

Others

Intersect

Coming to Canada

Larryrsquos Party

The Stone Diaries

The Republic of Love

A Celibate Season (with Blanche Howard)Swann

A Fairly Conventional Woman

Happenstance

The Box Garden

Small Ceremonies

Various Miracles

The Orange Fish

Dressing Up for the Carnival

Departures and Arrivals

Thirteen Hands

Fashion Power Guilt and the Charity of Families

(with Catherine Shields)Anniversary (with David Williamson)

Susanna Moodie Voice and Vision

Jane Austen

Dropped Threads What We Arenrsquot Told

(Edited with Marjorie Anderson)

Credits

Design by Julian HumphriesPhotographer by Michael CrouserDesigned by Dinah Drazin

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 2

If you enjoyed reading this excerpt please visitHarperCollins Publishers to find out where to buy thisand other PerfectBound e-books

Australiahttpwwwharpercollinscomau

Canadahttpwwwharpercanadacom

New Zealandhttpwwwharpercollinsconz

United Kingdomhttpwwwfireandwatercom

United Stateshttpwwwperfectboundcom

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 3

The Pajama Game Words and Music by Richard Adler Music

and Jerry Ross copy Richard Adler Music and J amp J Ross Co USA

WarnerChappell Music Ltd London w6 8bs

Reproduced by permission of International Music Publications

Ltd All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction Names characters places and incidents

either are the products of the authorrsquos imagination or are used

fictitiously Any resemblance to actual events locales organiza-

tions or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and

beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher

UNLESS Copyright copy 2002 by Carol Shields All rights

reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright

Conventions By payment of the required fees you have been

granted the non-exclusive non-transferable right to access and

read the text of this e-book on-screen No part of this text may

be reproduced transmitted down-loaded decompiled reverse

engineered or stored in or introduced into any information stor-

age and retrieval system in any form or by any means whether

electronic or mechanical now known or hereinafter invented

without the express written permission of PerfectBoundtrade

PerfectBound trade and the PerfectBoundtrade logo are trademarks

of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

Adobe Acrobat E-Book Reader edition v 1 May 2002

ISBN 0-06-052370-0

Print edition first published in 2002

by Forth Estate a division of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 4

begetting art art worshipping art which I no longer believe in bythe way Either you do or you donrsquot The seven of us GwenLorna Emma Allen Nan Marcella Annette and I (my name isReta Wintersmdashpronounced Ree-tah) self-published our pieces in avolume titled Incursions and Interruptions throwing in fifty dollarseach for the printing bill The five hundred copies sold quickly inthe local bookstores mostly to our friends and families Publishingwas cheap we discovered What a surprise We called ourselvesthe Stepping Stone Press and in that name we expressed our mildembarrassment at the idea of self-publishing but also the hopethat we would ldquosteprdquo along to authentic publishing in the verynear future Except Gwen of course who was already there AndEmma who was beginning to publish op-ed pieces in the Globe

and Mail

Alive (Random House ) a translation of Pour Vivre vol-ume one of Danielle Westermanrsquos memoirs I may appear to beclaiming translation as an act of originality but as I have alreadysaid it was Danielle in her benign way wrinkling her disorderlyforehead who had urged me to believe that the act of shufflingelegant French into readable and stable English is an aestheticperformance The book was well received by the critics and evensold moderately well a dense but popular book offered withoutshame and nary a footnote The translation itself was slammed inthe Toronto Star (ldquoclumsyrdquo) by one Stanley Harold Howard butDanielle Westerman said never mind the man was un maquereau

which translates crudely as something between a pimp and aprick

I then wrote a commissioned pamphlet for a series put outby a press calling itself Encyclopeacutedie de lrsquoart The press producedtiny hold-in-the-hand booklets each devoted to a single artsubject covering everything from Braque to Calder to Klee toMondrian to Villon The editor in New York operating out of aphone booth it seemed to me and knowing nothing of my igno-rance had stumbled on my short story ldquoIconrdquo and believed me tobe an expert on the subject He asked for three thousand words

for a volume (volumette really) to be called Russian Icons pub-lished finally in It took me a whole year to do what withTom and the three girls and the house and garden and meals andlaundry and too much inwardness They published my ldquotextrdquosuch a cold jellied word along with a series of coloured plates inboth English and French (I did the French as well) and paid mefour hundred dollars I learned all about the schools of Suzdal andVladimir and what went on in Novgorod (a lot) and how imagesof saints made medieval people quake with fear To my knowl-edge the book was never reviewed but I can read it today with-out shame It is almost impossible to be pseudo when writingabout innocent paintings that obey no rules of perspective andthat are done on slabs of ordinary wood

I lost a year after this which I donrsquot understand since allthree girls had started school though Natalie was only in morningkindergarten I think I was too busy thinking about the business ofbeing a writer about being writerly and fretting over whetherTomrsquos ego was threatened and being in Daniellersquos shadow nevermind Derrida and needing my own writing space and turningthirty-five and feeling older than Irsquove ever felt since My agemdashthirty-fivemdashshouted at me all the time standing tall and wide inmy head and blocking access to what my life afforded Thirty-fivenever sat down with its hands folded Thirty-five had no compo-sure It was always humming mean terse tunes on a piece offolded cellophane (ldquoI am composedrdquo said John Quincy Adams onhis deathbed How admirable and enviable and beyond belief Iloved him for this)

This anguish of mine was unnecessary Tomrsquos ego was unchal-lenged by my slender publications He turned out to be one ofthose men we were worried about in the seventies and eightieswho might shrivel in acknowledgment of his own insignificanceOrdinary was what he wanted to be an ordinary man embeddedin a family he loved We put a skylight in the box room bought a used office desk installed a fax and a computer and I sat downon my straight-from-a-catalogue Freedom Chair and translated

Danielle Westermanrsquos immense Les femmes et le pouvoir the Eng-lish version published in volume two of her memoirs InEnglish the title was changed to Women Waiting which onlymakes sense if yoursquove read the book (Women possess power butit is power that has yet to be seized ignited and released and soforth) This time no one grumped about my translation ldquoSpark-ling and full of easerdquo the Globe said and the New York Times wentone better and called it ldquoan achievementrdquo

ldquoYou are my true sisterrdquo said Danielle Westerman at the timeof publication Ma vraie soeur I hugged her back Her craving forphysical touch has not slackened even in her eighties thoughnowadays it is mostly her doctor who touches her or me with myweekly embrace or the manicurist Dr Danielle Westerman isthe only person I know who has her nails done twice a weekTuesday and Saturday ( just a touch-up) beautiful long nail bedsmatching her long quizzing eyes

I was giddy All at once translation offers were arriving in themail but I kept thinking I could maybe write short stories eventhough our Glenmar group was dwindling what with Emmataking a job in Newfoundland Annette getting her divorce andGwen moving to the States The trouble was I hated my shortstories I wanted to write about the overheard and the glimpsedbut this kind of evanescence sent me into whimsy mode andalthough I believed whimsicality to be a strand of the humanpersonality I was embarrassed at what I was pumping into mynew Apple computer sitting there under the clean brightness ofthe skylight Pernicious precious my moments of recognitionAhahmdashand then she realized I was so fetching with my ldquoEllen wassetting the table and she knew tonight would be differentrdquo Alittle bug sat in my ear and buzzed Who cares about Ellen andher woven placemats and her hopes for the future

I certainly didnrsquot careBecause I had three kids everyone said I should be writing

kiddy lit but I couldnrsquot find the voice Kiddy lit screeched in mybrain Talking ducks and chuckling frogs I wanted something

sterner and more contained as a task which is how I came to writeShakespeare and Flowers (San Francisco Cyclone Press ) Thecontract was negotiated before I wrote one word Along came alittle bundle of cash to start me off with the rest promised on pub-lication I thought it was going to be a scholarly endeavour but Iended up producing a wee ldquogiftierdquo book You could send this bookto anyone on your list who was maidenly or semi-academic orwhom you didnrsquot know very well Shakespeare and Flowers wassold in the kind of outlets that stock greeting cards and stuffedbears I simply scanned the canon and picked up references to saythe eglantine (A Midsummer Nightrsquos Dream) or the blackberry(Troilus and Cressida) and then I puffed out a little description of theflower and conferenced on the phone (twice) with the illustratorin Berkeley and threw in lots of Shakespearean quotes A sweetlittle book excellent slick paper US$ At sixty-eight pages it fits in a small mailer Two hundred thousand copies and stillselling though the royalty rate is scandalous Theyrsquod like me to do something on Shakespeare and animals and I just might

Eros Essays by Danielle Westerman translation by RetaWinters hastily translatedmdasheverything was hasty in those dayseverything still ismdashand published in Hugely successful aftera tiny advance We put the dog in a kennel and Tom and I andthe girls took the first translation payment and went to France fora month southern Burgundy a village called La Roche-Vineusewhere Danielle had grown up halfway between Cluny andMacirccon red-tiled roofs set in the midst of rolling vineyards incan-descent air Our rental house was built around a cobbled court-yard full of ancient roses and hydrangeas ldquoHow old is thishouserdquo we asked the neighbours who invited us in for an aperi-tif ldquoVery oldrdquo was all we got The stone walls were two feetthick The three girls took tennis lessons at lrsquoeacutecole drsquoeacuteteacute Tom wenthacking for trilobites happy under the French sun and I sat in awicker chair in the flower-filled courtyard shorts and halter andbare feet a floppy straw hat on my head reading novels day afterday and thinking I want to write a novel About something

happening About characters moving against a ldquothererdquo That waswhat I really wanted to do

Looking back I can scarcely believe in such innocence I didnrsquotthink about our girls growing older and leaving home and fallingaway from us Norah had been a good docile baby and then shebecame a good obedient little girl Now at nineteen shersquos sobrimming with goodness that she sits on a Toronto street cornerwhich has its own textual archaeology though Norah probablydoesnrsquot know about that She sits beneath the lamppost where thepoet Ed Lewinski hanged himself in and where MargheritaTolles burst out of the subway exit into the sunshine of heradopted country and decided to write a great play Norah sitscross-legged with a begging bowl in her lap and asks nothing ofthe world Nine-tenths of what she gathers she distributes at theend of the day to other street people She wears a cardboard signon her chest a single word printed in black markermdash

I donrsquot know what that word really means though words aremy business The Old English word wearth I discovered the otherday on the Internet means outcast the other English word itstwin its cancellation is worthmdashwe know what that means andknow to distrust it It is the word wearth that Norah has swal-lowed This is the place shersquos claimed a whole world constructedon stillness An easy stance says the condemning grievingmother easy to find and maintain given enough practice Asharper focus could be achieved by tossing in an astringent fluid apeppery sauce irony rebellion tattoos and pierced tongue andspiked purple hair but no Norah embodies invisibility and good-ness or at least she is on the pathmdashso she said in our last conver-sation which was eight weeks ago the eleventh of April Shewore torn jeans that day and a rough plaid shawl that was almostcertainly a car blanket Her long pale hair was matted Sherefused to look us in the eye but she did blink in acknowledge-mentmdashIrsquom sure of itmdashwhen I handed her a sack of cheesesandwiches and Tom dropped a roll of twenty-dollar bills in herlap Then she spoke in her own voice but emptied of connection

She could not come home She was on the path to goodness Atthat moment I her mother was more absent from myself thanshe I felt that She was steadfast She could not be diverted Shecould not ldquoberdquo with us

How did this part of the narrative happen We know it didnrsquotrise out of the ordinary plot lines of a life story An intelligent andbeautiful girl from a loving family grows up in OrangetownOntario her motherrsquos a writer her fatherrsquos a doctor and then shegoes off the track Therersquos nothing natural about her efflorescenceof goodness Itrsquos abrupt and brutal Itrsquos killing us What will reallykill us though is the day we donrsquot find her sitting on her chosensquare of pavement

But I didnrsquot know any of this when I sat in that Burgundygarden dreaming about writing a novel I thought I understoodsomething of a novelrsquos architecture the lovely slope of predica-ment the tendrils of surface detail the calculated curving upwardinto inevitability yet allowing spells of incorrigibility and thenthe ending a corruption of cause and effect and the gatheringtogether of all the characters into a framed operatic circle ofconsolation and ecstasy backlit with fibre-optic gold just for amoment on the second-to-last page just for an atomic particle oftime

I had an idea for my novel a seed and nothing more Twoappealing characters had suggested themselves a woman and aman Alicia and Roman who live in Wychwood which is a citythe size of Toronto who clamour and romp and cling to theisland that is their lifersquos predicamentmdashthey long for love butselfishly strive for self-preservation Roman is proud to be cholericin temperament Alicia thinks of herself as being reflective buther job as assistant editor on a fashion magazine keeps her toooccupied to reflect

And I had a title My Thyme Is Up It was a pun of coursefrom an old family joke and I meant to write a jokey novel Alight novel A novel for summertime a book to read while seatedin an Ikea wicker chair with the sun falling on the pages as faintly

and evenly as human breath Naturally the novel would have ahappy ending I never doubted but that I could write this noveland I did in mdashin a swoop alone during three dark wintermonths when the girls were away all day at school

The Middle Years the translation of volume three of Wester-manrsquos memoirs is coming out this fall Volume three exploresWestermanrsquos numerous love affairs with both men and womenand none of this will be shocking or even surprising to her read-ers What is new is the suppleness and strength of her sentencesAlways an artist of concision and selflessness she has arrived inher old age at a gorgeous fluidity and expansion of phrase Mytranslation doesnrsquot begin to express what she has accomplishedThe book is stark itrsquos also sentimental one balances and rescuesthe other strangely enough I can only imagine that those end-less calcium pills Danielle chokes down every morning and the vitamin E and the emu oil capsules have fed directly into hervein of language so that what lands on the page is larger morerapturous more self-forgetful than anything shersquos written beforeand all of it sprouting short swift digressions that pretend to be just careless asides little swoons of surrender to her ownexperience inviting us her readers to believe in the totality ofher abandonment

Either that or shersquos gone senile to good effect a grand loosen-ing of language in her old age The thought has more than onceoccurred to me

Another thought has drifted by silken as a breeze against alattice Therersquos something missing in these memoirs or so I thinkin my solipsistic view Danielle Westerman suffers she feels the pangs of existential loneliness the absence of sexual love thetreason of her own womanrsquos body She has no partner no one forwhom she is the first person in the world order no one to dependon as I do on Tom She does not have a child or any survivingblood connection for that matter and perhaps itrsquos this that makesthe memoirs themselves childlike They go down like good milkfoaming swirling in the glass

I shouldnrsquot mention Book Number Eleven since it is not afait accompli but I will Irsquom going to write a second novel asequel to My Thyme Is Up Today is the day I intend to begin Thefirst sentence is already tapped into my computer ldquoAlicia was notas happy as she deserved to berdquo

I have no idea what will happen in this book It is a mereabstraction at the moment something thatrsquos popped out of theground like the rounded snout of a crocus on a cold lawn Irsquovestumbled up against this idea in my clumsy manner and now the urge to write it wonrsquot go away This will be a book about lostchildren about goodness and going home and being happy andtrying to keep the poison of the printed page in perspective Irsquomdesperate to know how the story will turn out

Nearly

We are more than halfway through the year Toward the beginning of August Tomrsquos old friendColin Glass came to dinner one night driving out

from Toronto Over coffee he attempted to explain the theory ofrelativity to me

I was the one who invited him to launch into the subjectRelativity is a piece of knowledge Irsquove always longed to under-stand a big piece but the explainers tend to go too fast or elsethey skip over a step they assume their audience has alreadyabsorbed Apparently there was once a time when only oneperson in the world understood relativity (Einstein) then twopeople then three or four and now most of the high-school kidswho take physics have at least an inkling or so Irsquom told Howhard can it be And itrsquos passed according to Colin from crazyspeculation to confirmed fact which makes it even more impor-tant to understand Irsquove tried but my grasp feels tenuous So thespeed of light is constant Is that all

Ordinarily I love these long August evenings the splash ofamber light that falls on the white dining-room walls just beforethe separate shades of twilight take over The medallion leavesthat flutter their round ghost shadows All day Irsquod listened to the white-throated sparrows in the woods behind our house their song resembles the Canadian national anthem at least theopening bars Summer was dying but in pieces Wersquod be eatingoutside if it werenrsquot for the wasps Good food the company of agood friend what more could anyone desire But I kept thinking

of Norah sitting on her square of pavement and holding up thepiece of cardboard with the word and then I lost trackof what Colin was saying

E=mc Energy equals mass times the speed of light squaredThe tidiness of the equation raised my immediate suspicion Howcan massmdashthis solid oak dining table for instancemdashhave any con-nection with how fast light travels Theyrsquore two different thingsColin who is a physicist was patient with my objections Hetook the linen napkin from his lap and stretched it taut across thetop of his coffee cup Then he took a cherry from the fruit bowland placed it on the napkin creating a small dimple He tipped thecup slightly so that the cherry rotated around the surface of the napkin He spoke of energy and mass but already I had lost a critical filament of the argument I worried slightly about hiscoffee sloshing up onto the napkin and staining it and thoughthow seldom in the last few years I had bothered with clothnapkins Nobody except maybe Danielle Westerman does realnapkins anymore it was understood that modern professionalwomen had better things to do with their time than launder linen

By now I had forgotten completely what the cherry (more thanfour dollars a pound) represented and what the little dimple wassupposed to be Colin talked on and on and Tom who is a familyphysician and has a broad scientific background seemed to befollowing at least he was nodding his head appropriately Mymother-in-law Lois had politely excused herself and returned toher house next door she would never miss the ten-orsquoclock newsher watching of the ten-orsquoclock news helps the country of Canadato go forward Christine and Natalie had long since drifted fromthe table and I could hear the buzz and burst of TV noises in the den

Pet our golden retriever parked his shaggy self under thetable his whole dog body humming away against my footSometimes in his dreams he groans and sometimes he chortleswith happiness I found myself thinking about Marietta Colinrsquoswife who had packed her bags a few months ago and moved to

Calgary to be with another man She claimed Colin was toowrapped up in his research and teaching to be a true partner Abeautiful woman with a neck like a plant stem she hinted thatthere had been a collapse of passion in their marriage She had left suddenly coldly he had been shocked he had had no idea hetold us in the early days that she had been unhappy all theseyears but he found her diaries in a desk drawer and read themsick with realization that a gulf of misunderstanding separatedthem

Why would a woman leave such personal diaries behind To punish to hurt of course Colin for the most part a decentkind-hearted man used to address her in a dry admonitory wayas though she were a graduate student instead of his wife ldquoDonrsquottell me this is processed cheeserdquo he asked her once when we were having dinner at their house Another time ldquoThis coffee isundrinkablerdquo He loved pleasuremdashhe was that kind of manmdashandtook it for granted and couldnrsquot help his little yelps of outragewhen pleasure failed You could call him an innocent in his expec-tations almost naive on this particular August evening It was asthough he were alone in a vaulted chamber echoing with immen-sities while Tom and I stood attendance just outside the doorcatching the overflow the odd glimpse of his skewed but calmbrilliance Even the little pockets under his eyes were phlegmaticHe was not a shallow person but perhaps he suspected that wewere I had to stop myself interrupting with a joke I often do thisIrsquom afraid ask for an explanation and then drift off into my ownthoughts

How could he now be sitting at our table so calmly toyingwith cherries and coffee cups and rolling the edge of his strawplacemat and pressing this heft of information on us It was closeto midnight he had an hourrsquos drive ahead of him What did thetheory of relativity really matter to his ongoing life Colin withhis small specs and trim moustache was at ease with big ideas likerelativity As a theory relativity worked it held all sorts of impor-tant ldquoconceptsrdquo together with its precision and elegance Think of

glue lavishly applied he said helpfully about relativity think ofthe power of the shrewd guess Such a sweeping perspective hadbeen visionary at the beginning but had been assessed and re-inforced and it was moreover Colin was now insisting usefulIn the face of lifersquos uncertainties relativityrsquos weight could beassumed and then set aside part of the package of consciousness

He finished awkwardly sat back in his chair with his two longarms extended ldquoSordquo Thatrsquos it he seemed to say or thatrsquos asmuch as I can do to simplify and explain so brilliant an idea Heglanced at his watch then sat back again exhausted pleased withhimself He wore a well-pressed cotton shirt with blue and yellowstripes neatly tucked into his black jeans He has no interest in clothes This shirt must go back to his married days chosen for him ironed for him by Marietta herself and put on a hangerperhaps a summer ago

The theory of relativity would not bring Colinrsquos wife hurryingback to the old stone house on Oriole Parkway It would notbring my daughter Norah home from the corner of Bathurst andBloor or the Promise Hostel where she beds at night Tom and I followed her one day we had to know how she managedwhether she was safe The weather would be turning cold soonHow does she bear it Cold concrete Dirt Uncombed hair

ldquoWould you sayrdquo I asked ColinmdashI had not spoken for severalminutesmdashldquothat the theory of relativity has reduced the weight ofgoodness and depravity in the worldrdquo

He stared at me ldquoRelativity has no moral position None what-everrdquo (ldquoThis coffee is undrinkablerdquo)

I looked to Tom for support but he was gazing with his mildeyes at the ceiling smiling I knew that smile

ldquoBut isnrsquot it possiblerdquo I said to Colin ldquoto think that goodnessor virtue if you like could be a wave or particle of energyrdquo

ldquoNordquo he said ldquoNo it is not possiblerdquoI made an abrupt move to clear the table I was suddenly

exhaustedStill I am thankful for the friendship and intellectual ardour of

such an unpretentious man as Colin Glass who despite his suffer-ing and shame really wanted me to understand a key concept ofthe twentieth century Or was he simply diverting himself for anhour This is what I must learn the art of diversion He said notone word about Marietta all evening long Tom and I understandthat he is reconstructing his life without her But a daughter issomething different A daughter of nineteen cannot be erased

Once

It was understood that I would do the publicity such as it was for Danielle Westermanrsquos third volume of memoirs Ateighty-five she was too old and too distinguished to handle

a day of interviews in Toronto even though she lives there I asthe translator could easily field questions from the press A verylight schedule was organized by the publisher since Dr Wester-man already possesses a long twilight of faithful readership

In early September I drove into Orangetown down its calmold-fashioned main street and into the countryside again The cityof Toronto monumental and lonely glowed in front of me Itsoutskirts are ragged though its numbered exits pretend at a kindof order Traffic was light I drove slowly by the corner of Bloorand Bathurst for a glimpse of Norah There she was as always onthe northeast corner seated on the ground near the subwayentrance with her bowl and cardboard sign even though it wasnot yet nine orsquoclock Had she had breakfast Did she have nits inher hair What is she thinking or is her mind a great blank

I parked the car and walked over to where she was ldquoHellodarling Norahrdquo I said setting down a plastic bag of food breadand cheese fruit and raw vegetables And in an envelope arecent photo of Pet with his straight proud muzzle and furry ruff Norah of all the girls doted on Pet and now I was bribingher shamelessly It was a chilly day and it iced my heart to see herunreadable immobility but I was glad to notice that she waswearing warm mittens Glad Me glad The least little signal willgladden my heart these days Today she looked not quite at me

and nodded Another wave of gladness struck I allow myself onlyone such glimpse a week since shersquos made it clear she doesnrsquotwant to see us

It is like watching her through plate glass All week I will drawexpensively on this brief moment of voyeurism at the same timetrying to blot it out with images of Norah on her bicycle Norahsitting at the kitchen table studying for exams Norah reaching forher green raincoat Norah trying on new school shoes Norahsleeping safe

After a while I went to have my eyebrows arched and tinted atSylviarsquos which calls itself a ldquospirit spardquo meaning it seemed thatwhile Madame Sylvia swiped at my brow with a little paintbrushshe murmured and sang into my ear It was now nine-thirty in themorning and I lay on a narrow table in a tiny white room ldquoYouare at the age when you must protect the fine skin around theeyesrdquo she warned ldquoA womanrsquos face falls it is inevitable but the eyes go on and on giving light You will be eighty ninety and your eyes will still charmrdquo

She knows nothing about my life Irsquove never been here beforeand have never thought of having an eyebrow tint I have per-fectly decent eyebrows nicely shaped and regular but I did lookinto a mirror a week or so ago and noticed that the small hairs atthe outside corners were coming in grey There was a little greyat the temples too but nothing to be surprised about not for a woman whose forty-fourth birthday is approaching not for awoman who has never even thought of herself as possessingldquotemplesrdquo such august body parts

ldquoAre you by any chance a Geminirdquo Madame Sylvia askedintimately Swish went the paintbrush She stopped peered at meclosely then swished again a deft little stroke

ldquoNordquo I said ashamed to acknowledge the astrological universeldquoMy birthdayrsquos in September Next week in factrdquo

ldquoI can tell yesrdquo She had a touch of the harridan in her voice ldquoIcan always tellrdquo

What could she tell

ldquoTwenty-four dollarsrdquo she said ldquoLet me give you my card Fornext timerdquo

Presumptuous but yes there will be a next time I calculatedquickly My face would make it through the next few weeks butby November I will probably be back in Madame Sylviarsquos hushedwhite cell I may well become a regular Eyebrows lashes fullfacials neck massage I have led a reflective life a life of thoughta writer a translator but all this is about to change The delicateskin around my eyes was demanding attention Has Tom noticedI donrsquot think so Christine and Natalie donrsquot really look at me inthat way they just see this watercolour blob that means motherwhich is rather how I see myself

ldquoA womanrsquos charm is with her for liferdquo Madame Sylvia saidldquobut you must pay attentionrdquo

No I thought an hour later no Irsquom sorry but I have no plansto be charming on a regular basis Anyone can be charming Itrsquosreally a cheap trick mere charm so astonishingly easy to per-form screwing up your face into sunbeams and spewing themforth The calculated lift of the wrist chin up thumb and fore-finger brought together to form a little feminine loop that trick of pretending to sit on a little glass chair that concentration ofradiance lrsquoesprit little sprinkles of it everywhere misting the airlike bargain scent Ingenue spritz Emma Allen calls it

I know that cheapness so intimatelymdashthe grainy sugary per-severing way charm enters a fresh mouth and rubs against themolars sticking there in soft wads promoting mouth ulcers or whatever it is thatrsquos the metaphoric projection of self-hatredOf all the social virtues charm is in the end the most unreward-ing And compared to goodness real goodness or the unmovableself-abnegation my daughter Norah practises charm is nothingbut crumpled tissue paper soiled from previous use

Sincerity No Sincerityrsquos over Sincerityrsquos lost whatever edge ithad Itrsquos fine fine matter but wasted on the press who all grew uppost-Holocaust devoted readers of Mad Magazine and wouldnrsquotrecognize a bar of willed innocence if it came wrapped in foil

Nor will I ever again be pointlessly endlessly polite I got overthat two years ago when I did my author tour It seems Irsquove lostlike a stream of pebbles leaving my hand the kind of endurancethat professional courtesy demands suck in your breath let yourface go numb listen to the interviewerrsquos questions registeroptimally let your breath out evaluate the feelings of those whodepend on you (agent publisher editor that nice Sheila personwho does publicity and of course Danielle Westerman) andperform again and again like the tuned-up athlete you are the fitphysical specimen that each new book demands then move on tothe next task

Mrs Winters who has just translated The Middle Years the un-

folding memoir of Holocaust survivor Danielle Westerman is a woman

of grace and charm whose thick brown hair is arranged into a bun

Putting down her coffee cup she shrugs off her beige raincoat and

Irsquove entered early middle age now and I have a nineteen-year-old daughter who lives on the street I no longer require a reputa-tion for charm those saving lilac shadows and contours Maybe Inever did I wonrsquotmdashnot nowmdashtuck the ends of my sentences intolittle licks of favour and the next time a journalist pins me downwith a personal question trolling for informationmdashTell me MrsWinters how are you able to balance your family and profes-sional lifemdashI will stare back hard with my newly practised stareHow do I balance my life Tinted eyebrows up Just what kind ofinquiry is this Wouldnrsquot you prefer Mrs Winters to pursue youown writing rather than translate Dr Westermanrsquos work Pleasenot that again How did you and your husband meet What doeshe think of your writing

I will in the future address my interviewer directly and saywith firmness ldquoThis interview is overrdquo There is nothing to loseRude and difficult people are more likely to be taken seriouslyCurmudgeons are positively adored Irsquove noticed this Even thefascinatingly unknowable earn respect

And when I read in the paper tomorrow that ldquoMrs Winterslooked all of her forty-three yearsrdquo and that ldquoMrs Winters with

her familiar overbite was reluctant to talk about her work sched-ulerdquo I will want to phone the editor and complain bitterly Thisfrom the pen of a small unattractive man almost entirely lip-less beneath a bony domineering nose sweating with minorambition head tilted like something carved out of yellow wax

He interviewed me in a cappuccino bar in mid-Toronto Achilly stooped round-headed man in his thirties or fortiesmdashitwas hard to tellmdashslow to smile pathetically in need of humanattention thinking his superior thoughts Fluff on his shouldersbegged to be picked off I on the other hand was wearing a softjade jacket of cashmere lined with silk which represented a raresplurge on my part but I could be sure this man would over-look this garment with its crystal buttons and mandarin collar andconcentrate instead on my drab raincoat beige and not quitepristine at the cuffs In print he will be certain to refer to mychignon as a bun Itrsquos taken me years to learn to do a glossy littlechignonmdashI can get my hair brushed back and securely pinned up each morning in a mere two and a half minutes and I considermy coiffure one of my major life accomplishments I really meanthis

Sheila from publicity had filled me in before the interview andI felt the information packet hovering what to do with it Thisyoungyoungish man was the newly appointed books columnistat Booktimes He was well known for holding pious opinions aboutthe literature of the Great North about his own role as advocateof a diverse new outpouring of Canadian voices the post-colonialcry of blaming anguish The stream of current fiction aboutmiddle-class people living in cities was diluting the authenticnational voice that rose from the landscape itself andmdash

Oh shut up shut upCappuccino foam dotted the corners of his undistinguished

mouth And just one more question Mrs WintersmdashOf course he didnrsquot call me Reta even though there might be

only a year or two between us The ldquoMrsrdquo gave him power overme that vexing r rucking things up in the middle and making one

think of such distractions as clotheslines and baking tins He wasthe barking terrier going at Mrs Wintersrsquos ankles shaking out hisfur and asking me to justify myself wanting me to explain thespluttering dying whimpering bonfire of my life which I wouldnot dream of sharing He seemed to forget he was interviewingme about Danielle Westermanrsquos new book

I understand yoursquore working on a second novel said heWell yesTakes nerveUh-huhActuallymdashactually well he had a novel on the go himselfReally What a surpriseAt the end of the hour he did not ask for the bill I asked for the

bill ldquoIrsquoll just put it on my Visardquo I said breaking a tenuous breadthof silence I announced this with all the majesty I could musterover a vinyl table like a grande dame adding twenty years to myage and feeling the vowels shifting in my beautifully mouldedthroat Such dignity I surprised myself with my own resonanceand I may have managed a pained smile displaying no doubtthat famous overbite He turned off the tape recorder at the wordldquoVisardquo

He had two young children at home he said Christ what aresponsibility although he loved the little bastards One of themwas quite quite gifted well they both were in their separateways But the work of raising kids Never enough time to read thebooks he had to review books all over the house with little mark-ers in them books he would never finish So much was expectedand of course like all journalists he was underpaid

Oh shut upThey also expected him to do a feature on the weekendUh-huhAnd last week hersquod actually broken the MacBunna storyReally Macumba MarimbaCongratulations said Mrs Reta Winters from OrangetownThanks

I should be getting on my way I said My parking meter Alunch date A long drive home

I understand you and your family live in a lovely old housenear Orangetown

And then slyly I understand one of your daughters now livesin Toronto and

Irsquove been here before There is something about having anestablished family a long-lasting spousal arrangement threedaughters in their teens a house in the country a suggestion ofimpermeability that draws the curiosity of others so that theycan as Tom says probe with probity

But no this man across the table will not be feeding on myflesh nor will his colleaguesmdashthough one can tell that he has nocolleagues there is no possibility of colleagues He has no contextfor friends or co-workers though there are the kids and therersquosthe wife hersquos referred to her three times now Nicola She has herprofessional life too he tells me as though the matter were indispute

I canrsquot resist ldquoDoes Nicolamdashis she a journalist toordquoldquoJournalistrdquoldquoLike you I meanrdquoHis hand jumps and for a moment I think hersquos going to turn

the tape recorder on again But no hersquos reaching into his pocketand now hersquos releasing two coins onto the table The tip They liethere moist from his hand Two dimes I focus on them withwhat I hope is a cool censorious gaze

But hersquos not looking at me Hersquos looking across the roomwhere a silver-haired man is seating himself gracefully at a tableldquoIrsquom not sure but I think thatrsquos Gore Vidalrdquo my interviewer whis-pers in a hungry voice ldquoHersquos here for the writersrsquo festival youknowrdquo

I rise and exit as though led by a brass quintetThe charming Mrs Winters slips on her comfortable beige rain-

coat

I would like to thank a number of others who in one way or another encouraged me in the writing of Unless SharonAllan Marjorie Anderson the late Joan Austen-Leigh JoanBarfoot Clare Boylan Marg Edmond Brown Joan ClarkAnne Collins Cynthia Coop Patrick Crowe Maggie DwyerDarlene Hammell Blanche Howard Isabel Huggan CarlLenthe Madeline Li Elinor Lipman Anna and Sylvie MatasMargaret Shaw-Mackinnon Don McCarthy Peter ParkerBella Pomer Christopher Potter Linda Rogers CaroleSabiston Floyd St Clair Eleanor Wachtel Cindi WarnerMindy Werner the John Simon Guggenheim Foundationand as always my family John Audrey Anne CatherineMeg Sara and especially Don

About the Author

Carol Shields is the author of eight novels and two collections of short stories

The Stone Diaries won the Pulitzer Prize and was shortlisted for the Booker

Prize Larryrsquos Party won the Orange Prize Born and brought up in Chicago

Carol Shields has lived in Canada since 1957

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 1

Others

Intersect

Coming to Canada

Larryrsquos Party

The Stone Diaries

The Republic of Love

A Celibate Season (with Blanche Howard)Swann

A Fairly Conventional Woman

Happenstance

The Box Garden

Small Ceremonies

Various Miracles

The Orange Fish

Dressing Up for the Carnival

Departures and Arrivals

Thirteen Hands

Fashion Power Guilt and the Charity of Families

(with Catherine Shields)Anniversary (with David Williamson)

Susanna Moodie Voice and Vision

Jane Austen

Dropped Threads What We Arenrsquot Told

(Edited with Marjorie Anderson)

Credits

Design by Julian HumphriesPhotographer by Michael CrouserDesigned by Dinah Drazin

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 2

If you enjoyed reading this excerpt please visitHarperCollins Publishers to find out where to buy thisand other PerfectBound e-books

Australiahttpwwwharpercollinscomau

Canadahttpwwwharpercanadacom

New Zealandhttpwwwharpercollinsconz

United Kingdomhttpwwwfireandwatercom

United Stateshttpwwwperfectboundcom

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 3

The Pajama Game Words and Music by Richard Adler Music

and Jerry Ross copy Richard Adler Music and J amp J Ross Co USA

WarnerChappell Music Ltd London w6 8bs

Reproduced by permission of International Music Publications

Ltd All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction Names characters places and incidents

either are the products of the authorrsquos imagination or are used

fictitiously Any resemblance to actual events locales organiza-

tions or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and

beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher

UNLESS Copyright copy 2002 by Carol Shields All rights

reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright

Conventions By payment of the required fees you have been

granted the non-exclusive non-transferable right to access and

read the text of this e-book on-screen No part of this text may

be reproduced transmitted down-loaded decompiled reverse

engineered or stored in or introduced into any information stor-

age and retrieval system in any form or by any means whether

electronic or mechanical now known or hereinafter invented

without the express written permission of PerfectBoundtrade

PerfectBound trade and the PerfectBoundtrade logo are trademarks

of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

Adobe Acrobat E-Book Reader edition v 1 May 2002

ISBN 0-06-052370-0

Print edition first published in 2002

by Forth Estate a division of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 4

for a volume (volumette really) to be called Russian Icons pub-lished finally in It took me a whole year to do what withTom and the three girls and the house and garden and meals andlaundry and too much inwardness They published my ldquotextrdquosuch a cold jellied word along with a series of coloured plates inboth English and French (I did the French as well) and paid mefour hundred dollars I learned all about the schools of Suzdal andVladimir and what went on in Novgorod (a lot) and how imagesof saints made medieval people quake with fear To my knowl-edge the book was never reviewed but I can read it today with-out shame It is almost impossible to be pseudo when writingabout innocent paintings that obey no rules of perspective andthat are done on slabs of ordinary wood

I lost a year after this which I donrsquot understand since allthree girls had started school though Natalie was only in morningkindergarten I think I was too busy thinking about the business ofbeing a writer about being writerly and fretting over whetherTomrsquos ego was threatened and being in Daniellersquos shadow nevermind Derrida and needing my own writing space and turningthirty-five and feeling older than Irsquove ever felt since My agemdashthirty-fivemdashshouted at me all the time standing tall and wide inmy head and blocking access to what my life afforded Thirty-fivenever sat down with its hands folded Thirty-five had no compo-sure It was always humming mean terse tunes on a piece offolded cellophane (ldquoI am composedrdquo said John Quincy Adams onhis deathbed How admirable and enviable and beyond belief Iloved him for this)

This anguish of mine was unnecessary Tomrsquos ego was unchal-lenged by my slender publications He turned out to be one ofthose men we were worried about in the seventies and eightieswho might shrivel in acknowledgment of his own insignificanceOrdinary was what he wanted to be an ordinary man embeddedin a family he loved We put a skylight in the box room bought a used office desk installed a fax and a computer and I sat downon my straight-from-a-catalogue Freedom Chair and translated

Danielle Westermanrsquos immense Les femmes et le pouvoir the Eng-lish version published in volume two of her memoirs InEnglish the title was changed to Women Waiting which onlymakes sense if yoursquove read the book (Women possess power butit is power that has yet to be seized ignited and released and soforth) This time no one grumped about my translation ldquoSpark-ling and full of easerdquo the Globe said and the New York Times wentone better and called it ldquoan achievementrdquo

ldquoYou are my true sisterrdquo said Danielle Westerman at the timeof publication Ma vraie soeur I hugged her back Her craving forphysical touch has not slackened even in her eighties thoughnowadays it is mostly her doctor who touches her or me with myweekly embrace or the manicurist Dr Danielle Westerman isthe only person I know who has her nails done twice a weekTuesday and Saturday ( just a touch-up) beautiful long nail bedsmatching her long quizzing eyes

I was giddy All at once translation offers were arriving in themail but I kept thinking I could maybe write short stories eventhough our Glenmar group was dwindling what with Emmataking a job in Newfoundland Annette getting her divorce andGwen moving to the States The trouble was I hated my shortstories I wanted to write about the overheard and the glimpsedbut this kind of evanescence sent me into whimsy mode andalthough I believed whimsicality to be a strand of the humanpersonality I was embarrassed at what I was pumping into mynew Apple computer sitting there under the clean brightness ofthe skylight Pernicious precious my moments of recognitionAhahmdashand then she realized I was so fetching with my ldquoEllen wassetting the table and she knew tonight would be differentrdquo Alittle bug sat in my ear and buzzed Who cares about Ellen andher woven placemats and her hopes for the future

I certainly didnrsquot careBecause I had three kids everyone said I should be writing

kiddy lit but I couldnrsquot find the voice Kiddy lit screeched in mybrain Talking ducks and chuckling frogs I wanted something

sterner and more contained as a task which is how I came to writeShakespeare and Flowers (San Francisco Cyclone Press ) Thecontract was negotiated before I wrote one word Along came alittle bundle of cash to start me off with the rest promised on pub-lication I thought it was going to be a scholarly endeavour but Iended up producing a wee ldquogiftierdquo book You could send this bookto anyone on your list who was maidenly or semi-academic orwhom you didnrsquot know very well Shakespeare and Flowers wassold in the kind of outlets that stock greeting cards and stuffedbears I simply scanned the canon and picked up references to saythe eglantine (A Midsummer Nightrsquos Dream) or the blackberry(Troilus and Cressida) and then I puffed out a little description of theflower and conferenced on the phone (twice) with the illustratorin Berkeley and threw in lots of Shakespearean quotes A sweetlittle book excellent slick paper US$ At sixty-eight pages it fits in a small mailer Two hundred thousand copies and stillselling though the royalty rate is scandalous Theyrsquod like me to do something on Shakespeare and animals and I just might

Eros Essays by Danielle Westerman translation by RetaWinters hastily translatedmdasheverything was hasty in those dayseverything still ismdashand published in Hugely successful aftera tiny advance We put the dog in a kennel and Tom and I andthe girls took the first translation payment and went to France fora month southern Burgundy a village called La Roche-Vineusewhere Danielle had grown up halfway between Cluny andMacirccon red-tiled roofs set in the midst of rolling vineyards incan-descent air Our rental house was built around a cobbled court-yard full of ancient roses and hydrangeas ldquoHow old is thishouserdquo we asked the neighbours who invited us in for an aperi-tif ldquoVery oldrdquo was all we got The stone walls were two feetthick The three girls took tennis lessons at lrsquoeacutecole drsquoeacuteteacute Tom wenthacking for trilobites happy under the French sun and I sat in awicker chair in the flower-filled courtyard shorts and halter andbare feet a floppy straw hat on my head reading novels day afterday and thinking I want to write a novel About something

happening About characters moving against a ldquothererdquo That waswhat I really wanted to do

Looking back I can scarcely believe in such innocence I didnrsquotthink about our girls growing older and leaving home and fallingaway from us Norah had been a good docile baby and then shebecame a good obedient little girl Now at nineteen shersquos sobrimming with goodness that she sits on a Toronto street cornerwhich has its own textual archaeology though Norah probablydoesnrsquot know about that She sits beneath the lamppost where thepoet Ed Lewinski hanged himself in and where MargheritaTolles burst out of the subway exit into the sunshine of heradopted country and decided to write a great play Norah sitscross-legged with a begging bowl in her lap and asks nothing ofthe world Nine-tenths of what she gathers she distributes at theend of the day to other street people She wears a cardboard signon her chest a single word printed in black markermdash

I donrsquot know what that word really means though words aremy business The Old English word wearth I discovered the otherday on the Internet means outcast the other English word itstwin its cancellation is worthmdashwe know what that means andknow to distrust it It is the word wearth that Norah has swal-lowed This is the place shersquos claimed a whole world constructedon stillness An easy stance says the condemning grievingmother easy to find and maintain given enough practice Asharper focus could be achieved by tossing in an astringent fluid apeppery sauce irony rebellion tattoos and pierced tongue andspiked purple hair but no Norah embodies invisibility and good-ness or at least she is on the pathmdashso she said in our last conver-sation which was eight weeks ago the eleventh of April Shewore torn jeans that day and a rough plaid shawl that was almostcertainly a car blanket Her long pale hair was matted Sherefused to look us in the eye but she did blink in acknowledge-mentmdashIrsquom sure of itmdashwhen I handed her a sack of cheesesandwiches and Tom dropped a roll of twenty-dollar bills in herlap Then she spoke in her own voice but emptied of connection

She could not come home She was on the path to goodness Atthat moment I her mother was more absent from myself thanshe I felt that She was steadfast She could not be diverted Shecould not ldquoberdquo with us

How did this part of the narrative happen We know it didnrsquotrise out of the ordinary plot lines of a life story An intelligent andbeautiful girl from a loving family grows up in OrangetownOntario her motherrsquos a writer her fatherrsquos a doctor and then shegoes off the track Therersquos nothing natural about her efflorescenceof goodness Itrsquos abrupt and brutal Itrsquos killing us What will reallykill us though is the day we donrsquot find her sitting on her chosensquare of pavement

But I didnrsquot know any of this when I sat in that Burgundygarden dreaming about writing a novel I thought I understoodsomething of a novelrsquos architecture the lovely slope of predica-ment the tendrils of surface detail the calculated curving upwardinto inevitability yet allowing spells of incorrigibility and thenthe ending a corruption of cause and effect and the gatheringtogether of all the characters into a framed operatic circle ofconsolation and ecstasy backlit with fibre-optic gold just for amoment on the second-to-last page just for an atomic particle oftime

I had an idea for my novel a seed and nothing more Twoappealing characters had suggested themselves a woman and aman Alicia and Roman who live in Wychwood which is a citythe size of Toronto who clamour and romp and cling to theisland that is their lifersquos predicamentmdashthey long for love butselfishly strive for self-preservation Roman is proud to be cholericin temperament Alicia thinks of herself as being reflective buther job as assistant editor on a fashion magazine keeps her toooccupied to reflect

And I had a title My Thyme Is Up It was a pun of coursefrom an old family joke and I meant to write a jokey novel Alight novel A novel for summertime a book to read while seatedin an Ikea wicker chair with the sun falling on the pages as faintly

and evenly as human breath Naturally the novel would have ahappy ending I never doubted but that I could write this noveland I did in mdashin a swoop alone during three dark wintermonths when the girls were away all day at school

The Middle Years the translation of volume three of Wester-manrsquos memoirs is coming out this fall Volume three exploresWestermanrsquos numerous love affairs with both men and womenand none of this will be shocking or even surprising to her read-ers What is new is the suppleness and strength of her sentencesAlways an artist of concision and selflessness she has arrived inher old age at a gorgeous fluidity and expansion of phrase Mytranslation doesnrsquot begin to express what she has accomplishedThe book is stark itrsquos also sentimental one balances and rescuesthe other strangely enough I can only imagine that those end-less calcium pills Danielle chokes down every morning and the vitamin E and the emu oil capsules have fed directly into hervein of language so that what lands on the page is larger morerapturous more self-forgetful than anything shersquos written beforeand all of it sprouting short swift digressions that pretend to be just careless asides little swoons of surrender to her ownexperience inviting us her readers to believe in the totality ofher abandonment

Either that or shersquos gone senile to good effect a grand loosen-ing of language in her old age The thought has more than onceoccurred to me

Another thought has drifted by silken as a breeze against alattice Therersquos something missing in these memoirs or so I thinkin my solipsistic view Danielle Westerman suffers she feels the pangs of existential loneliness the absence of sexual love thetreason of her own womanrsquos body She has no partner no one forwhom she is the first person in the world order no one to dependon as I do on Tom She does not have a child or any survivingblood connection for that matter and perhaps itrsquos this that makesthe memoirs themselves childlike They go down like good milkfoaming swirling in the glass

I shouldnrsquot mention Book Number Eleven since it is not afait accompli but I will Irsquom going to write a second novel asequel to My Thyme Is Up Today is the day I intend to begin Thefirst sentence is already tapped into my computer ldquoAlicia was notas happy as she deserved to berdquo

I have no idea what will happen in this book It is a mereabstraction at the moment something thatrsquos popped out of theground like the rounded snout of a crocus on a cold lawn Irsquovestumbled up against this idea in my clumsy manner and now the urge to write it wonrsquot go away This will be a book about lostchildren about goodness and going home and being happy andtrying to keep the poison of the printed page in perspective Irsquomdesperate to know how the story will turn out

Nearly

We are more than halfway through the year Toward the beginning of August Tomrsquos old friendColin Glass came to dinner one night driving out

from Toronto Over coffee he attempted to explain the theory ofrelativity to me

I was the one who invited him to launch into the subjectRelativity is a piece of knowledge Irsquove always longed to under-stand a big piece but the explainers tend to go too fast or elsethey skip over a step they assume their audience has alreadyabsorbed Apparently there was once a time when only oneperson in the world understood relativity (Einstein) then twopeople then three or four and now most of the high-school kidswho take physics have at least an inkling or so Irsquom told Howhard can it be And itrsquos passed according to Colin from crazyspeculation to confirmed fact which makes it even more impor-tant to understand Irsquove tried but my grasp feels tenuous So thespeed of light is constant Is that all

Ordinarily I love these long August evenings the splash ofamber light that falls on the white dining-room walls just beforethe separate shades of twilight take over The medallion leavesthat flutter their round ghost shadows All day Irsquod listened to the white-throated sparrows in the woods behind our house their song resembles the Canadian national anthem at least theopening bars Summer was dying but in pieces Wersquod be eatingoutside if it werenrsquot for the wasps Good food the company of agood friend what more could anyone desire But I kept thinking

of Norah sitting on her square of pavement and holding up thepiece of cardboard with the word and then I lost trackof what Colin was saying

E=mc Energy equals mass times the speed of light squaredThe tidiness of the equation raised my immediate suspicion Howcan massmdashthis solid oak dining table for instancemdashhave any con-nection with how fast light travels Theyrsquore two different thingsColin who is a physicist was patient with my objections Hetook the linen napkin from his lap and stretched it taut across thetop of his coffee cup Then he took a cherry from the fruit bowland placed it on the napkin creating a small dimple He tipped thecup slightly so that the cherry rotated around the surface of the napkin He spoke of energy and mass but already I had lost a critical filament of the argument I worried slightly about hiscoffee sloshing up onto the napkin and staining it and thoughthow seldom in the last few years I had bothered with clothnapkins Nobody except maybe Danielle Westerman does realnapkins anymore it was understood that modern professionalwomen had better things to do with their time than launder linen

By now I had forgotten completely what the cherry (more thanfour dollars a pound) represented and what the little dimple wassupposed to be Colin talked on and on and Tom who is a familyphysician and has a broad scientific background seemed to befollowing at least he was nodding his head appropriately Mymother-in-law Lois had politely excused herself and returned toher house next door she would never miss the ten-orsquoclock newsher watching of the ten-orsquoclock news helps the country of Canadato go forward Christine and Natalie had long since drifted fromthe table and I could hear the buzz and burst of TV noises in the den

Pet our golden retriever parked his shaggy self under thetable his whole dog body humming away against my footSometimes in his dreams he groans and sometimes he chortleswith happiness I found myself thinking about Marietta Colinrsquoswife who had packed her bags a few months ago and moved to

Calgary to be with another man She claimed Colin was toowrapped up in his research and teaching to be a true partner Abeautiful woman with a neck like a plant stem she hinted thatthere had been a collapse of passion in their marriage She had left suddenly coldly he had been shocked he had had no idea hetold us in the early days that she had been unhappy all theseyears but he found her diaries in a desk drawer and read themsick with realization that a gulf of misunderstanding separatedthem

Why would a woman leave such personal diaries behind To punish to hurt of course Colin for the most part a decentkind-hearted man used to address her in a dry admonitory wayas though she were a graduate student instead of his wife ldquoDonrsquottell me this is processed cheeserdquo he asked her once when we were having dinner at their house Another time ldquoThis coffee isundrinkablerdquo He loved pleasuremdashhe was that kind of manmdashandtook it for granted and couldnrsquot help his little yelps of outragewhen pleasure failed You could call him an innocent in his expec-tations almost naive on this particular August evening It was asthough he were alone in a vaulted chamber echoing with immen-sities while Tom and I stood attendance just outside the doorcatching the overflow the odd glimpse of his skewed but calmbrilliance Even the little pockets under his eyes were phlegmaticHe was not a shallow person but perhaps he suspected that wewere I had to stop myself interrupting with a joke I often do thisIrsquom afraid ask for an explanation and then drift off into my ownthoughts

How could he now be sitting at our table so calmly toyingwith cherries and coffee cups and rolling the edge of his strawplacemat and pressing this heft of information on us It was closeto midnight he had an hourrsquos drive ahead of him What did thetheory of relativity really matter to his ongoing life Colin withhis small specs and trim moustache was at ease with big ideas likerelativity As a theory relativity worked it held all sorts of impor-tant ldquoconceptsrdquo together with its precision and elegance Think of

glue lavishly applied he said helpfully about relativity think ofthe power of the shrewd guess Such a sweeping perspective hadbeen visionary at the beginning but had been assessed and re-inforced and it was moreover Colin was now insisting usefulIn the face of lifersquos uncertainties relativityrsquos weight could beassumed and then set aside part of the package of consciousness

He finished awkwardly sat back in his chair with his two longarms extended ldquoSordquo Thatrsquos it he seemed to say or thatrsquos asmuch as I can do to simplify and explain so brilliant an idea Heglanced at his watch then sat back again exhausted pleased withhimself He wore a well-pressed cotton shirt with blue and yellowstripes neatly tucked into his black jeans He has no interest in clothes This shirt must go back to his married days chosen for him ironed for him by Marietta herself and put on a hangerperhaps a summer ago

The theory of relativity would not bring Colinrsquos wife hurryingback to the old stone house on Oriole Parkway It would notbring my daughter Norah home from the corner of Bathurst andBloor or the Promise Hostel where she beds at night Tom and I followed her one day we had to know how she managedwhether she was safe The weather would be turning cold soonHow does she bear it Cold concrete Dirt Uncombed hair

ldquoWould you sayrdquo I asked ColinmdashI had not spoken for severalminutesmdashldquothat the theory of relativity has reduced the weight ofgoodness and depravity in the worldrdquo

He stared at me ldquoRelativity has no moral position None what-everrdquo (ldquoThis coffee is undrinkablerdquo)

I looked to Tom for support but he was gazing with his mildeyes at the ceiling smiling I knew that smile

ldquoBut isnrsquot it possiblerdquo I said to Colin ldquoto think that goodnessor virtue if you like could be a wave or particle of energyrdquo

ldquoNordquo he said ldquoNo it is not possiblerdquoI made an abrupt move to clear the table I was suddenly

exhaustedStill I am thankful for the friendship and intellectual ardour of

such an unpretentious man as Colin Glass who despite his suffer-ing and shame really wanted me to understand a key concept ofthe twentieth century Or was he simply diverting himself for anhour This is what I must learn the art of diversion He said notone word about Marietta all evening long Tom and I understandthat he is reconstructing his life without her But a daughter issomething different A daughter of nineteen cannot be erased

Once

It was understood that I would do the publicity such as it was for Danielle Westermanrsquos third volume of memoirs Ateighty-five she was too old and too distinguished to handle

a day of interviews in Toronto even though she lives there I asthe translator could easily field questions from the press A verylight schedule was organized by the publisher since Dr Wester-man already possesses a long twilight of faithful readership

In early September I drove into Orangetown down its calmold-fashioned main street and into the countryside again The cityof Toronto monumental and lonely glowed in front of me Itsoutskirts are ragged though its numbered exits pretend at a kindof order Traffic was light I drove slowly by the corner of Bloorand Bathurst for a glimpse of Norah There she was as always onthe northeast corner seated on the ground near the subwayentrance with her bowl and cardboard sign even though it wasnot yet nine orsquoclock Had she had breakfast Did she have nits inher hair What is she thinking or is her mind a great blank

I parked the car and walked over to where she was ldquoHellodarling Norahrdquo I said setting down a plastic bag of food breadand cheese fruit and raw vegetables And in an envelope arecent photo of Pet with his straight proud muzzle and furry ruff Norah of all the girls doted on Pet and now I was bribingher shamelessly It was a chilly day and it iced my heart to see herunreadable immobility but I was glad to notice that she waswearing warm mittens Glad Me glad The least little signal willgladden my heart these days Today she looked not quite at me

and nodded Another wave of gladness struck I allow myself onlyone such glimpse a week since shersquos made it clear she doesnrsquotwant to see us

It is like watching her through plate glass All week I will drawexpensively on this brief moment of voyeurism at the same timetrying to blot it out with images of Norah on her bicycle Norahsitting at the kitchen table studying for exams Norah reaching forher green raincoat Norah trying on new school shoes Norahsleeping safe

After a while I went to have my eyebrows arched and tinted atSylviarsquos which calls itself a ldquospirit spardquo meaning it seemed thatwhile Madame Sylvia swiped at my brow with a little paintbrushshe murmured and sang into my ear It was now nine-thirty in themorning and I lay on a narrow table in a tiny white room ldquoYouare at the age when you must protect the fine skin around theeyesrdquo she warned ldquoA womanrsquos face falls it is inevitable but the eyes go on and on giving light You will be eighty ninety and your eyes will still charmrdquo

She knows nothing about my life Irsquove never been here beforeand have never thought of having an eyebrow tint I have per-fectly decent eyebrows nicely shaped and regular but I did lookinto a mirror a week or so ago and noticed that the small hairs atthe outside corners were coming in grey There was a little greyat the temples too but nothing to be surprised about not for a woman whose forty-fourth birthday is approaching not for awoman who has never even thought of herself as possessingldquotemplesrdquo such august body parts

ldquoAre you by any chance a Geminirdquo Madame Sylvia askedintimately Swish went the paintbrush She stopped peered at meclosely then swished again a deft little stroke

ldquoNordquo I said ashamed to acknowledge the astrological universeldquoMy birthdayrsquos in September Next week in factrdquo

ldquoI can tell yesrdquo She had a touch of the harridan in her voice ldquoIcan always tellrdquo

What could she tell

ldquoTwenty-four dollarsrdquo she said ldquoLet me give you my card Fornext timerdquo

Presumptuous but yes there will be a next time I calculatedquickly My face would make it through the next few weeks butby November I will probably be back in Madame Sylviarsquos hushedwhite cell I may well become a regular Eyebrows lashes fullfacials neck massage I have led a reflective life a life of thoughta writer a translator but all this is about to change The delicateskin around my eyes was demanding attention Has Tom noticedI donrsquot think so Christine and Natalie donrsquot really look at me inthat way they just see this watercolour blob that means motherwhich is rather how I see myself

ldquoA womanrsquos charm is with her for liferdquo Madame Sylvia saidldquobut you must pay attentionrdquo

No I thought an hour later no Irsquom sorry but I have no plansto be charming on a regular basis Anyone can be charming Itrsquosreally a cheap trick mere charm so astonishingly easy to per-form screwing up your face into sunbeams and spewing themforth The calculated lift of the wrist chin up thumb and fore-finger brought together to form a little feminine loop that trick of pretending to sit on a little glass chair that concentration ofradiance lrsquoesprit little sprinkles of it everywhere misting the airlike bargain scent Ingenue spritz Emma Allen calls it

I know that cheapness so intimatelymdashthe grainy sugary per-severing way charm enters a fresh mouth and rubs against themolars sticking there in soft wads promoting mouth ulcers or whatever it is thatrsquos the metaphoric projection of self-hatredOf all the social virtues charm is in the end the most unreward-ing And compared to goodness real goodness or the unmovableself-abnegation my daughter Norah practises charm is nothingbut crumpled tissue paper soiled from previous use

Sincerity No Sincerityrsquos over Sincerityrsquos lost whatever edge ithad Itrsquos fine fine matter but wasted on the press who all grew uppost-Holocaust devoted readers of Mad Magazine and wouldnrsquotrecognize a bar of willed innocence if it came wrapped in foil

Nor will I ever again be pointlessly endlessly polite I got overthat two years ago when I did my author tour It seems Irsquove lostlike a stream of pebbles leaving my hand the kind of endurancethat professional courtesy demands suck in your breath let yourface go numb listen to the interviewerrsquos questions registeroptimally let your breath out evaluate the feelings of those whodepend on you (agent publisher editor that nice Sheila personwho does publicity and of course Danielle Westerman) andperform again and again like the tuned-up athlete you are the fitphysical specimen that each new book demands then move on tothe next task

Mrs Winters who has just translated The Middle Years the un-

folding memoir of Holocaust survivor Danielle Westerman is a woman

of grace and charm whose thick brown hair is arranged into a bun

Putting down her coffee cup she shrugs off her beige raincoat and

Irsquove entered early middle age now and I have a nineteen-year-old daughter who lives on the street I no longer require a reputa-tion for charm those saving lilac shadows and contours Maybe Inever did I wonrsquotmdashnot nowmdashtuck the ends of my sentences intolittle licks of favour and the next time a journalist pins me downwith a personal question trolling for informationmdashTell me MrsWinters how are you able to balance your family and profes-sional lifemdashI will stare back hard with my newly practised stareHow do I balance my life Tinted eyebrows up Just what kind ofinquiry is this Wouldnrsquot you prefer Mrs Winters to pursue youown writing rather than translate Dr Westermanrsquos work Pleasenot that again How did you and your husband meet What doeshe think of your writing

I will in the future address my interviewer directly and saywith firmness ldquoThis interview is overrdquo There is nothing to loseRude and difficult people are more likely to be taken seriouslyCurmudgeons are positively adored Irsquove noticed this Even thefascinatingly unknowable earn respect

And when I read in the paper tomorrow that ldquoMrs Winterslooked all of her forty-three yearsrdquo and that ldquoMrs Winters with

her familiar overbite was reluctant to talk about her work sched-ulerdquo I will want to phone the editor and complain bitterly Thisfrom the pen of a small unattractive man almost entirely lip-less beneath a bony domineering nose sweating with minorambition head tilted like something carved out of yellow wax

He interviewed me in a cappuccino bar in mid-Toronto Achilly stooped round-headed man in his thirties or fortiesmdashitwas hard to tellmdashslow to smile pathetically in need of humanattention thinking his superior thoughts Fluff on his shouldersbegged to be picked off I on the other hand was wearing a softjade jacket of cashmere lined with silk which represented a raresplurge on my part but I could be sure this man would over-look this garment with its crystal buttons and mandarin collar andconcentrate instead on my drab raincoat beige and not quitepristine at the cuffs In print he will be certain to refer to mychignon as a bun Itrsquos taken me years to learn to do a glossy littlechignonmdashI can get my hair brushed back and securely pinned up each morning in a mere two and a half minutes and I considermy coiffure one of my major life accomplishments I really meanthis

Sheila from publicity had filled me in before the interview andI felt the information packet hovering what to do with it Thisyoungyoungish man was the newly appointed books columnistat Booktimes He was well known for holding pious opinions aboutthe literature of the Great North about his own role as advocateof a diverse new outpouring of Canadian voices the post-colonialcry of blaming anguish The stream of current fiction aboutmiddle-class people living in cities was diluting the authenticnational voice that rose from the landscape itself andmdash

Oh shut up shut upCappuccino foam dotted the corners of his undistinguished

mouth And just one more question Mrs WintersmdashOf course he didnrsquot call me Reta even though there might be

only a year or two between us The ldquoMrsrdquo gave him power overme that vexing r rucking things up in the middle and making one

think of such distractions as clotheslines and baking tins He wasthe barking terrier going at Mrs Wintersrsquos ankles shaking out hisfur and asking me to justify myself wanting me to explain thespluttering dying whimpering bonfire of my life which I wouldnot dream of sharing He seemed to forget he was interviewingme about Danielle Westermanrsquos new book

I understand yoursquore working on a second novel said heWell yesTakes nerveUh-huhActuallymdashactually well he had a novel on the go himselfReally What a surpriseAt the end of the hour he did not ask for the bill I asked for the

bill ldquoIrsquoll just put it on my Visardquo I said breaking a tenuous breadthof silence I announced this with all the majesty I could musterover a vinyl table like a grande dame adding twenty years to myage and feeling the vowels shifting in my beautifully mouldedthroat Such dignity I surprised myself with my own resonanceand I may have managed a pained smile displaying no doubtthat famous overbite He turned off the tape recorder at the wordldquoVisardquo

He had two young children at home he said Christ what aresponsibility although he loved the little bastards One of themwas quite quite gifted well they both were in their separateways But the work of raising kids Never enough time to read thebooks he had to review books all over the house with little mark-ers in them books he would never finish So much was expectedand of course like all journalists he was underpaid

Oh shut upThey also expected him to do a feature on the weekendUh-huhAnd last week hersquod actually broken the MacBunna storyReally Macumba MarimbaCongratulations said Mrs Reta Winters from OrangetownThanks

I should be getting on my way I said My parking meter Alunch date A long drive home

I understand you and your family live in a lovely old housenear Orangetown

And then slyly I understand one of your daughters now livesin Toronto and

Irsquove been here before There is something about having anestablished family a long-lasting spousal arrangement threedaughters in their teens a house in the country a suggestion ofimpermeability that draws the curiosity of others so that theycan as Tom says probe with probity

But no this man across the table will not be feeding on myflesh nor will his colleaguesmdashthough one can tell that he has nocolleagues there is no possibility of colleagues He has no contextfor friends or co-workers though there are the kids and therersquosthe wife hersquos referred to her three times now Nicola She has herprofessional life too he tells me as though the matter were indispute

I canrsquot resist ldquoDoes Nicolamdashis she a journalist toordquoldquoJournalistrdquoldquoLike you I meanrdquoHis hand jumps and for a moment I think hersquos going to turn

the tape recorder on again But no hersquos reaching into his pocketand now hersquos releasing two coins onto the table The tip They liethere moist from his hand Two dimes I focus on them withwhat I hope is a cool censorious gaze

But hersquos not looking at me Hersquos looking across the roomwhere a silver-haired man is seating himself gracefully at a tableldquoIrsquom not sure but I think thatrsquos Gore Vidalrdquo my interviewer whis-pers in a hungry voice ldquoHersquos here for the writersrsquo festival youknowrdquo

I rise and exit as though led by a brass quintetThe charming Mrs Winters slips on her comfortable beige rain-

coat

I would like to thank a number of others who in one way or another encouraged me in the writing of Unless SharonAllan Marjorie Anderson the late Joan Austen-Leigh JoanBarfoot Clare Boylan Marg Edmond Brown Joan ClarkAnne Collins Cynthia Coop Patrick Crowe Maggie DwyerDarlene Hammell Blanche Howard Isabel Huggan CarlLenthe Madeline Li Elinor Lipman Anna and Sylvie MatasMargaret Shaw-Mackinnon Don McCarthy Peter ParkerBella Pomer Christopher Potter Linda Rogers CaroleSabiston Floyd St Clair Eleanor Wachtel Cindi WarnerMindy Werner the John Simon Guggenheim Foundationand as always my family John Audrey Anne CatherineMeg Sara and especially Don

About the Author

Carol Shields is the author of eight novels and two collections of short stories

The Stone Diaries won the Pulitzer Prize and was shortlisted for the Booker

Prize Larryrsquos Party won the Orange Prize Born and brought up in Chicago

Carol Shields has lived in Canada since 1957

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 1

Others

Intersect

Coming to Canada

Larryrsquos Party

The Stone Diaries

The Republic of Love

A Celibate Season (with Blanche Howard)Swann

A Fairly Conventional Woman

Happenstance

The Box Garden

Small Ceremonies

Various Miracles

The Orange Fish

Dressing Up for the Carnival

Departures and Arrivals

Thirteen Hands

Fashion Power Guilt and the Charity of Families

(with Catherine Shields)Anniversary (with David Williamson)

Susanna Moodie Voice and Vision

Jane Austen

Dropped Threads What We Arenrsquot Told

(Edited with Marjorie Anderson)

Credits

Design by Julian HumphriesPhotographer by Michael CrouserDesigned by Dinah Drazin

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 2

If you enjoyed reading this excerpt please visitHarperCollins Publishers to find out where to buy thisand other PerfectBound e-books

Australiahttpwwwharpercollinscomau

Canadahttpwwwharpercanadacom

New Zealandhttpwwwharpercollinsconz

United Kingdomhttpwwwfireandwatercom

United Stateshttpwwwperfectboundcom

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 3

The Pajama Game Words and Music by Richard Adler Music

and Jerry Ross copy Richard Adler Music and J amp J Ross Co USA

WarnerChappell Music Ltd London w6 8bs

Reproduced by permission of International Music Publications

Ltd All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction Names characters places and incidents

either are the products of the authorrsquos imagination or are used

fictitiously Any resemblance to actual events locales organiza-

tions or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and

beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher

UNLESS Copyright copy 2002 by Carol Shields All rights

reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright

Conventions By payment of the required fees you have been

granted the non-exclusive non-transferable right to access and

read the text of this e-book on-screen No part of this text may

be reproduced transmitted down-loaded decompiled reverse

engineered or stored in or introduced into any information stor-

age and retrieval system in any form or by any means whether

electronic or mechanical now known or hereinafter invented

without the express written permission of PerfectBoundtrade

PerfectBound trade and the PerfectBoundtrade logo are trademarks

of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

Adobe Acrobat E-Book Reader edition v 1 May 2002

ISBN 0-06-052370-0

Print edition first published in 2002

by Forth Estate a division of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 4

Danielle Westermanrsquos immense Les femmes et le pouvoir the Eng-lish version published in volume two of her memoirs InEnglish the title was changed to Women Waiting which onlymakes sense if yoursquove read the book (Women possess power butit is power that has yet to be seized ignited and released and soforth) This time no one grumped about my translation ldquoSpark-ling and full of easerdquo the Globe said and the New York Times wentone better and called it ldquoan achievementrdquo

ldquoYou are my true sisterrdquo said Danielle Westerman at the timeof publication Ma vraie soeur I hugged her back Her craving forphysical touch has not slackened even in her eighties thoughnowadays it is mostly her doctor who touches her or me with myweekly embrace or the manicurist Dr Danielle Westerman isthe only person I know who has her nails done twice a weekTuesday and Saturday ( just a touch-up) beautiful long nail bedsmatching her long quizzing eyes

I was giddy All at once translation offers were arriving in themail but I kept thinking I could maybe write short stories eventhough our Glenmar group was dwindling what with Emmataking a job in Newfoundland Annette getting her divorce andGwen moving to the States The trouble was I hated my shortstories I wanted to write about the overheard and the glimpsedbut this kind of evanescence sent me into whimsy mode andalthough I believed whimsicality to be a strand of the humanpersonality I was embarrassed at what I was pumping into mynew Apple computer sitting there under the clean brightness ofthe skylight Pernicious precious my moments of recognitionAhahmdashand then she realized I was so fetching with my ldquoEllen wassetting the table and she knew tonight would be differentrdquo Alittle bug sat in my ear and buzzed Who cares about Ellen andher woven placemats and her hopes for the future

I certainly didnrsquot careBecause I had three kids everyone said I should be writing

kiddy lit but I couldnrsquot find the voice Kiddy lit screeched in mybrain Talking ducks and chuckling frogs I wanted something

sterner and more contained as a task which is how I came to writeShakespeare and Flowers (San Francisco Cyclone Press ) Thecontract was negotiated before I wrote one word Along came alittle bundle of cash to start me off with the rest promised on pub-lication I thought it was going to be a scholarly endeavour but Iended up producing a wee ldquogiftierdquo book You could send this bookto anyone on your list who was maidenly or semi-academic orwhom you didnrsquot know very well Shakespeare and Flowers wassold in the kind of outlets that stock greeting cards and stuffedbears I simply scanned the canon and picked up references to saythe eglantine (A Midsummer Nightrsquos Dream) or the blackberry(Troilus and Cressida) and then I puffed out a little description of theflower and conferenced on the phone (twice) with the illustratorin Berkeley and threw in lots of Shakespearean quotes A sweetlittle book excellent slick paper US$ At sixty-eight pages it fits in a small mailer Two hundred thousand copies and stillselling though the royalty rate is scandalous Theyrsquod like me to do something on Shakespeare and animals and I just might

Eros Essays by Danielle Westerman translation by RetaWinters hastily translatedmdasheverything was hasty in those dayseverything still ismdashand published in Hugely successful aftera tiny advance We put the dog in a kennel and Tom and I andthe girls took the first translation payment and went to France fora month southern Burgundy a village called La Roche-Vineusewhere Danielle had grown up halfway between Cluny andMacirccon red-tiled roofs set in the midst of rolling vineyards incan-descent air Our rental house was built around a cobbled court-yard full of ancient roses and hydrangeas ldquoHow old is thishouserdquo we asked the neighbours who invited us in for an aperi-tif ldquoVery oldrdquo was all we got The stone walls were two feetthick The three girls took tennis lessons at lrsquoeacutecole drsquoeacuteteacute Tom wenthacking for trilobites happy under the French sun and I sat in awicker chair in the flower-filled courtyard shorts and halter andbare feet a floppy straw hat on my head reading novels day afterday and thinking I want to write a novel About something

happening About characters moving against a ldquothererdquo That waswhat I really wanted to do

Looking back I can scarcely believe in such innocence I didnrsquotthink about our girls growing older and leaving home and fallingaway from us Norah had been a good docile baby and then shebecame a good obedient little girl Now at nineteen shersquos sobrimming with goodness that she sits on a Toronto street cornerwhich has its own textual archaeology though Norah probablydoesnrsquot know about that She sits beneath the lamppost where thepoet Ed Lewinski hanged himself in and where MargheritaTolles burst out of the subway exit into the sunshine of heradopted country and decided to write a great play Norah sitscross-legged with a begging bowl in her lap and asks nothing ofthe world Nine-tenths of what she gathers she distributes at theend of the day to other street people She wears a cardboard signon her chest a single word printed in black markermdash

I donrsquot know what that word really means though words aremy business The Old English word wearth I discovered the otherday on the Internet means outcast the other English word itstwin its cancellation is worthmdashwe know what that means andknow to distrust it It is the word wearth that Norah has swal-lowed This is the place shersquos claimed a whole world constructedon stillness An easy stance says the condemning grievingmother easy to find and maintain given enough practice Asharper focus could be achieved by tossing in an astringent fluid apeppery sauce irony rebellion tattoos and pierced tongue andspiked purple hair but no Norah embodies invisibility and good-ness or at least she is on the pathmdashso she said in our last conver-sation which was eight weeks ago the eleventh of April Shewore torn jeans that day and a rough plaid shawl that was almostcertainly a car blanket Her long pale hair was matted Sherefused to look us in the eye but she did blink in acknowledge-mentmdashIrsquom sure of itmdashwhen I handed her a sack of cheesesandwiches and Tom dropped a roll of twenty-dollar bills in herlap Then she spoke in her own voice but emptied of connection

She could not come home She was on the path to goodness Atthat moment I her mother was more absent from myself thanshe I felt that She was steadfast She could not be diverted Shecould not ldquoberdquo with us

How did this part of the narrative happen We know it didnrsquotrise out of the ordinary plot lines of a life story An intelligent andbeautiful girl from a loving family grows up in OrangetownOntario her motherrsquos a writer her fatherrsquos a doctor and then shegoes off the track Therersquos nothing natural about her efflorescenceof goodness Itrsquos abrupt and brutal Itrsquos killing us What will reallykill us though is the day we donrsquot find her sitting on her chosensquare of pavement

But I didnrsquot know any of this when I sat in that Burgundygarden dreaming about writing a novel I thought I understoodsomething of a novelrsquos architecture the lovely slope of predica-ment the tendrils of surface detail the calculated curving upwardinto inevitability yet allowing spells of incorrigibility and thenthe ending a corruption of cause and effect and the gatheringtogether of all the characters into a framed operatic circle ofconsolation and ecstasy backlit with fibre-optic gold just for amoment on the second-to-last page just for an atomic particle oftime

I had an idea for my novel a seed and nothing more Twoappealing characters had suggested themselves a woman and aman Alicia and Roman who live in Wychwood which is a citythe size of Toronto who clamour and romp and cling to theisland that is their lifersquos predicamentmdashthey long for love butselfishly strive for self-preservation Roman is proud to be cholericin temperament Alicia thinks of herself as being reflective buther job as assistant editor on a fashion magazine keeps her toooccupied to reflect

And I had a title My Thyme Is Up It was a pun of coursefrom an old family joke and I meant to write a jokey novel Alight novel A novel for summertime a book to read while seatedin an Ikea wicker chair with the sun falling on the pages as faintly

and evenly as human breath Naturally the novel would have ahappy ending I never doubted but that I could write this noveland I did in mdashin a swoop alone during three dark wintermonths when the girls were away all day at school

The Middle Years the translation of volume three of Wester-manrsquos memoirs is coming out this fall Volume three exploresWestermanrsquos numerous love affairs with both men and womenand none of this will be shocking or even surprising to her read-ers What is new is the suppleness and strength of her sentencesAlways an artist of concision and selflessness she has arrived inher old age at a gorgeous fluidity and expansion of phrase Mytranslation doesnrsquot begin to express what she has accomplishedThe book is stark itrsquos also sentimental one balances and rescuesthe other strangely enough I can only imagine that those end-less calcium pills Danielle chokes down every morning and the vitamin E and the emu oil capsules have fed directly into hervein of language so that what lands on the page is larger morerapturous more self-forgetful than anything shersquos written beforeand all of it sprouting short swift digressions that pretend to be just careless asides little swoons of surrender to her ownexperience inviting us her readers to believe in the totality ofher abandonment

Either that or shersquos gone senile to good effect a grand loosen-ing of language in her old age The thought has more than onceoccurred to me

Another thought has drifted by silken as a breeze against alattice Therersquos something missing in these memoirs or so I thinkin my solipsistic view Danielle Westerman suffers she feels the pangs of existential loneliness the absence of sexual love thetreason of her own womanrsquos body She has no partner no one forwhom she is the first person in the world order no one to dependon as I do on Tom She does not have a child or any survivingblood connection for that matter and perhaps itrsquos this that makesthe memoirs themselves childlike They go down like good milkfoaming swirling in the glass

I shouldnrsquot mention Book Number Eleven since it is not afait accompli but I will Irsquom going to write a second novel asequel to My Thyme Is Up Today is the day I intend to begin Thefirst sentence is already tapped into my computer ldquoAlicia was notas happy as she deserved to berdquo

I have no idea what will happen in this book It is a mereabstraction at the moment something thatrsquos popped out of theground like the rounded snout of a crocus on a cold lawn Irsquovestumbled up against this idea in my clumsy manner and now the urge to write it wonrsquot go away This will be a book about lostchildren about goodness and going home and being happy andtrying to keep the poison of the printed page in perspective Irsquomdesperate to know how the story will turn out

Nearly

We are more than halfway through the year Toward the beginning of August Tomrsquos old friendColin Glass came to dinner one night driving out

from Toronto Over coffee he attempted to explain the theory ofrelativity to me

I was the one who invited him to launch into the subjectRelativity is a piece of knowledge Irsquove always longed to under-stand a big piece but the explainers tend to go too fast or elsethey skip over a step they assume their audience has alreadyabsorbed Apparently there was once a time when only oneperson in the world understood relativity (Einstein) then twopeople then three or four and now most of the high-school kidswho take physics have at least an inkling or so Irsquom told Howhard can it be And itrsquos passed according to Colin from crazyspeculation to confirmed fact which makes it even more impor-tant to understand Irsquove tried but my grasp feels tenuous So thespeed of light is constant Is that all

Ordinarily I love these long August evenings the splash ofamber light that falls on the white dining-room walls just beforethe separate shades of twilight take over The medallion leavesthat flutter their round ghost shadows All day Irsquod listened to the white-throated sparrows in the woods behind our house their song resembles the Canadian national anthem at least theopening bars Summer was dying but in pieces Wersquod be eatingoutside if it werenrsquot for the wasps Good food the company of agood friend what more could anyone desire But I kept thinking

of Norah sitting on her square of pavement and holding up thepiece of cardboard with the word and then I lost trackof what Colin was saying

E=mc Energy equals mass times the speed of light squaredThe tidiness of the equation raised my immediate suspicion Howcan massmdashthis solid oak dining table for instancemdashhave any con-nection with how fast light travels Theyrsquore two different thingsColin who is a physicist was patient with my objections Hetook the linen napkin from his lap and stretched it taut across thetop of his coffee cup Then he took a cherry from the fruit bowland placed it on the napkin creating a small dimple He tipped thecup slightly so that the cherry rotated around the surface of the napkin He spoke of energy and mass but already I had lost a critical filament of the argument I worried slightly about hiscoffee sloshing up onto the napkin and staining it and thoughthow seldom in the last few years I had bothered with clothnapkins Nobody except maybe Danielle Westerman does realnapkins anymore it was understood that modern professionalwomen had better things to do with their time than launder linen

By now I had forgotten completely what the cherry (more thanfour dollars a pound) represented and what the little dimple wassupposed to be Colin talked on and on and Tom who is a familyphysician and has a broad scientific background seemed to befollowing at least he was nodding his head appropriately Mymother-in-law Lois had politely excused herself and returned toher house next door she would never miss the ten-orsquoclock newsher watching of the ten-orsquoclock news helps the country of Canadato go forward Christine and Natalie had long since drifted fromthe table and I could hear the buzz and burst of TV noises in the den

Pet our golden retriever parked his shaggy self under thetable his whole dog body humming away against my footSometimes in his dreams he groans and sometimes he chortleswith happiness I found myself thinking about Marietta Colinrsquoswife who had packed her bags a few months ago and moved to

Calgary to be with another man She claimed Colin was toowrapped up in his research and teaching to be a true partner Abeautiful woman with a neck like a plant stem she hinted thatthere had been a collapse of passion in their marriage She had left suddenly coldly he had been shocked he had had no idea hetold us in the early days that she had been unhappy all theseyears but he found her diaries in a desk drawer and read themsick with realization that a gulf of misunderstanding separatedthem

Why would a woman leave such personal diaries behind To punish to hurt of course Colin for the most part a decentkind-hearted man used to address her in a dry admonitory wayas though she were a graduate student instead of his wife ldquoDonrsquottell me this is processed cheeserdquo he asked her once when we were having dinner at their house Another time ldquoThis coffee isundrinkablerdquo He loved pleasuremdashhe was that kind of manmdashandtook it for granted and couldnrsquot help his little yelps of outragewhen pleasure failed You could call him an innocent in his expec-tations almost naive on this particular August evening It was asthough he were alone in a vaulted chamber echoing with immen-sities while Tom and I stood attendance just outside the doorcatching the overflow the odd glimpse of his skewed but calmbrilliance Even the little pockets under his eyes were phlegmaticHe was not a shallow person but perhaps he suspected that wewere I had to stop myself interrupting with a joke I often do thisIrsquom afraid ask for an explanation and then drift off into my ownthoughts

How could he now be sitting at our table so calmly toyingwith cherries and coffee cups and rolling the edge of his strawplacemat and pressing this heft of information on us It was closeto midnight he had an hourrsquos drive ahead of him What did thetheory of relativity really matter to his ongoing life Colin withhis small specs and trim moustache was at ease with big ideas likerelativity As a theory relativity worked it held all sorts of impor-tant ldquoconceptsrdquo together with its precision and elegance Think of

glue lavishly applied he said helpfully about relativity think ofthe power of the shrewd guess Such a sweeping perspective hadbeen visionary at the beginning but had been assessed and re-inforced and it was moreover Colin was now insisting usefulIn the face of lifersquos uncertainties relativityrsquos weight could beassumed and then set aside part of the package of consciousness

He finished awkwardly sat back in his chair with his two longarms extended ldquoSordquo Thatrsquos it he seemed to say or thatrsquos asmuch as I can do to simplify and explain so brilliant an idea Heglanced at his watch then sat back again exhausted pleased withhimself He wore a well-pressed cotton shirt with blue and yellowstripes neatly tucked into his black jeans He has no interest in clothes This shirt must go back to his married days chosen for him ironed for him by Marietta herself and put on a hangerperhaps a summer ago

The theory of relativity would not bring Colinrsquos wife hurryingback to the old stone house on Oriole Parkway It would notbring my daughter Norah home from the corner of Bathurst andBloor or the Promise Hostel where she beds at night Tom and I followed her one day we had to know how she managedwhether she was safe The weather would be turning cold soonHow does she bear it Cold concrete Dirt Uncombed hair

ldquoWould you sayrdquo I asked ColinmdashI had not spoken for severalminutesmdashldquothat the theory of relativity has reduced the weight ofgoodness and depravity in the worldrdquo

He stared at me ldquoRelativity has no moral position None what-everrdquo (ldquoThis coffee is undrinkablerdquo)

I looked to Tom for support but he was gazing with his mildeyes at the ceiling smiling I knew that smile

ldquoBut isnrsquot it possiblerdquo I said to Colin ldquoto think that goodnessor virtue if you like could be a wave or particle of energyrdquo

ldquoNordquo he said ldquoNo it is not possiblerdquoI made an abrupt move to clear the table I was suddenly

exhaustedStill I am thankful for the friendship and intellectual ardour of

such an unpretentious man as Colin Glass who despite his suffer-ing and shame really wanted me to understand a key concept ofthe twentieth century Or was he simply diverting himself for anhour This is what I must learn the art of diversion He said notone word about Marietta all evening long Tom and I understandthat he is reconstructing his life without her But a daughter issomething different A daughter of nineteen cannot be erased

Once

It was understood that I would do the publicity such as it was for Danielle Westermanrsquos third volume of memoirs Ateighty-five she was too old and too distinguished to handle

a day of interviews in Toronto even though she lives there I asthe translator could easily field questions from the press A verylight schedule was organized by the publisher since Dr Wester-man already possesses a long twilight of faithful readership

In early September I drove into Orangetown down its calmold-fashioned main street and into the countryside again The cityof Toronto monumental and lonely glowed in front of me Itsoutskirts are ragged though its numbered exits pretend at a kindof order Traffic was light I drove slowly by the corner of Bloorand Bathurst for a glimpse of Norah There she was as always onthe northeast corner seated on the ground near the subwayentrance with her bowl and cardboard sign even though it wasnot yet nine orsquoclock Had she had breakfast Did she have nits inher hair What is she thinking or is her mind a great blank

I parked the car and walked over to where she was ldquoHellodarling Norahrdquo I said setting down a plastic bag of food breadand cheese fruit and raw vegetables And in an envelope arecent photo of Pet with his straight proud muzzle and furry ruff Norah of all the girls doted on Pet and now I was bribingher shamelessly It was a chilly day and it iced my heart to see herunreadable immobility but I was glad to notice that she waswearing warm mittens Glad Me glad The least little signal willgladden my heart these days Today she looked not quite at me

and nodded Another wave of gladness struck I allow myself onlyone such glimpse a week since shersquos made it clear she doesnrsquotwant to see us

It is like watching her through plate glass All week I will drawexpensively on this brief moment of voyeurism at the same timetrying to blot it out with images of Norah on her bicycle Norahsitting at the kitchen table studying for exams Norah reaching forher green raincoat Norah trying on new school shoes Norahsleeping safe

After a while I went to have my eyebrows arched and tinted atSylviarsquos which calls itself a ldquospirit spardquo meaning it seemed thatwhile Madame Sylvia swiped at my brow with a little paintbrushshe murmured and sang into my ear It was now nine-thirty in themorning and I lay on a narrow table in a tiny white room ldquoYouare at the age when you must protect the fine skin around theeyesrdquo she warned ldquoA womanrsquos face falls it is inevitable but the eyes go on and on giving light You will be eighty ninety and your eyes will still charmrdquo

She knows nothing about my life Irsquove never been here beforeand have never thought of having an eyebrow tint I have per-fectly decent eyebrows nicely shaped and regular but I did lookinto a mirror a week or so ago and noticed that the small hairs atthe outside corners were coming in grey There was a little greyat the temples too but nothing to be surprised about not for a woman whose forty-fourth birthday is approaching not for awoman who has never even thought of herself as possessingldquotemplesrdquo such august body parts

ldquoAre you by any chance a Geminirdquo Madame Sylvia askedintimately Swish went the paintbrush She stopped peered at meclosely then swished again a deft little stroke

ldquoNordquo I said ashamed to acknowledge the astrological universeldquoMy birthdayrsquos in September Next week in factrdquo

ldquoI can tell yesrdquo She had a touch of the harridan in her voice ldquoIcan always tellrdquo

What could she tell

ldquoTwenty-four dollarsrdquo she said ldquoLet me give you my card Fornext timerdquo

Presumptuous but yes there will be a next time I calculatedquickly My face would make it through the next few weeks butby November I will probably be back in Madame Sylviarsquos hushedwhite cell I may well become a regular Eyebrows lashes fullfacials neck massage I have led a reflective life a life of thoughta writer a translator but all this is about to change The delicateskin around my eyes was demanding attention Has Tom noticedI donrsquot think so Christine and Natalie donrsquot really look at me inthat way they just see this watercolour blob that means motherwhich is rather how I see myself

ldquoA womanrsquos charm is with her for liferdquo Madame Sylvia saidldquobut you must pay attentionrdquo

No I thought an hour later no Irsquom sorry but I have no plansto be charming on a regular basis Anyone can be charming Itrsquosreally a cheap trick mere charm so astonishingly easy to per-form screwing up your face into sunbeams and spewing themforth The calculated lift of the wrist chin up thumb and fore-finger brought together to form a little feminine loop that trick of pretending to sit on a little glass chair that concentration ofradiance lrsquoesprit little sprinkles of it everywhere misting the airlike bargain scent Ingenue spritz Emma Allen calls it

I know that cheapness so intimatelymdashthe grainy sugary per-severing way charm enters a fresh mouth and rubs against themolars sticking there in soft wads promoting mouth ulcers or whatever it is thatrsquos the metaphoric projection of self-hatredOf all the social virtues charm is in the end the most unreward-ing And compared to goodness real goodness or the unmovableself-abnegation my daughter Norah practises charm is nothingbut crumpled tissue paper soiled from previous use

Sincerity No Sincerityrsquos over Sincerityrsquos lost whatever edge ithad Itrsquos fine fine matter but wasted on the press who all grew uppost-Holocaust devoted readers of Mad Magazine and wouldnrsquotrecognize a bar of willed innocence if it came wrapped in foil

Nor will I ever again be pointlessly endlessly polite I got overthat two years ago when I did my author tour It seems Irsquove lostlike a stream of pebbles leaving my hand the kind of endurancethat professional courtesy demands suck in your breath let yourface go numb listen to the interviewerrsquos questions registeroptimally let your breath out evaluate the feelings of those whodepend on you (agent publisher editor that nice Sheila personwho does publicity and of course Danielle Westerman) andperform again and again like the tuned-up athlete you are the fitphysical specimen that each new book demands then move on tothe next task

Mrs Winters who has just translated The Middle Years the un-

folding memoir of Holocaust survivor Danielle Westerman is a woman

of grace and charm whose thick brown hair is arranged into a bun

Putting down her coffee cup she shrugs off her beige raincoat and

Irsquove entered early middle age now and I have a nineteen-year-old daughter who lives on the street I no longer require a reputa-tion for charm those saving lilac shadows and contours Maybe Inever did I wonrsquotmdashnot nowmdashtuck the ends of my sentences intolittle licks of favour and the next time a journalist pins me downwith a personal question trolling for informationmdashTell me MrsWinters how are you able to balance your family and profes-sional lifemdashI will stare back hard with my newly practised stareHow do I balance my life Tinted eyebrows up Just what kind ofinquiry is this Wouldnrsquot you prefer Mrs Winters to pursue youown writing rather than translate Dr Westermanrsquos work Pleasenot that again How did you and your husband meet What doeshe think of your writing

I will in the future address my interviewer directly and saywith firmness ldquoThis interview is overrdquo There is nothing to loseRude and difficult people are more likely to be taken seriouslyCurmudgeons are positively adored Irsquove noticed this Even thefascinatingly unknowable earn respect

And when I read in the paper tomorrow that ldquoMrs Winterslooked all of her forty-three yearsrdquo and that ldquoMrs Winters with

her familiar overbite was reluctant to talk about her work sched-ulerdquo I will want to phone the editor and complain bitterly Thisfrom the pen of a small unattractive man almost entirely lip-less beneath a bony domineering nose sweating with minorambition head tilted like something carved out of yellow wax

He interviewed me in a cappuccino bar in mid-Toronto Achilly stooped round-headed man in his thirties or fortiesmdashitwas hard to tellmdashslow to smile pathetically in need of humanattention thinking his superior thoughts Fluff on his shouldersbegged to be picked off I on the other hand was wearing a softjade jacket of cashmere lined with silk which represented a raresplurge on my part but I could be sure this man would over-look this garment with its crystal buttons and mandarin collar andconcentrate instead on my drab raincoat beige and not quitepristine at the cuffs In print he will be certain to refer to mychignon as a bun Itrsquos taken me years to learn to do a glossy littlechignonmdashI can get my hair brushed back and securely pinned up each morning in a mere two and a half minutes and I considermy coiffure one of my major life accomplishments I really meanthis

Sheila from publicity had filled me in before the interview andI felt the information packet hovering what to do with it Thisyoungyoungish man was the newly appointed books columnistat Booktimes He was well known for holding pious opinions aboutthe literature of the Great North about his own role as advocateof a diverse new outpouring of Canadian voices the post-colonialcry of blaming anguish The stream of current fiction aboutmiddle-class people living in cities was diluting the authenticnational voice that rose from the landscape itself andmdash

Oh shut up shut upCappuccino foam dotted the corners of his undistinguished

mouth And just one more question Mrs WintersmdashOf course he didnrsquot call me Reta even though there might be

only a year or two between us The ldquoMrsrdquo gave him power overme that vexing r rucking things up in the middle and making one

think of such distractions as clotheslines and baking tins He wasthe barking terrier going at Mrs Wintersrsquos ankles shaking out hisfur and asking me to justify myself wanting me to explain thespluttering dying whimpering bonfire of my life which I wouldnot dream of sharing He seemed to forget he was interviewingme about Danielle Westermanrsquos new book

I understand yoursquore working on a second novel said heWell yesTakes nerveUh-huhActuallymdashactually well he had a novel on the go himselfReally What a surpriseAt the end of the hour he did not ask for the bill I asked for the

bill ldquoIrsquoll just put it on my Visardquo I said breaking a tenuous breadthof silence I announced this with all the majesty I could musterover a vinyl table like a grande dame adding twenty years to myage and feeling the vowels shifting in my beautifully mouldedthroat Such dignity I surprised myself with my own resonanceand I may have managed a pained smile displaying no doubtthat famous overbite He turned off the tape recorder at the wordldquoVisardquo

He had two young children at home he said Christ what aresponsibility although he loved the little bastards One of themwas quite quite gifted well they both were in their separateways But the work of raising kids Never enough time to read thebooks he had to review books all over the house with little mark-ers in them books he would never finish So much was expectedand of course like all journalists he was underpaid

Oh shut upThey also expected him to do a feature on the weekendUh-huhAnd last week hersquod actually broken the MacBunna storyReally Macumba MarimbaCongratulations said Mrs Reta Winters from OrangetownThanks

I should be getting on my way I said My parking meter Alunch date A long drive home

I understand you and your family live in a lovely old housenear Orangetown

And then slyly I understand one of your daughters now livesin Toronto and

Irsquove been here before There is something about having anestablished family a long-lasting spousal arrangement threedaughters in their teens a house in the country a suggestion ofimpermeability that draws the curiosity of others so that theycan as Tom says probe with probity

But no this man across the table will not be feeding on myflesh nor will his colleaguesmdashthough one can tell that he has nocolleagues there is no possibility of colleagues He has no contextfor friends or co-workers though there are the kids and therersquosthe wife hersquos referred to her three times now Nicola She has herprofessional life too he tells me as though the matter were indispute

I canrsquot resist ldquoDoes Nicolamdashis she a journalist toordquoldquoJournalistrdquoldquoLike you I meanrdquoHis hand jumps and for a moment I think hersquos going to turn

the tape recorder on again But no hersquos reaching into his pocketand now hersquos releasing two coins onto the table The tip They liethere moist from his hand Two dimes I focus on them withwhat I hope is a cool censorious gaze

But hersquos not looking at me Hersquos looking across the roomwhere a silver-haired man is seating himself gracefully at a tableldquoIrsquom not sure but I think thatrsquos Gore Vidalrdquo my interviewer whis-pers in a hungry voice ldquoHersquos here for the writersrsquo festival youknowrdquo

I rise and exit as though led by a brass quintetThe charming Mrs Winters slips on her comfortable beige rain-

coat

I would like to thank a number of others who in one way or another encouraged me in the writing of Unless SharonAllan Marjorie Anderson the late Joan Austen-Leigh JoanBarfoot Clare Boylan Marg Edmond Brown Joan ClarkAnne Collins Cynthia Coop Patrick Crowe Maggie DwyerDarlene Hammell Blanche Howard Isabel Huggan CarlLenthe Madeline Li Elinor Lipman Anna and Sylvie MatasMargaret Shaw-Mackinnon Don McCarthy Peter ParkerBella Pomer Christopher Potter Linda Rogers CaroleSabiston Floyd St Clair Eleanor Wachtel Cindi WarnerMindy Werner the John Simon Guggenheim Foundationand as always my family John Audrey Anne CatherineMeg Sara and especially Don

About the Author

Carol Shields is the author of eight novels and two collections of short stories

The Stone Diaries won the Pulitzer Prize and was shortlisted for the Booker

Prize Larryrsquos Party won the Orange Prize Born and brought up in Chicago

Carol Shields has lived in Canada since 1957

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 1

Others

Intersect

Coming to Canada

Larryrsquos Party

The Stone Diaries

The Republic of Love

A Celibate Season (with Blanche Howard)Swann

A Fairly Conventional Woman

Happenstance

The Box Garden

Small Ceremonies

Various Miracles

The Orange Fish

Dressing Up for the Carnival

Departures and Arrivals

Thirteen Hands

Fashion Power Guilt and the Charity of Families

(with Catherine Shields)Anniversary (with David Williamson)

Susanna Moodie Voice and Vision

Jane Austen

Dropped Threads What We Arenrsquot Told

(Edited with Marjorie Anderson)

Credits

Design by Julian HumphriesPhotographer by Michael CrouserDesigned by Dinah Drazin

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 2

If you enjoyed reading this excerpt please visitHarperCollins Publishers to find out where to buy thisand other PerfectBound e-books

Australiahttpwwwharpercollinscomau

Canadahttpwwwharpercanadacom

New Zealandhttpwwwharpercollinsconz

United Kingdomhttpwwwfireandwatercom

United Stateshttpwwwperfectboundcom

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 3

The Pajama Game Words and Music by Richard Adler Music

and Jerry Ross copy Richard Adler Music and J amp J Ross Co USA

WarnerChappell Music Ltd London w6 8bs

Reproduced by permission of International Music Publications

Ltd All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction Names characters places and incidents

either are the products of the authorrsquos imagination or are used

fictitiously Any resemblance to actual events locales organiza-

tions or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and

beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher

UNLESS Copyright copy 2002 by Carol Shields All rights

reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright

Conventions By payment of the required fees you have been

granted the non-exclusive non-transferable right to access and

read the text of this e-book on-screen No part of this text may

be reproduced transmitted down-loaded decompiled reverse

engineered or stored in or introduced into any information stor-

age and retrieval system in any form or by any means whether

electronic or mechanical now known or hereinafter invented

without the express written permission of PerfectBoundtrade

PerfectBound trade and the PerfectBoundtrade logo are trademarks

of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

Adobe Acrobat E-Book Reader edition v 1 May 2002

ISBN 0-06-052370-0

Print edition first published in 2002

by Forth Estate a division of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 4

sterner and more contained as a task which is how I came to writeShakespeare and Flowers (San Francisco Cyclone Press ) Thecontract was negotiated before I wrote one word Along came alittle bundle of cash to start me off with the rest promised on pub-lication I thought it was going to be a scholarly endeavour but Iended up producing a wee ldquogiftierdquo book You could send this bookto anyone on your list who was maidenly or semi-academic orwhom you didnrsquot know very well Shakespeare and Flowers wassold in the kind of outlets that stock greeting cards and stuffedbears I simply scanned the canon and picked up references to saythe eglantine (A Midsummer Nightrsquos Dream) or the blackberry(Troilus and Cressida) and then I puffed out a little description of theflower and conferenced on the phone (twice) with the illustratorin Berkeley and threw in lots of Shakespearean quotes A sweetlittle book excellent slick paper US$ At sixty-eight pages it fits in a small mailer Two hundred thousand copies and stillselling though the royalty rate is scandalous Theyrsquod like me to do something on Shakespeare and animals and I just might

Eros Essays by Danielle Westerman translation by RetaWinters hastily translatedmdasheverything was hasty in those dayseverything still ismdashand published in Hugely successful aftera tiny advance We put the dog in a kennel and Tom and I andthe girls took the first translation payment and went to France fora month southern Burgundy a village called La Roche-Vineusewhere Danielle had grown up halfway between Cluny andMacirccon red-tiled roofs set in the midst of rolling vineyards incan-descent air Our rental house was built around a cobbled court-yard full of ancient roses and hydrangeas ldquoHow old is thishouserdquo we asked the neighbours who invited us in for an aperi-tif ldquoVery oldrdquo was all we got The stone walls were two feetthick The three girls took tennis lessons at lrsquoeacutecole drsquoeacuteteacute Tom wenthacking for trilobites happy under the French sun and I sat in awicker chair in the flower-filled courtyard shorts and halter andbare feet a floppy straw hat on my head reading novels day afterday and thinking I want to write a novel About something

happening About characters moving against a ldquothererdquo That waswhat I really wanted to do

Looking back I can scarcely believe in such innocence I didnrsquotthink about our girls growing older and leaving home and fallingaway from us Norah had been a good docile baby and then shebecame a good obedient little girl Now at nineteen shersquos sobrimming with goodness that she sits on a Toronto street cornerwhich has its own textual archaeology though Norah probablydoesnrsquot know about that She sits beneath the lamppost where thepoet Ed Lewinski hanged himself in and where MargheritaTolles burst out of the subway exit into the sunshine of heradopted country and decided to write a great play Norah sitscross-legged with a begging bowl in her lap and asks nothing ofthe world Nine-tenths of what she gathers she distributes at theend of the day to other street people She wears a cardboard signon her chest a single word printed in black markermdash

I donrsquot know what that word really means though words aremy business The Old English word wearth I discovered the otherday on the Internet means outcast the other English word itstwin its cancellation is worthmdashwe know what that means andknow to distrust it It is the word wearth that Norah has swal-lowed This is the place shersquos claimed a whole world constructedon stillness An easy stance says the condemning grievingmother easy to find and maintain given enough practice Asharper focus could be achieved by tossing in an astringent fluid apeppery sauce irony rebellion tattoos and pierced tongue andspiked purple hair but no Norah embodies invisibility and good-ness or at least she is on the pathmdashso she said in our last conver-sation which was eight weeks ago the eleventh of April Shewore torn jeans that day and a rough plaid shawl that was almostcertainly a car blanket Her long pale hair was matted Sherefused to look us in the eye but she did blink in acknowledge-mentmdashIrsquom sure of itmdashwhen I handed her a sack of cheesesandwiches and Tom dropped a roll of twenty-dollar bills in herlap Then she spoke in her own voice but emptied of connection

She could not come home She was on the path to goodness Atthat moment I her mother was more absent from myself thanshe I felt that She was steadfast She could not be diverted Shecould not ldquoberdquo with us

How did this part of the narrative happen We know it didnrsquotrise out of the ordinary plot lines of a life story An intelligent andbeautiful girl from a loving family grows up in OrangetownOntario her motherrsquos a writer her fatherrsquos a doctor and then shegoes off the track Therersquos nothing natural about her efflorescenceof goodness Itrsquos abrupt and brutal Itrsquos killing us What will reallykill us though is the day we donrsquot find her sitting on her chosensquare of pavement

But I didnrsquot know any of this when I sat in that Burgundygarden dreaming about writing a novel I thought I understoodsomething of a novelrsquos architecture the lovely slope of predica-ment the tendrils of surface detail the calculated curving upwardinto inevitability yet allowing spells of incorrigibility and thenthe ending a corruption of cause and effect and the gatheringtogether of all the characters into a framed operatic circle ofconsolation and ecstasy backlit with fibre-optic gold just for amoment on the second-to-last page just for an atomic particle oftime

I had an idea for my novel a seed and nothing more Twoappealing characters had suggested themselves a woman and aman Alicia and Roman who live in Wychwood which is a citythe size of Toronto who clamour and romp and cling to theisland that is their lifersquos predicamentmdashthey long for love butselfishly strive for self-preservation Roman is proud to be cholericin temperament Alicia thinks of herself as being reflective buther job as assistant editor on a fashion magazine keeps her toooccupied to reflect

And I had a title My Thyme Is Up It was a pun of coursefrom an old family joke and I meant to write a jokey novel Alight novel A novel for summertime a book to read while seatedin an Ikea wicker chair with the sun falling on the pages as faintly

and evenly as human breath Naturally the novel would have ahappy ending I never doubted but that I could write this noveland I did in mdashin a swoop alone during three dark wintermonths when the girls were away all day at school

The Middle Years the translation of volume three of Wester-manrsquos memoirs is coming out this fall Volume three exploresWestermanrsquos numerous love affairs with both men and womenand none of this will be shocking or even surprising to her read-ers What is new is the suppleness and strength of her sentencesAlways an artist of concision and selflessness she has arrived inher old age at a gorgeous fluidity and expansion of phrase Mytranslation doesnrsquot begin to express what she has accomplishedThe book is stark itrsquos also sentimental one balances and rescuesthe other strangely enough I can only imagine that those end-less calcium pills Danielle chokes down every morning and the vitamin E and the emu oil capsules have fed directly into hervein of language so that what lands on the page is larger morerapturous more self-forgetful than anything shersquos written beforeand all of it sprouting short swift digressions that pretend to be just careless asides little swoons of surrender to her ownexperience inviting us her readers to believe in the totality ofher abandonment

Either that or shersquos gone senile to good effect a grand loosen-ing of language in her old age The thought has more than onceoccurred to me

Another thought has drifted by silken as a breeze against alattice Therersquos something missing in these memoirs or so I thinkin my solipsistic view Danielle Westerman suffers she feels the pangs of existential loneliness the absence of sexual love thetreason of her own womanrsquos body She has no partner no one forwhom she is the first person in the world order no one to dependon as I do on Tom She does not have a child or any survivingblood connection for that matter and perhaps itrsquos this that makesthe memoirs themselves childlike They go down like good milkfoaming swirling in the glass

I shouldnrsquot mention Book Number Eleven since it is not afait accompli but I will Irsquom going to write a second novel asequel to My Thyme Is Up Today is the day I intend to begin Thefirst sentence is already tapped into my computer ldquoAlicia was notas happy as she deserved to berdquo

I have no idea what will happen in this book It is a mereabstraction at the moment something thatrsquos popped out of theground like the rounded snout of a crocus on a cold lawn Irsquovestumbled up against this idea in my clumsy manner and now the urge to write it wonrsquot go away This will be a book about lostchildren about goodness and going home and being happy andtrying to keep the poison of the printed page in perspective Irsquomdesperate to know how the story will turn out

Nearly

We are more than halfway through the year Toward the beginning of August Tomrsquos old friendColin Glass came to dinner one night driving out

from Toronto Over coffee he attempted to explain the theory ofrelativity to me

I was the one who invited him to launch into the subjectRelativity is a piece of knowledge Irsquove always longed to under-stand a big piece but the explainers tend to go too fast or elsethey skip over a step they assume their audience has alreadyabsorbed Apparently there was once a time when only oneperson in the world understood relativity (Einstein) then twopeople then three or four and now most of the high-school kidswho take physics have at least an inkling or so Irsquom told Howhard can it be And itrsquos passed according to Colin from crazyspeculation to confirmed fact which makes it even more impor-tant to understand Irsquove tried but my grasp feels tenuous So thespeed of light is constant Is that all

Ordinarily I love these long August evenings the splash ofamber light that falls on the white dining-room walls just beforethe separate shades of twilight take over The medallion leavesthat flutter their round ghost shadows All day Irsquod listened to the white-throated sparrows in the woods behind our house their song resembles the Canadian national anthem at least theopening bars Summer was dying but in pieces Wersquod be eatingoutside if it werenrsquot for the wasps Good food the company of agood friend what more could anyone desire But I kept thinking

of Norah sitting on her square of pavement and holding up thepiece of cardboard with the word and then I lost trackof what Colin was saying

E=mc Energy equals mass times the speed of light squaredThe tidiness of the equation raised my immediate suspicion Howcan massmdashthis solid oak dining table for instancemdashhave any con-nection with how fast light travels Theyrsquore two different thingsColin who is a physicist was patient with my objections Hetook the linen napkin from his lap and stretched it taut across thetop of his coffee cup Then he took a cherry from the fruit bowland placed it on the napkin creating a small dimple He tipped thecup slightly so that the cherry rotated around the surface of the napkin He spoke of energy and mass but already I had lost a critical filament of the argument I worried slightly about hiscoffee sloshing up onto the napkin and staining it and thoughthow seldom in the last few years I had bothered with clothnapkins Nobody except maybe Danielle Westerman does realnapkins anymore it was understood that modern professionalwomen had better things to do with their time than launder linen

By now I had forgotten completely what the cherry (more thanfour dollars a pound) represented and what the little dimple wassupposed to be Colin talked on and on and Tom who is a familyphysician and has a broad scientific background seemed to befollowing at least he was nodding his head appropriately Mymother-in-law Lois had politely excused herself and returned toher house next door she would never miss the ten-orsquoclock newsher watching of the ten-orsquoclock news helps the country of Canadato go forward Christine and Natalie had long since drifted fromthe table and I could hear the buzz and burst of TV noises in the den

Pet our golden retriever parked his shaggy self under thetable his whole dog body humming away against my footSometimes in his dreams he groans and sometimes he chortleswith happiness I found myself thinking about Marietta Colinrsquoswife who had packed her bags a few months ago and moved to

Calgary to be with another man She claimed Colin was toowrapped up in his research and teaching to be a true partner Abeautiful woman with a neck like a plant stem she hinted thatthere had been a collapse of passion in their marriage She had left suddenly coldly he had been shocked he had had no idea hetold us in the early days that she had been unhappy all theseyears but he found her diaries in a desk drawer and read themsick with realization that a gulf of misunderstanding separatedthem

Why would a woman leave such personal diaries behind To punish to hurt of course Colin for the most part a decentkind-hearted man used to address her in a dry admonitory wayas though she were a graduate student instead of his wife ldquoDonrsquottell me this is processed cheeserdquo he asked her once when we were having dinner at their house Another time ldquoThis coffee isundrinkablerdquo He loved pleasuremdashhe was that kind of manmdashandtook it for granted and couldnrsquot help his little yelps of outragewhen pleasure failed You could call him an innocent in his expec-tations almost naive on this particular August evening It was asthough he were alone in a vaulted chamber echoing with immen-sities while Tom and I stood attendance just outside the doorcatching the overflow the odd glimpse of his skewed but calmbrilliance Even the little pockets under his eyes were phlegmaticHe was not a shallow person but perhaps he suspected that wewere I had to stop myself interrupting with a joke I often do thisIrsquom afraid ask for an explanation and then drift off into my ownthoughts

How could he now be sitting at our table so calmly toyingwith cherries and coffee cups and rolling the edge of his strawplacemat and pressing this heft of information on us It was closeto midnight he had an hourrsquos drive ahead of him What did thetheory of relativity really matter to his ongoing life Colin withhis small specs and trim moustache was at ease with big ideas likerelativity As a theory relativity worked it held all sorts of impor-tant ldquoconceptsrdquo together with its precision and elegance Think of

glue lavishly applied he said helpfully about relativity think ofthe power of the shrewd guess Such a sweeping perspective hadbeen visionary at the beginning but had been assessed and re-inforced and it was moreover Colin was now insisting usefulIn the face of lifersquos uncertainties relativityrsquos weight could beassumed and then set aside part of the package of consciousness

He finished awkwardly sat back in his chair with his two longarms extended ldquoSordquo Thatrsquos it he seemed to say or thatrsquos asmuch as I can do to simplify and explain so brilliant an idea Heglanced at his watch then sat back again exhausted pleased withhimself He wore a well-pressed cotton shirt with blue and yellowstripes neatly tucked into his black jeans He has no interest in clothes This shirt must go back to his married days chosen for him ironed for him by Marietta herself and put on a hangerperhaps a summer ago

The theory of relativity would not bring Colinrsquos wife hurryingback to the old stone house on Oriole Parkway It would notbring my daughter Norah home from the corner of Bathurst andBloor or the Promise Hostel where she beds at night Tom and I followed her one day we had to know how she managedwhether she was safe The weather would be turning cold soonHow does she bear it Cold concrete Dirt Uncombed hair

ldquoWould you sayrdquo I asked ColinmdashI had not spoken for severalminutesmdashldquothat the theory of relativity has reduced the weight ofgoodness and depravity in the worldrdquo

He stared at me ldquoRelativity has no moral position None what-everrdquo (ldquoThis coffee is undrinkablerdquo)

I looked to Tom for support but he was gazing with his mildeyes at the ceiling smiling I knew that smile

ldquoBut isnrsquot it possiblerdquo I said to Colin ldquoto think that goodnessor virtue if you like could be a wave or particle of energyrdquo

ldquoNordquo he said ldquoNo it is not possiblerdquoI made an abrupt move to clear the table I was suddenly

exhaustedStill I am thankful for the friendship and intellectual ardour of

such an unpretentious man as Colin Glass who despite his suffer-ing and shame really wanted me to understand a key concept ofthe twentieth century Or was he simply diverting himself for anhour This is what I must learn the art of diversion He said notone word about Marietta all evening long Tom and I understandthat he is reconstructing his life without her But a daughter issomething different A daughter of nineteen cannot be erased

Once

It was understood that I would do the publicity such as it was for Danielle Westermanrsquos third volume of memoirs Ateighty-five she was too old and too distinguished to handle

a day of interviews in Toronto even though she lives there I asthe translator could easily field questions from the press A verylight schedule was organized by the publisher since Dr Wester-man already possesses a long twilight of faithful readership

In early September I drove into Orangetown down its calmold-fashioned main street and into the countryside again The cityof Toronto monumental and lonely glowed in front of me Itsoutskirts are ragged though its numbered exits pretend at a kindof order Traffic was light I drove slowly by the corner of Bloorand Bathurst for a glimpse of Norah There she was as always onthe northeast corner seated on the ground near the subwayentrance with her bowl and cardboard sign even though it wasnot yet nine orsquoclock Had she had breakfast Did she have nits inher hair What is she thinking or is her mind a great blank

I parked the car and walked over to where she was ldquoHellodarling Norahrdquo I said setting down a plastic bag of food breadand cheese fruit and raw vegetables And in an envelope arecent photo of Pet with his straight proud muzzle and furry ruff Norah of all the girls doted on Pet and now I was bribingher shamelessly It was a chilly day and it iced my heart to see herunreadable immobility but I was glad to notice that she waswearing warm mittens Glad Me glad The least little signal willgladden my heart these days Today she looked not quite at me

and nodded Another wave of gladness struck I allow myself onlyone such glimpse a week since shersquos made it clear she doesnrsquotwant to see us

It is like watching her through plate glass All week I will drawexpensively on this brief moment of voyeurism at the same timetrying to blot it out with images of Norah on her bicycle Norahsitting at the kitchen table studying for exams Norah reaching forher green raincoat Norah trying on new school shoes Norahsleeping safe

After a while I went to have my eyebrows arched and tinted atSylviarsquos which calls itself a ldquospirit spardquo meaning it seemed thatwhile Madame Sylvia swiped at my brow with a little paintbrushshe murmured and sang into my ear It was now nine-thirty in themorning and I lay on a narrow table in a tiny white room ldquoYouare at the age when you must protect the fine skin around theeyesrdquo she warned ldquoA womanrsquos face falls it is inevitable but the eyes go on and on giving light You will be eighty ninety and your eyes will still charmrdquo

She knows nothing about my life Irsquove never been here beforeand have never thought of having an eyebrow tint I have per-fectly decent eyebrows nicely shaped and regular but I did lookinto a mirror a week or so ago and noticed that the small hairs atthe outside corners were coming in grey There was a little greyat the temples too but nothing to be surprised about not for a woman whose forty-fourth birthday is approaching not for awoman who has never even thought of herself as possessingldquotemplesrdquo such august body parts

ldquoAre you by any chance a Geminirdquo Madame Sylvia askedintimately Swish went the paintbrush She stopped peered at meclosely then swished again a deft little stroke

ldquoNordquo I said ashamed to acknowledge the astrological universeldquoMy birthdayrsquos in September Next week in factrdquo

ldquoI can tell yesrdquo She had a touch of the harridan in her voice ldquoIcan always tellrdquo

What could she tell

ldquoTwenty-four dollarsrdquo she said ldquoLet me give you my card Fornext timerdquo

Presumptuous but yes there will be a next time I calculatedquickly My face would make it through the next few weeks butby November I will probably be back in Madame Sylviarsquos hushedwhite cell I may well become a regular Eyebrows lashes fullfacials neck massage I have led a reflective life a life of thoughta writer a translator but all this is about to change The delicateskin around my eyes was demanding attention Has Tom noticedI donrsquot think so Christine and Natalie donrsquot really look at me inthat way they just see this watercolour blob that means motherwhich is rather how I see myself

ldquoA womanrsquos charm is with her for liferdquo Madame Sylvia saidldquobut you must pay attentionrdquo

No I thought an hour later no Irsquom sorry but I have no plansto be charming on a regular basis Anyone can be charming Itrsquosreally a cheap trick mere charm so astonishingly easy to per-form screwing up your face into sunbeams and spewing themforth The calculated lift of the wrist chin up thumb and fore-finger brought together to form a little feminine loop that trick of pretending to sit on a little glass chair that concentration ofradiance lrsquoesprit little sprinkles of it everywhere misting the airlike bargain scent Ingenue spritz Emma Allen calls it

I know that cheapness so intimatelymdashthe grainy sugary per-severing way charm enters a fresh mouth and rubs against themolars sticking there in soft wads promoting mouth ulcers or whatever it is thatrsquos the metaphoric projection of self-hatredOf all the social virtues charm is in the end the most unreward-ing And compared to goodness real goodness or the unmovableself-abnegation my daughter Norah practises charm is nothingbut crumpled tissue paper soiled from previous use

Sincerity No Sincerityrsquos over Sincerityrsquos lost whatever edge ithad Itrsquos fine fine matter but wasted on the press who all grew uppost-Holocaust devoted readers of Mad Magazine and wouldnrsquotrecognize a bar of willed innocence if it came wrapped in foil

Nor will I ever again be pointlessly endlessly polite I got overthat two years ago when I did my author tour It seems Irsquove lostlike a stream of pebbles leaving my hand the kind of endurancethat professional courtesy demands suck in your breath let yourface go numb listen to the interviewerrsquos questions registeroptimally let your breath out evaluate the feelings of those whodepend on you (agent publisher editor that nice Sheila personwho does publicity and of course Danielle Westerman) andperform again and again like the tuned-up athlete you are the fitphysical specimen that each new book demands then move on tothe next task

Mrs Winters who has just translated The Middle Years the un-

folding memoir of Holocaust survivor Danielle Westerman is a woman

of grace and charm whose thick brown hair is arranged into a bun

Putting down her coffee cup she shrugs off her beige raincoat and

Irsquove entered early middle age now and I have a nineteen-year-old daughter who lives on the street I no longer require a reputa-tion for charm those saving lilac shadows and contours Maybe Inever did I wonrsquotmdashnot nowmdashtuck the ends of my sentences intolittle licks of favour and the next time a journalist pins me downwith a personal question trolling for informationmdashTell me MrsWinters how are you able to balance your family and profes-sional lifemdashI will stare back hard with my newly practised stareHow do I balance my life Tinted eyebrows up Just what kind ofinquiry is this Wouldnrsquot you prefer Mrs Winters to pursue youown writing rather than translate Dr Westermanrsquos work Pleasenot that again How did you and your husband meet What doeshe think of your writing

I will in the future address my interviewer directly and saywith firmness ldquoThis interview is overrdquo There is nothing to loseRude and difficult people are more likely to be taken seriouslyCurmudgeons are positively adored Irsquove noticed this Even thefascinatingly unknowable earn respect

And when I read in the paper tomorrow that ldquoMrs Winterslooked all of her forty-three yearsrdquo and that ldquoMrs Winters with

her familiar overbite was reluctant to talk about her work sched-ulerdquo I will want to phone the editor and complain bitterly Thisfrom the pen of a small unattractive man almost entirely lip-less beneath a bony domineering nose sweating with minorambition head tilted like something carved out of yellow wax

He interviewed me in a cappuccino bar in mid-Toronto Achilly stooped round-headed man in his thirties or fortiesmdashitwas hard to tellmdashslow to smile pathetically in need of humanattention thinking his superior thoughts Fluff on his shouldersbegged to be picked off I on the other hand was wearing a softjade jacket of cashmere lined with silk which represented a raresplurge on my part but I could be sure this man would over-look this garment with its crystal buttons and mandarin collar andconcentrate instead on my drab raincoat beige and not quitepristine at the cuffs In print he will be certain to refer to mychignon as a bun Itrsquos taken me years to learn to do a glossy littlechignonmdashI can get my hair brushed back and securely pinned up each morning in a mere two and a half minutes and I considermy coiffure one of my major life accomplishments I really meanthis

Sheila from publicity had filled me in before the interview andI felt the information packet hovering what to do with it Thisyoungyoungish man was the newly appointed books columnistat Booktimes He was well known for holding pious opinions aboutthe literature of the Great North about his own role as advocateof a diverse new outpouring of Canadian voices the post-colonialcry of blaming anguish The stream of current fiction aboutmiddle-class people living in cities was diluting the authenticnational voice that rose from the landscape itself andmdash

Oh shut up shut upCappuccino foam dotted the corners of his undistinguished

mouth And just one more question Mrs WintersmdashOf course he didnrsquot call me Reta even though there might be

only a year or two between us The ldquoMrsrdquo gave him power overme that vexing r rucking things up in the middle and making one

think of such distractions as clotheslines and baking tins He wasthe barking terrier going at Mrs Wintersrsquos ankles shaking out hisfur and asking me to justify myself wanting me to explain thespluttering dying whimpering bonfire of my life which I wouldnot dream of sharing He seemed to forget he was interviewingme about Danielle Westermanrsquos new book

I understand yoursquore working on a second novel said heWell yesTakes nerveUh-huhActuallymdashactually well he had a novel on the go himselfReally What a surpriseAt the end of the hour he did not ask for the bill I asked for the

bill ldquoIrsquoll just put it on my Visardquo I said breaking a tenuous breadthof silence I announced this with all the majesty I could musterover a vinyl table like a grande dame adding twenty years to myage and feeling the vowels shifting in my beautifully mouldedthroat Such dignity I surprised myself with my own resonanceand I may have managed a pained smile displaying no doubtthat famous overbite He turned off the tape recorder at the wordldquoVisardquo

He had two young children at home he said Christ what aresponsibility although he loved the little bastards One of themwas quite quite gifted well they both were in their separateways But the work of raising kids Never enough time to read thebooks he had to review books all over the house with little mark-ers in them books he would never finish So much was expectedand of course like all journalists he was underpaid

Oh shut upThey also expected him to do a feature on the weekendUh-huhAnd last week hersquod actually broken the MacBunna storyReally Macumba MarimbaCongratulations said Mrs Reta Winters from OrangetownThanks

I should be getting on my way I said My parking meter Alunch date A long drive home

I understand you and your family live in a lovely old housenear Orangetown

And then slyly I understand one of your daughters now livesin Toronto and

Irsquove been here before There is something about having anestablished family a long-lasting spousal arrangement threedaughters in their teens a house in the country a suggestion ofimpermeability that draws the curiosity of others so that theycan as Tom says probe with probity

But no this man across the table will not be feeding on myflesh nor will his colleaguesmdashthough one can tell that he has nocolleagues there is no possibility of colleagues He has no contextfor friends or co-workers though there are the kids and therersquosthe wife hersquos referred to her three times now Nicola She has herprofessional life too he tells me as though the matter were indispute

I canrsquot resist ldquoDoes Nicolamdashis she a journalist toordquoldquoJournalistrdquoldquoLike you I meanrdquoHis hand jumps and for a moment I think hersquos going to turn

the tape recorder on again But no hersquos reaching into his pocketand now hersquos releasing two coins onto the table The tip They liethere moist from his hand Two dimes I focus on them withwhat I hope is a cool censorious gaze

But hersquos not looking at me Hersquos looking across the roomwhere a silver-haired man is seating himself gracefully at a tableldquoIrsquom not sure but I think thatrsquos Gore Vidalrdquo my interviewer whis-pers in a hungry voice ldquoHersquos here for the writersrsquo festival youknowrdquo

I rise and exit as though led by a brass quintetThe charming Mrs Winters slips on her comfortable beige rain-

coat

I would like to thank a number of others who in one way or another encouraged me in the writing of Unless SharonAllan Marjorie Anderson the late Joan Austen-Leigh JoanBarfoot Clare Boylan Marg Edmond Brown Joan ClarkAnne Collins Cynthia Coop Patrick Crowe Maggie DwyerDarlene Hammell Blanche Howard Isabel Huggan CarlLenthe Madeline Li Elinor Lipman Anna and Sylvie MatasMargaret Shaw-Mackinnon Don McCarthy Peter ParkerBella Pomer Christopher Potter Linda Rogers CaroleSabiston Floyd St Clair Eleanor Wachtel Cindi WarnerMindy Werner the John Simon Guggenheim Foundationand as always my family John Audrey Anne CatherineMeg Sara and especially Don

About the Author

Carol Shields is the author of eight novels and two collections of short stories

The Stone Diaries won the Pulitzer Prize and was shortlisted for the Booker

Prize Larryrsquos Party won the Orange Prize Born and brought up in Chicago

Carol Shields has lived in Canada since 1957

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 1

Others

Intersect

Coming to Canada

Larryrsquos Party

The Stone Diaries

The Republic of Love

A Celibate Season (with Blanche Howard)Swann

A Fairly Conventional Woman

Happenstance

The Box Garden

Small Ceremonies

Various Miracles

The Orange Fish

Dressing Up for the Carnival

Departures and Arrivals

Thirteen Hands

Fashion Power Guilt and the Charity of Families

(with Catherine Shields)Anniversary (with David Williamson)

Susanna Moodie Voice and Vision

Jane Austen

Dropped Threads What We Arenrsquot Told

(Edited with Marjorie Anderson)

Credits

Design by Julian HumphriesPhotographer by Michael CrouserDesigned by Dinah Drazin

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 2

If you enjoyed reading this excerpt please visitHarperCollins Publishers to find out where to buy thisand other PerfectBound e-books

Australiahttpwwwharpercollinscomau

Canadahttpwwwharpercanadacom

New Zealandhttpwwwharpercollinsconz

United Kingdomhttpwwwfireandwatercom

United Stateshttpwwwperfectboundcom

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 3

The Pajama Game Words and Music by Richard Adler Music

and Jerry Ross copy Richard Adler Music and J amp J Ross Co USA

WarnerChappell Music Ltd London w6 8bs

Reproduced by permission of International Music Publications

Ltd All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction Names characters places and incidents

either are the products of the authorrsquos imagination or are used

fictitiously Any resemblance to actual events locales organiza-

tions or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and

beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher

UNLESS Copyright copy 2002 by Carol Shields All rights

reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright

Conventions By payment of the required fees you have been

granted the non-exclusive non-transferable right to access and

read the text of this e-book on-screen No part of this text may

be reproduced transmitted down-loaded decompiled reverse

engineered or stored in or introduced into any information stor-

age and retrieval system in any form or by any means whether

electronic or mechanical now known or hereinafter invented

without the express written permission of PerfectBoundtrade

PerfectBound trade and the PerfectBoundtrade logo are trademarks

of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

Adobe Acrobat E-Book Reader edition v 1 May 2002

ISBN 0-06-052370-0

Print edition first published in 2002

by Forth Estate a division of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 4

happening About characters moving against a ldquothererdquo That waswhat I really wanted to do

Looking back I can scarcely believe in such innocence I didnrsquotthink about our girls growing older and leaving home and fallingaway from us Norah had been a good docile baby and then shebecame a good obedient little girl Now at nineteen shersquos sobrimming with goodness that she sits on a Toronto street cornerwhich has its own textual archaeology though Norah probablydoesnrsquot know about that She sits beneath the lamppost where thepoet Ed Lewinski hanged himself in and where MargheritaTolles burst out of the subway exit into the sunshine of heradopted country and decided to write a great play Norah sitscross-legged with a begging bowl in her lap and asks nothing ofthe world Nine-tenths of what she gathers she distributes at theend of the day to other street people She wears a cardboard signon her chest a single word printed in black markermdash

I donrsquot know what that word really means though words aremy business The Old English word wearth I discovered the otherday on the Internet means outcast the other English word itstwin its cancellation is worthmdashwe know what that means andknow to distrust it It is the word wearth that Norah has swal-lowed This is the place shersquos claimed a whole world constructedon stillness An easy stance says the condemning grievingmother easy to find and maintain given enough practice Asharper focus could be achieved by tossing in an astringent fluid apeppery sauce irony rebellion tattoos and pierced tongue andspiked purple hair but no Norah embodies invisibility and good-ness or at least she is on the pathmdashso she said in our last conver-sation which was eight weeks ago the eleventh of April Shewore torn jeans that day and a rough plaid shawl that was almostcertainly a car blanket Her long pale hair was matted Sherefused to look us in the eye but she did blink in acknowledge-mentmdashIrsquom sure of itmdashwhen I handed her a sack of cheesesandwiches and Tom dropped a roll of twenty-dollar bills in herlap Then she spoke in her own voice but emptied of connection

She could not come home She was on the path to goodness Atthat moment I her mother was more absent from myself thanshe I felt that She was steadfast She could not be diverted Shecould not ldquoberdquo with us

How did this part of the narrative happen We know it didnrsquotrise out of the ordinary plot lines of a life story An intelligent andbeautiful girl from a loving family grows up in OrangetownOntario her motherrsquos a writer her fatherrsquos a doctor and then shegoes off the track Therersquos nothing natural about her efflorescenceof goodness Itrsquos abrupt and brutal Itrsquos killing us What will reallykill us though is the day we donrsquot find her sitting on her chosensquare of pavement

But I didnrsquot know any of this when I sat in that Burgundygarden dreaming about writing a novel I thought I understoodsomething of a novelrsquos architecture the lovely slope of predica-ment the tendrils of surface detail the calculated curving upwardinto inevitability yet allowing spells of incorrigibility and thenthe ending a corruption of cause and effect and the gatheringtogether of all the characters into a framed operatic circle ofconsolation and ecstasy backlit with fibre-optic gold just for amoment on the second-to-last page just for an atomic particle oftime

I had an idea for my novel a seed and nothing more Twoappealing characters had suggested themselves a woman and aman Alicia and Roman who live in Wychwood which is a citythe size of Toronto who clamour and romp and cling to theisland that is their lifersquos predicamentmdashthey long for love butselfishly strive for self-preservation Roman is proud to be cholericin temperament Alicia thinks of herself as being reflective buther job as assistant editor on a fashion magazine keeps her toooccupied to reflect

And I had a title My Thyme Is Up It was a pun of coursefrom an old family joke and I meant to write a jokey novel Alight novel A novel for summertime a book to read while seatedin an Ikea wicker chair with the sun falling on the pages as faintly

and evenly as human breath Naturally the novel would have ahappy ending I never doubted but that I could write this noveland I did in mdashin a swoop alone during three dark wintermonths when the girls were away all day at school

The Middle Years the translation of volume three of Wester-manrsquos memoirs is coming out this fall Volume three exploresWestermanrsquos numerous love affairs with both men and womenand none of this will be shocking or even surprising to her read-ers What is new is the suppleness and strength of her sentencesAlways an artist of concision and selflessness she has arrived inher old age at a gorgeous fluidity and expansion of phrase Mytranslation doesnrsquot begin to express what she has accomplishedThe book is stark itrsquos also sentimental one balances and rescuesthe other strangely enough I can only imagine that those end-less calcium pills Danielle chokes down every morning and the vitamin E and the emu oil capsules have fed directly into hervein of language so that what lands on the page is larger morerapturous more self-forgetful than anything shersquos written beforeand all of it sprouting short swift digressions that pretend to be just careless asides little swoons of surrender to her ownexperience inviting us her readers to believe in the totality ofher abandonment

Either that or shersquos gone senile to good effect a grand loosen-ing of language in her old age The thought has more than onceoccurred to me

Another thought has drifted by silken as a breeze against alattice Therersquos something missing in these memoirs or so I thinkin my solipsistic view Danielle Westerman suffers she feels the pangs of existential loneliness the absence of sexual love thetreason of her own womanrsquos body She has no partner no one forwhom she is the first person in the world order no one to dependon as I do on Tom She does not have a child or any survivingblood connection for that matter and perhaps itrsquos this that makesthe memoirs themselves childlike They go down like good milkfoaming swirling in the glass

I shouldnrsquot mention Book Number Eleven since it is not afait accompli but I will Irsquom going to write a second novel asequel to My Thyme Is Up Today is the day I intend to begin Thefirst sentence is already tapped into my computer ldquoAlicia was notas happy as she deserved to berdquo

I have no idea what will happen in this book It is a mereabstraction at the moment something thatrsquos popped out of theground like the rounded snout of a crocus on a cold lawn Irsquovestumbled up against this idea in my clumsy manner and now the urge to write it wonrsquot go away This will be a book about lostchildren about goodness and going home and being happy andtrying to keep the poison of the printed page in perspective Irsquomdesperate to know how the story will turn out

Nearly

We are more than halfway through the year Toward the beginning of August Tomrsquos old friendColin Glass came to dinner one night driving out

from Toronto Over coffee he attempted to explain the theory ofrelativity to me

I was the one who invited him to launch into the subjectRelativity is a piece of knowledge Irsquove always longed to under-stand a big piece but the explainers tend to go too fast or elsethey skip over a step they assume their audience has alreadyabsorbed Apparently there was once a time when only oneperson in the world understood relativity (Einstein) then twopeople then three or four and now most of the high-school kidswho take physics have at least an inkling or so Irsquom told Howhard can it be And itrsquos passed according to Colin from crazyspeculation to confirmed fact which makes it even more impor-tant to understand Irsquove tried but my grasp feels tenuous So thespeed of light is constant Is that all

Ordinarily I love these long August evenings the splash ofamber light that falls on the white dining-room walls just beforethe separate shades of twilight take over The medallion leavesthat flutter their round ghost shadows All day Irsquod listened to the white-throated sparrows in the woods behind our house their song resembles the Canadian national anthem at least theopening bars Summer was dying but in pieces Wersquod be eatingoutside if it werenrsquot for the wasps Good food the company of agood friend what more could anyone desire But I kept thinking

of Norah sitting on her square of pavement and holding up thepiece of cardboard with the word and then I lost trackof what Colin was saying

E=mc Energy equals mass times the speed of light squaredThe tidiness of the equation raised my immediate suspicion Howcan massmdashthis solid oak dining table for instancemdashhave any con-nection with how fast light travels Theyrsquore two different thingsColin who is a physicist was patient with my objections Hetook the linen napkin from his lap and stretched it taut across thetop of his coffee cup Then he took a cherry from the fruit bowland placed it on the napkin creating a small dimple He tipped thecup slightly so that the cherry rotated around the surface of the napkin He spoke of energy and mass but already I had lost a critical filament of the argument I worried slightly about hiscoffee sloshing up onto the napkin and staining it and thoughthow seldom in the last few years I had bothered with clothnapkins Nobody except maybe Danielle Westerman does realnapkins anymore it was understood that modern professionalwomen had better things to do with their time than launder linen

By now I had forgotten completely what the cherry (more thanfour dollars a pound) represented and what the little dimple wassupposed to be Colin talked on and on and Tom who is a familyphysician and has a broad scientific background seemed to befollowing at least he was nodding his head appropriately Mymother-in-law Lois had politely excused herself and returned toher house next door she would never miss the ten-orsquoclock newsher watching of the ten-orsquoclock news helps the country of Canadato go forward Christine and Natalie had long since drifted fromthe table and I could hear the buzz and burst of TV noises in the den

Pet our golden retriever parked his shaggy self under thetable his whole dog body humming away against my footSometimes in his dreams he groans and sometimes he chortleswith happiness I found myself thinking about Marietta Colinrsquoswife who had packed her bags a few months ago and moved to

Calgary to be with another man She claimed Colin was toowrapped up in his research and teaching to be a true partner Abeautiful woman with a neck like a plant stem she hinted thatthere had been a collapse of passion in their marriage She had left suddenly coldly he had been shocked he had had no idea hetold us in the early days that she had been unhappy all theseyears but he found her diaries in a desk drawer and read themsick with realization that a gulf of misunderstanding separatedthem

Why would a woman leave such personal diaries behind To punish to hurt of course Colin for the most part a decentkind-hearted man used to address her in a dry admonitory wayas though she were a graduate student instead of his wife ldquoDonrsquottell me this is processed cheeserdquo he asked her once when we were having dinner at their house Another time ldquoThis coffee isundrinkablerdquo He loved pleasuremdashhe was that kind of manmdashandtook it for granted and couldnrsquot help his little yelps of outragewhen pleasure failed You could call him an innocent in his expec-tations almost naive on this particular August evening It was asthough he were alone in a vaulted chamber echoing with immen-sities while Tom and I stood attendance just outside the doorcatching the overflow the odd glimpse of his skewed but calmbrilliance Even the little pockets under his eyes were phlegmaticHe was not a shallow person but perhaps he suspected that wewere I had to stop myself interrupting with a joke I often do thisIrsquom afraid ask for an explanation and then drift off into my ownthoughts

How could he now be sitting at our table so calmly toyingwith cherries and coffee cups and rolling the edge of his strawplacemat and pressing this heft of information on us It was closeto midnight he had an hourrsquos drive ahead of him What did thetheory of relativity really matter to his ongoing life Colin withhis small specs and trim moustache was at ease with big ideas likerelativity As a theory relativity worked it held all sorts of impor-tant ldquoconceptsrdquo together with its precision and elegance Think of

glue lavishly applied he said helpfully about relativity think ofthe power of the shrewd guess Such a sweeping perspective hadbeen visionary at the beginning but had been assessed and re-inforced and it was moreover Colin was now insisting usefulIn the face of lifersquos uncertainties relativityrsquos weight could beassumed and then set aside part of the package of consciousness

He finished awkwardly sat back in his chair with his two longarms extended ldquoSordquo Thatrsquos it he seemed to say or thatrsquos asmuch as I can do to simplify and explain so brilliant an idea Heglanced at his watch then sat back again exhausted pleased withhimself He wore a well-pressed cotton shirt with blue and yellowstripes neatly tucked into his black jeans He has no interest in clothes This shirt must go back to his married days chosen for him ironed for him by Marietta herself and put on a hangerperhaps a summer ago

The theory of relativity would not bring Colinrsquos wife hurryingback to the old stone house on Oriole Parkway It would notbring my daughter Norah home from the corner of Bathurst andBloor or the Promise Hostel where she beds at night Tom and I followed her one day we had to know how she managedwhether she was safe The weather would be turning cold soonHow does she bear it Cold concrete Dirt Uncombed hair

ldquoWould you sayrdquo I asked ColinmdashI had not spoken for severalminutesmdashldquothat the theory of relativity has reduced the weight ofgoodness and depravity in the worldrdquo

He stared at me ldquoRelativity has no moral position None what-everrdquo (ldquoThis coffee is undrinkablerdquo)

I looked to Tom for support but he was gazing with his mildeyes at the ceiling smiling I knew that smile

ldquoBut isnrsquot it possiblerdquo I said to Colin ldquoto think that goodnessor virtue if you like could be a wave or particle of energyrdquo

ldquoNordquo he said ldquoNo it is not possiblerdquoI made an abrupt move to clear the table I was suddenly

exhaustedStill I am thankful for the friendship and intellectual ardour of

such an unpretentious man as Colin Glass who despite his suffer-ing and shame really wanted me to understand a key concept ofthe twentieth century Or was he simply diverting himself for anhour This is what I must learn the art of diversion He said notone word about Marietta all evening long Tom and I understandthat he is reconstructing his life without her But a daughter issomething different A daughter of nineteen cannot be erased

Once

It was understood that I would do the publicity such as it was for Danielle Westermanrsquos third volume of memoirs Ateighty-five she was too old and too distinguished to handle

a day of interviews in Toronto even though she lives there I asthe translator could easily field questions from the press A verylight schedule was organized by the publisher since Dr Wester-man already possesses a long twilight of faithful readership

In early September I drove into Orangetown down its calmold-fashioned main street and into the countryside again The cityof Toronto monumental and lonely glowed in front of me Itsoutskirts are ragged though its numbered exits pretend at a kindof order Traffic was light I drove slowly by the corner of Bloorand Bathurst for a glimpse of Norah There she was as always onthe northeast corner seated on the ground near the subwayentrance with her bowl and cardboard sign even though it wasnot yet nine orsquoclock Had she had breakfast Did she have nits inher hair What is she thinking or is her mind a great blank

I parked the car and walked over to where she was ldquoHellodarling Norahrdquo I said setting down a plastic bag of food breadand cheese fruit and raw vegetables And in an envelope arecent photo of Pet with his straight proud muzzle and furry ruff Norah of all the girls doted on Pet and now I was bribingher shamelessly It was a chilly day and it iced my heart to see herunreadable immobility but I was glad to notice that she waswearing warm mittens Glad Me glad The least little signal willgladden my heart these days Today she looked not quite at me

and nodded Another wave of gladness struck I allow myself onlyone such glimpse a week since shersquos made it clear she doesnrsquotwant to see us

It is like watching her through plate glass All week I will drawexpensively on this brief moment of voyeurism at the same timetrying to blot it out with images of Norah on her bicycle Norahsitting at the kitchen table studying for exams Norah reaching forher green raincoat Norah trying on new school shoes Norahsleeping safe

After a while I went to have my eyebrows arched and tinted atSylviarsquos which calls itself a ldquospirit spardquo meaning it seemed thatwhile Madame Sylvia swiped at my brow with a little paintbrushshe murmured and sang into my ear It was now nine-thirty in themorning and I lay on a narrow table in a tiny white room ldquoYouare at the age when you must protect the fine skin around theeyesrdquo she warned ldquoA womanrsquos face falls it is inevitable but the eyes go on and on giving light You will be eighty ninety and your eyes will still charmrdquo

She knows nothing about my life Irsquove never been here beforeand have never thought of having an eyebrow tint I have per-fectly decent eyebrows nicely shaped and regular but I did lookinto a mirror a week or so ago and noticed that the small hairs atthe outside corners were coming in grey There was a little greyat the temples too but nothing to be surprised about not for a woman whose forty-fourth birthday is approaching not for awoman who has never even thought of herself as possessingldquotemplesrdquo such august body parts

ldquoAre you by any chance a Geminirdquo Madame Sylvia askedintimately Swish went the paintbrush She stopped peered at meclosely then swished again a deft little stroke

ldquoNordquo I said ashamed to acknowledge the astrological universeldquoMy birthdayrsquos in September Next week in factrdquo

ldquoI can tell yesrdquo She had a touch of the harridan in her voice ldquoIcan always tellrdquo

What could she tell

ldquoTwenty-four dollarsrdquo she said ldquoLet me give you my card Fornext timerdquo

Presumptuous but yes there will be a next time I calculatedquickly My face would make it through the next few weeks butby November I will probably be back in Madame Sylviarsquos hushedwhite cell I may well become a regular Eyebrows lashes fullfacials neck massage I have led a reflective life a life of thoughta writer a translator but all this is about to change The delicateskin around my eyes was demanding attention Has Tom noticedI donrsquot think so Christine and Natalie donrsquot really look at me inthat way they just see this watercolour blob that means motherwhich is rather how I see myself

ldquoA womanrsquos charm is with her for liferdquo Madame Sylvia saidldquobut you must pay attentionrdquo

No I thought an hour later no Irsquom sorry but I have no plansto be charming on a regular basis Anyone can be charming Itrsquosreally a cheap trick mere charm so astonishingly easy to per-form screwing up your face into sunbeams and spewing themforth The calculated lift of the wrist chin up thumb and fore-finger brought together to form a little feminine loop that trick of pretending to sit on a little glass chair that concentration ofradiance lrsquoesprit little sprinkles of it everywhere misting the airlike bargain scent Ingenue spritz Emma Allen calls it

I know that cheapness so intimatelymdashthe grainy sugary per-severing way charm enters a fresh mouth and rubs against themolars sticking there in soft wads promoting mouth ulcers or whatever it is thatrsquos the metaphoric projection of self-hatredOf all the social virtues charm is in the end the most unreward-ing And compared to goodness real goodness or the unmovableself-abnegation my daughter Norah practises charm is nothingbut crumpled tissue paper soiled from previous use

Sincerity No Sincerityrsquos over Sincerityrsquos lost whatever edge ithad Itrsquos fine fine matter but wasted on the press who all grew uppost-Holocaust devoted readers of Mad Magazine and wouldnrsquotrecognize a bar of willed innocence if it came wrapped in foil

Nor will I ever again be pointlessly endlessly polite I got overthat two years ago when I did my author tour It seems Irsquove lostlike a stream of pebbles leaving my hand the kind of endurancethat professional courtesy demands suck in your breath let yourface go numb listen to the interviewerrsquos questions registeroptimally let your breath out evaluate the feelings of those whodepend on you (agent publisher editor that nice Sheila personwho does publicity and of course Danielle Westerman) andperform again and again like the tuned-up athlete you are the fitphysical specimen that each new book demands then move on tothe next task

Mrs Winters who has just translated The Middle Years the un-

folding memoir of Holocaust survivor Danielle Westerman is a woman

of grace and charm whose thick brown hair is arranged into a bun

Putting down her coffee cup she shrugs off her beige raincoat and

Irsquove entered early middle age now and I have a nineteen-year-old daughter who lives on the street I no longer require a reputa-tion for charm those saving lilac shadows and contours Maybe Inever did I wonrsquotmdashnot nowmdashtuck the ends of my sentences intolittle licks of favour and the next time a journalist pins me downwith a personal question trolling for informationmdashTell me MrsWinters how are you able to balance your family and profes-sional lifemdashI will stare back hard with my newly practised stareHow do I balance my life Tinted eyebrows up Just what kind ofinquiry is this Wouldnrsquot you prefer Mrs Winters to pursue youown writing rather than translate Dr Westermanrsquos work Pleasenot that again How did you and your husband meet What doeshe think of your writing

I will in the future address my interviewer directly and saywith firmness ldquoThis interview is overrdquo There is nothing to loseRude and difficult people are more likely to be taken seriouslyCurmudgeons are positively adored Irsquove noticed this Even thefascinatingly unknowable earn respect

And when I read in the paper tomorrow that ldquoMrs Winterslooked all of her forty-three yearsrdquo and that ldquoMrs Winters with

her familiar overbite was reluctant to talk about her work sched-ulerdquo I will want to phone the editor and complain bitterly Thisfrom the pen of a small unattractive man almost entirely lip-less beneath a bony domineering nose sweating with minorambition head tilted like something carved out of yellow wax

He interviewed me in a cappuccino bar in mid-Toronto Achilly stooped round-headed man in his thirties or fortiesmdashitwas hard to tellmdashslow to smile pathetically in need of humanattention thinking his superior thoughts Fluff on his shouldersbegged to be picked off I on the other hand was wearing a softjade jacket of cashmere lined with silk which represented a raresplurge on my part but I could be sure this man would over-look this garment with its crystal buttons and mandarin collar andconcentrate instead on my drab raincoat beige and not quitepristine at the cuffs In print he will be certain to refer to mychignon as a bun Itrsquos taken me years to learn to do a glossy littlechignonmdashI can get my hair brushed back and securely pinned up each morning in a mere two and a half minutes and I considermy coiffure one of my major life accomplishments I really meanthis

Sheila from publicity had filled me in before the interview andI felt the information packet hovering what to do with it Thisyoungyoungish man was the newly appointed books columnistat Booktimes He was well known for holding pious opinions aboutthe literature of the Great North about his own role as advocateof a diverse new outpouring of Canadian voices the post-colonialcry of blaming anguish The stream of current fiction aboutmiddle-class people living in cities was diluting the authenticnational voice that rose from the landscape itself andmdash

Oh shut up shut upCappuccino foam dotted the corners of his undistinguished

mouth And just one more question Mrs WintersmdashOf course he didnrsquot call me Reta even though there might be

only a year or two between us The ldquoMrsrdquo gave him power overme that vexing r rucking things up in the middle and making one

think of such distractions as clotheslines and baking tins He wasthe barking terrier going at Mrs Wintersrsquos ankles shaking out hisfur and asking me to justify myself wanting me to explain thespluttering dying whimpering bonfire of my life which I wouldnot dream of sharing He seemed to forget he was interviewingme about Danielle Westermanrsquos new book

I understand yoursquore working on a second novel said heWell yesTakes nerveUh-huhActuallymdashactually well he had a novel on the go himselfReally What a surpriseAt the end of the hour he did not ask for the bill I asked for the

bill ldquoIrsquoll just put it on my Visardquo I said breaking a tenuous breadthof silence I announced this with all the majesty I could musterover a vinyl table like a grande dame adding twenty years to myage and feeling the vowels shifting in my beautifully mouldedthroat Such dignity I surprised myself with my own resonanceand I may have managed a pained smile displaying no doubtthat famous overbite He turned off the tape recorder at the wordldquoVisardquo

He had two young children at home he said Christ what aresponsibility although he loved the little bastards One of themwas quite quite gifted well they both were in their separateways But the work of raising kids Never enough time to read thebooks he had to review books all over the house with little mark-ers in them books he would never finish So much was expectedand of course like all journalists he was underpaid

Oh shut upThey also expected him to do a feature on the weekendUh-huhAnd last week hersquod actually broken the MacBunna storyReally Macumba MarimbaCongratulations said Mrs Reta Winters from OrangetownThanks

I should be getting on my way I said My parking meter Alunch date A long drive home

I understand you and your family live in a lovely old housenear Orangetown

And then slyly I understand one of your daughters now livesin Toronto and

Irsquove been here before There is something about having anestablished family a long-lasting spousal arrangement threedaughters in their teens a house in the country a suggestion ofimpermeability that draws the curiosity of others so that theycan as Tom says probe with probity

But no this man across the table will not be feeding on myflesh nor will his colleaguesmdashthough one can tell that he has nocolleagues there is no possibility of colleagues He has no contextfor friends or co-workers though there are the kids and therersquosthe wife hersquos referred to her three times now Nicola She has herprofessional life too he tells me as though the matter were indispute

I canrsquot resist ldquoDoes Nicolamdashis she a journalist toordquoldquoJournalistrdquoldquoLike you I meanrdquoHis hand jumps and for a moment I think hersquos going to turn

the tape recorder on again But no hersquos reaching into his pocketand now hersquos releasing two coins onto the table The tip They liethere moist from his hand Two dimes I focus on them withwhat I hope is a cool censorious gaze

But hersquos not looking at me Hersquos looking across the roomwhere a silver-haired man is seating himself gracefully at a tableldquoIrsquom not sure but I think thatrsquos Gore Vidalrdquo my interviewer whis-pers in a hungry voice ldquoHersquos here for the writersrsquo festival youknowrdquo

I rise and exit as though led by a brass quintetThe charming Mrs Winters slips on her comfortable beige rain-

coat

I would like to thank a number of others who in one way or another encouraged me in the writing of Unless SharonAllan Marjorie Anderson the late Joan Austen-Leigh JoanBarfoot Clare Boylan Marg Edmond Brown Joan ClarkAnne Collins Cynthia Coop Patrick Crowe Maggie DwyerDarlene Hammell Blanche Howard Isabel Huggan CarlLenthe Madeline Li Elinor Lipman Anna and Sylvie MatasMargaret Shaw-Mackinnon Don McCarthy Peter ParkerBella Pomer Christopher Potter Linda Rogers CaroleSabiston Floyd St Clair Eleanor Wachtel Cindi WarnerMindy Werner the John Simon Guggenheim Foundationand as always my family John Audrey Anne CatherineMeg Sara and especially Don

About the Author

Carol Shields is the author of eight novels and two collections of short stories

The Stone Diaries won the Pulitzer Prize and was shortlisted for the Booker

Prize Larryrsquos Party won the Orange Prize Born and brought up in Chicago

Carol Shields has lived in Canada since 1957

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 1

Others

Intersect

Coming to Canada

Larryrsquos Party

The Stone Diaries

The Republic of Love

A Celibate Season (with Blanche Howard)Swann

A Fairly Conventional Woman

Happenstance

The Box Garden

Small Ceremonies

Various Miracles

The Orange Fish

Dressing Up for the Carnival

Departures and Arrivals

Thirteen Hands

Fashion Power Guilt and the Charity of Families

(with Catherine Shields)Anniversary (with David Williamson)

Susanna Moodie Voice and Vision

Jane Austen

Dropped Threads What We Arenrsquot Told

(Edited with Marjorie Anderson)

Credits

Design by Julian HumphriesPhotographer by Michael CrouserDesigned by Dinah Drazin

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 2

If you enjoyed reading this excerpt please visitHarperCollins Publishers to find out where to buy thisand other PerfectBound e-books

Australiahttpwwwharpercollinscomau

Canadahttpwwwharpercanadacom

New Zealandhttpwwwharpercollinsconz

United Kingdomhttpwwwfireandwatercom

United Stateshttpwwwperfectboundcom

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 3

The Pajama Game Words and Music by Richard Adler Music

and Jerry Ross copy Richard Adler Music and J amp J Ross Co USA

WarnerChappell Music Ltd London w6 8bs

Reproduced by permission of International Music Publications

Ltd All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction Names characters places and incidents

either are the products of the authorrsquos imagination or are used

fictitiously Any resemblance to actual events locales organiza-

tions or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and

beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher

UNLESS Copyright copy 2002 by Carol Shields All rights

reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright

Conventions By payment of the required fees you have been

granted the non-exclusive non-transferable right to access and

read the text of this e-book on-screen No part of this text may

be reproduced transmitted down-loaded decompiled reverse

engineered or stored in or introduced into any information stor-

age and retrieval system in any form or by any means whether

electronic or mechanical now known or hereinafter invented

without the express written permission of PerfectBoundtrade

PerfectBound trade and the PerfectBoundtrade logo are trademarks

of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

Adobe Acrobat E-Book Reader edition v 1 May 2002

ISBN 0-06-052370-0

Print edition first published in 2002

by Forth Estate a division of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 4

She could not come home She was on the path to goodness Atthat moment I her mother was more absent from myself thanshe I felt that She was steadfast She could not be diverted Shecould not ldquoberdquo with us

How did this part of the narrative happen We know it didnrsquotrise out of the ordinary plot lines of a life story An intelligent andbeautiful girl from a loving family grows up in OrangetownOntario her motherrsquos a writer her fatherrsquos a doctor and then shegoes off the track Therersquos nothing natural about her efflorescenceof goodness Itrsquos abrupt and brutal Itrsquos killing us What will reallykill us though is the day we donrsquot find her sitting on her chosensquare of pavement

But I didnrsquot know any of this when I sat in that Burgundygarden dreaming about writing a novel I thought I understoodsomething of a novelrsquos architecture the lovely slope of predica-ment the tendrils of surface detail the calculated curving upwardinto inevitability yet allowing spells of incorrigibility and thenthe ending a corruption of cause and effect and the gatheringtogether of all the characters into a framed operatic circle ofconsolation and ecstasy backlit with fibre-optic gold just for amoment on the second-to-last page just for an atomic particle oftime

I had an idea for my novel a seed and nothing more Twoappealing characters had suggested themselves a woman and aman Alicia and Roman who live in Wychwood which is a citythe size of Toronto who clamour and romp and cling to theisland that is their lifersquos predicamentmdashthey long for love butselfishly strive for self-preservation Roman is proud to be cholericin temperament Alicia thinks of herself as being reflective buther job as assistant editor on a fashion magazine keeps her toooccupied to reflect

And I had a title My Thyme Is Up It was a pun of coursefrom an old family joke and I meant to write a jokey novel Alight novel A novel for summertime a book to read while seatedin an Ikea wicker chair with the sun falling on the pages as faintly

and evenly as human breath Naturally the novel would have ahappy ending I never doubted but that I could write this noveland I did in mdashin a swoop alone during three dark wintermonths when the girls were away all day at school

The Middle Years the translation of volume three of Wester-manrsquos memoirs is coming out this fall Volume three exploresWestermanrsquos numerous love affairs with both men and womenand none of this will be shocking or even surprising to her read-ers What is new is the suppleness and strength of her sentencesAlways an artist of concision and selflessness she has arrived inher old age at a gorgeous fluidity and expansion of phrase Mytranslation doesnrsquot begin to express what she has accomplishedThe book is stark itrsquos also sentimental one balances and rescuesthe other strangely enough I can only imagine that those end-less calcium pills Danielle chokes down every morning and the vitamin E and the emu oil capsules have fed directly into hervein of language so that what lands on the page is larger morerapturous more self-forgetful than anything shersquos written beforeand all of it sprouting short swift digressions that pretend to be just careless asides little swoons of surrender to her ownexperience inviting us her readers to believe in the totality ofher abandonment

Either that or shersquos gone senile to good effect a grand loosen-ing of language in her old age The thought has more than onceoccurred to me

Another thought has drifted by silken as a breeze against alattice Therersquos something missing in these memoirs or so I thinkin my solipsistic view Danielle Westerman suffers she feels the pangs of existential loneliness the absence of sexual love thetreason of her own womanrsquos body She has no partner no one forwhom she is the first person in the world order no one to dependon as I do on Tom She does not have a child or any survivingblood connection for that matter and perhaps itrsquos this that makesthe memoirs themselves childlike They go down like good milkfoaming swirling in the glass

I shouldnrsquot mention Book Number Eleven since it is not afait accompli but I will Irsquom going to write a second novel asequel to My Thyme Is Up Today is the day I intend to begin Thefirst sentence is already tapped into my computer ldquoAlicia was notas happy as she deserved to berdquo

I have no idea what will happen in this book It is a mereabstraction at the moment something thatrsquos popped out of theground like the rounded snout of a crocus on a cold lawn Irsquovestumbled up against this idea in my clumsy manner and now the urge to write it wonrsquot go away This will be a book about lostchildren about goodness and going home and being happy andtrying to keep the poison of the printed page in perspective Irsquomdesperate to know how the story will turn out

Nearly

We are more than halfway through the year Toward the beginning of August Tomrsquos old friendColin Glass came to dinner one night driving out

from Toronto Over coffee he attempted to explain the theory ofrelativity to me

I was the one who invited him to launch into the subjectRelativity is a piece of knowledge Irsquove always longed to under-stand a big piece but the explainers tend to go too fast or elsethey skip over a step they assume their audience has alreadyabsorbed Apparently there was once a time when only oneperson in the world understood relativity (Einstein) then twopeople then three or four and now most of the high-school kidswho take physics have at least an inkling or so Irsquom told Howhard can it be And itrsquos passed according to Colin from crazyspeculation to confirmed fact which makes it even more impor-tant to understand Irsquove tried but my grasp feels tenuous So thespeed of light is constant Is that all

Ordinarily I love these long August evenings the splash ofamber light that falls on the white dining-room walls just beforethe separate shades of twilight take over The medallion leavesthat flutter their round ghost shadows All day Irsquod listened to the white-throated sparrows in the woods behind our house their song resembles the Canadian national anthem at least theopening bars Summer was dying but in pieces Wersquod be eatingoutside if it werenrsquot for the wasps Good food the company of agood friend what more could anyone desire But I kept thinking

of Norah sitting on her square of pavement and holding up thepiece of cardboard with the word and then I lost trackof what Colin was saying

E=mc Energy equals mass times the speed of light squaredThe tidiness of the equation raised my immediate suspicion Howcan massmdashthis solid oak dining table for instancemdashhave any con-nection with how fast light travels Theyrsquore two different thingsColin who is a physicist was patient with my objections Hetook the linen napkin from his lap and stretched it taut across thetop of his coffee cup Then he took a cherry from the fruit bowland placed it on the napkin creating a small dimple He tipped thecup slightly so that the cherry rotated around the surface of the napkin He spoke of energy and mass but already I had lost a critical filament of the argument I worried slightly about hiscoffee sloshing up onto the napkin and staining it and thoughthow seldom in the last few years I had bothered with clothnapkins Nobody except maybe Danielle Westerman does realnapkins anymore it was understood that modern professionalwomen had better things to do with their time than launder linen

By now I had forgotten completely what the cherry (more thanfour dollars a pound) represented and what the little dimple wassupposed to be Colin talked on and on and Tom who is a familyphysician and has a broad scientific background seemed to befollowing at least he was nodding his head appropriately Mymother-in-law Lois had politely excused herself and returned toher house next door she would never miss the ten-orsquoclock newsher watching of the ten-orsquoclock news helps the country of Canadato go forward Christine and Natalie had long since drifted fromthe table and I could hear the buzz and burst of TV noises in the den

Pet our golden retriever parked his shaggy self under thetable his whole dog body humming away against my footSometimes in his dreams he groans and sometimes he chortleswith happiness I found myself thinking about Marietta Colinrsquoswife who had packed her bags a few months ago and moved to

Calgary to be with another man She claimed Colin was toowrapped up in his research and teaching to be a true partner Abeautiful woman with a neck like a plant stem she hinted thatthere had been a collapse of passion in their marriage She had left suddenly coldly he had been shocked he had had no idea hetold us in the early days that she had been unhappy all theseyears but he found her diaries in a desk drawer and read themsick with realization that a gulf of misunderstanding separatedthem

Why would a woman leave such personal diaries behind To punish to hurt of course Colin for the most part a decentkind-hearted man used to address her in a dry admonitory wayas though she were a graduate student instead of his wife ldquoDonrsquottell me this is processed cheeserdquo he asked her once when we were having dinner at their house Another time ldquoThis coffee isundrinkablerdquo He loved pleasuremdashhe was that kind of manmdashandtook it for granted and couldnrsquot help his little yelps of outragewhen pleasure failed You could call him an innocent in his expec-tations almost naive on this particular August evening It was asthough he were alone in a vaulted chamber echoing with immen-sities while Tom and I stood attendance just outside the doorcatching the overflow the odd glimpse of his skewed but calmbrilliance Even the little pockets under his eyes were phlegmaticHe was not a shallow person but perhaps he suspected that wewere I had to stop myself interrupting with a joke I often do thisIrsquom afraid ask for an explanation and then drift off into my ownthoughts

How could he now be sitting at our table so calmly toyingwith cherries and coffee cups and rolling the edge of his strawplacemat and pressing this heft of information on us It was closeto midnight he had an hourrsquos drive ahead of him What did thetheory of relativity really matter to his ongoing life Colin withhis small specs and trim moustache was at ease with big ideas likerelativity As a theory relativity worked it held all sorts of impor-tant ldquoconceptsrdquo together with its precision and elegance Think of

glue lavishly applied he said helpfully about relativity think ofthe power of the shrewd guess Such a sweeping perspective hadbeen visionary at the beginning but had been assessed and re-inforced and it was moreover Colin was now insisting usefulIn the face of lifersquos uncertainties relativityrsquos weight could beassumed and then set aside part of the package of consciousness

He finished awkwardly sat back in his chair with his two longarms extended ldquoSordquo Thatrsquos it he seemed to say or thatrsquos asmuch as I can do to simplify and explain so brilliant an idea Heglanced at his watch then sat back again exhausted pleased withhimself He wore a well-pressed cotton shirt with blue and yellowstripes neatly tucked into his black jeans He has no interest in clothes This shirt must go back to his married days chosen for him ironed for him by Marietta herself and put on a hangerperhaps a summer ago

The theory of relativity would not bring Colinrsquos wife hurryingback to the old stone house on Oriole Parkway It would notbring my daughter Norah home from the corner of Bathurst andBloor or the Promise Hostel where she beds at night Tom and I followed her one day we had to know how she managedwhether she was safe The weather would be turning cold soonHow does she bear it Cold concrete Dirt Uncombed hair

ldquoWould you sayrdquo I asked ColinmdashI had not spoken for severalminutesmdashldquothat the theory of relativity has reduced the weight ofgoodness and depravity in the worldrdquo

He stared at me ldquoRelativity has no moral position None what-everrdquo (ldquoThis coffee is undrinkablerdquo)

I looked to Tom for support but he was gazing with his mildeyes at the ceiling smiling I knew that smile

ldquoBut isnrsquot it possiblerdquo I said to Colin ldquoto think that goodnessor virtue if you like could be a wave or particle of energyrdquo

ldquoNordquo he said ldquoNo it is not possiblerdquoI made an abrupt move to clear the table I was suddenly

exhaustedStill I am thankful for the friendship and intellectual ardour of

such an unpretentious man as Colin Glass who despite his suffer-ing and shame really wanted me to understand a key concept ofthe twentieth century Or was he simply diverting himself for anhour This is what I must learn the art of diversion He said notone word about Marietta all evening long Tom and I understandthat he is reconstructing his life without her But a daughter issomething different A daughter of nineteen cannot be erased

Once

It was understood that I would do the publicity such as it was for Danielle Westermanrsquos third volume of memoirs Ateighty-five she was too old and too distinguished to handle

a day of interviews in Toronto even though she lives there I asthe translator could easily field questions from the press A verylight schedule was organized by the publisher since Dr Wester-man already possesses a long twilight of faithful readership

In early September I drove into Orangetown down its calmold-fashioned main street and into the countryside again The cityof Toronto monumental and lonely glowed in front of me Itsoutskirts are ragged though its numbered exits pretend at a kindof order Traffic was light I drove slowly by the corner of Bloorand Bathurst for a glimpse of Norah There she was as always onthe northeast corner seated on the ground near the subwayentrance with her bowl and cardboard sign even though it wasnot yet nine orsquoclock Had she had breakfast Did she have nits inher hair What is she thinking or is her mind a great blank

I parked the car and walked over to where she was ldquoHellodarling Norahrdquo I said setting down a plastic bag of food breadand cheese fruit and raw vegetables And in an envelope arecent photo of Pet with his straight proud muzzle and furry ruff Norah of all the girls doted on Pet and now I was bribingher shamelessly It was a chilly day and it iced my heart to see herunreadable immobility but I was glad to notice that she waswearing warm mittens Glad Me glad The least little signal willgladden my heart these days Today she looked not quite at me

and nodded Another wave of gladness struck I allow myself onlyone such glimpse a week since shersquos made it clear she doesnrsquotwant to see us

It is like watching her through plate glass All week I will drawexpensively on this brief moment of voyeurism at the same timetrying to blot it out with images of Norah on her bicycle Norahsitting at the kitchen table studying for exams Norah reaching forher green raincoat Norah trying on new school shoes Norahsleeping safe

After a while I went to have my eyebrows arched and tinted atSylviarsquos which calls itself a ldquospirit spardquo meaning it seemed thatwhile Madame Sylvia swiped at my brow with a little paintbrushshe murmured and sang into my ear It was now nine-thirty in themorning and I lay on a narrow table in a tiny white room ldquoYouare at the age when you must protect the fine skin around theeyesrdquo she warned ldquoA womanrsquos face falls it is inevitable but the eyes go on and on giving light You will be eighty ninety and your eyes will still charmrdquo

She knows nothing about my life Irsquove never been here beforeand have never thought of having an eyebrow tint I have per-fectly decent eyebrows nicely shaped and regular but I did lookinto a mirror a week or so ago and noticed that the small hairs atthe outside corners were coming in grey There was a little greyat the temples too but nothing to be surprised about not for a woman whose forty-fourth birthday is approaching not for awoman who has never even thought of herself as possessingldquotemplesrdquo such august body parts

ldquoAre you by any chance a Geminirdquo Madame Sylvia askedintimately Swish went the paintbrush She stopped peered at meclosely then swished again a deft little stroke

ldquoNordquo I said ashamed to acknowledge the astrological universeldquoMy birthdayrsquos in September Next week in factrdquo

ldquoI can tell yesrdquo She had a touch of the harridan in her voice ldquoIcan always tellrdquo

What could she tell

ldquoTwenty-four dollarsrdquo she said ldquoLet me give you my card Fornext timerdquo

Presumptuous but yes there will be a next time I calculatedquickly My face would make it through the next few weeks butby November I will probably be back in Madame Sylviarsquos hushedwhite cell I may well become a regular Eyebrows lashes fullfacials neck massage I have led a reflective life a life of thoughta writer a translator but all this is about to change The delicateskin around my eyes was demanding attention Has Tom noticedI donrsquot think so Christine and Natalie donrsquot really look at me inthat way they just see this watercolour blob that means motherwhich is rather how I see myself

ldquoA womanrsquos charm is with her for liferdquo Madame Sylvia saidldquobut you must pay attentionrdquo

No I thought an hour later no Irsquom sorry but I have no plansto be charming on a regular basis Anyone can be charming Itrsquosreally a cheap trick mere charm so astonishingly easy to per-form screwing up your face into sunbeams and spewing themforth The calculated lift of the wrist chin up thumb and fore-finger brought together to form a little feminine loop that trick of pretending to sit on a little glass chair that concentration ofradiance lrsquoesprit little sprinkles of it everywhere misting the airlike bargain scent Ingenue spritz Emma Allen calls it

I know that cheapness so intimatelymdashthe grainy sugary per-severing way charm enters a fresh mouth and rubs against themolars sticking there in soft wads promoting mouth ulcers or whatever it is thatrsquos the metaphoric projection of self-hatredOf all the social virtues charm is in the end the most unreward-ing And compared to goodness real goodness or the unmovableself-abnegation my daughter Norah practises charm is nothingbut crumpled tissue paper soiled from previous use

Sincerity No Sincerityrsquos over Sincerityrsquos lost whatever edge ithad Itrsquos fine fine matter but wasted on the press who all grew uppost-Holocaust devoted readers of Mad Magazine and wouldnrsquotrecognize a bar of willed innocence if it came wrapped in foil

Nor will I ever again be pointlessly endlessly polite I got overthat two years ago when I did my author tour It seems Irsquove lostlike a stream of pebbles leaving my hand the kind of endurancethat professional courtesy demands suck in your breath let yourface go numb listen to the interviewerrsquos questions registeroptimally let your breath out evaluate the feelings of those whodepend on you (agent publisher editor that nice Sheila personwho does publicity and of course Danielle Westerman) andperform again and again like the tuned-up athlete you are the fitphysical specimen that each new book demands then move on tothe next task

Mrs Winters who has just translated The Middle Years the un-

folding memoir of Holocaust survivor Danielle Westerman is a woman

of grace and charm whose thick brown hair is arranged into a bun

Putting down her coffee cup she shrugs off her beige raincoat and

Irsquove entered early middle age now and I have a nineteen-year-old daughter who lives on the street I no longer require a reputa-tion for charm those saving lilac shadows and contours Maybe Inever did I wonrsquotmdashnot nowmdashtuck the ends of my sentences intolittle licks of favour and the next time a journalist pins me downwith a personal question trolling for informationmdashTell me MrsWinters how are you able to balance your family and profes-sional lifemdashI will stare back hard with my newly practised stareHow do I balance my life Tinted eyebrows up Just what kind ofinquiry is this Wouldnrsquot you prefer Mrs Winters to pursue youown writing rather than translate Dr Westermanrsquos work Pleasenot that again How did you and your husband meet What doeshe think of your writing

I will in the future address my interviewer directly and saywith firmness ldquoThis interview is overrdquo There is nothing to loseRude and difficult people are more likely to be taken seriouslyCurmudgeons are positively adored Irsquove noticed this Even thefascinatingly unknowable earn respect

And when I read in the paper tomorrow that ldquoMrs Winterslooked all of her forty-three yearsrdquo and that ldquoMrs Winters with

her familiar overbite was reluctant to talk about her work sched-ulerdquo I will want to phone the editor and complain bitterly Thisfrom the pen of a small unattractive man almost entirely lip-less beneath a bony domineering nose sweating with minorambition head tilted like something carved out of yellow wax

He interviewed me in a cappuccino bar in mid-Toronto Achilly stooped round-headed man in his thirties or fortiesmdashitwas hard to tellmdashslow to smile pathetically in need of humanattention thinking his superior thoughts Fluff on his shouldersbegged to be picked off I on the other hand was wearing a softjade jacket of cashmere lined with silk which represented a raresplurge on my part but I could be sure this man would over-look this garment with its crystal buttons and mandarin collar andconcentrate instead on my drab raincoat beige and not quitepristine at the cuffs In print he will be certain to refer to mychignon as a bun Itrsquos taken me years to learn to do a glossy littlechignonmdashI can get my hair brushed back and securely pinned up each morning in a mere two and a half minutes and I considermy coiffure one of my major life accomplishments I really meanthis

Sheila from publicity had filled me in before the interview andI felt the information packet hovering what to do with it Thisyoungyoungish man was the newly appointed books columnistat Booktimes He was well known for holding pious opinions aboutthe literature of the Great North about his own role as advocateof a diverse new outpouring of Canadian voices the post-colonialcry of blaming anguish The stream of current fiction aboutmiddle-class people living in cities was diluting the authenticnational voice that rose from the landscape itself andmdash

Oh shut up shut upCappuccino foam dotted the corners of his undistinguished

mouth And just one more question Mrs WintersmdashOf course he didnrsquot call me Reta even though there might be

only a year or two between us The ldquoMrsrdquo gave him power overme that vexing r rucking things up in the middle and making one

think of such distractions as clotheslines and baking tins He wasthe barking terrier going at Mrs Wintersrsquos ankles shaking out hisfur and asking me to justify myself wanting me to explain thespluttering dying whimpering bonfire of my life which I wouldnot dream of sharing He seemed to forget he was interviewingme about Danielle Westermanrsquos new book

I understand yoursquore working on a second novel said heWell yesTakes nerveUh-huhActuallymdashactually well he had a novel on the go himselfReally What a surpriseAt the end of the hour he did not ask for the bill I asked for the

bill ldquoIrsquoll just put it on my Visardquo I said breaking a tenuous breadthof silence I announced this with all the majesty I could musterover a vinyl table like a grande dame adding twenty years to myage and feeling the vowels shifting in my beautifully mouldedthroat Such dignity I surprised myself with my own resonanceand I may have managed a pained smile displaying no doubtthat famous overbite He turned off the tape recorder at the wordldquoVisardquo

He had two young children at home he said Christ what aresponsibility although he loved the little bastards One of themwas quite quite gifted well they both were in their separateways But the work of raising kids Never enough time to read thebooks he had to review books all over the house with little mark-ers in them books he would never finish So much was expectedand of course like all journalists he was underpaid

Oh shut upThey also expected him to do a feature on the weekendUh-huhAnd last week hersquod actually broken the MacBunna storyReally Macumba MarimbaCongratulations said Mrs Reta Winters from OrangetownThanks

I should be getting on my way I said My parking meter Alunch date A long drive home

I understand you and your family live in a lovely old housenear Orangetown

And then slyly I understand one of your daughters now livesin Toronto and

Irsquove been here before There is something about having anestablished family a long-lasting spousal arrangement threedaughters in their teens a house in the country a suggestion ofimpermeability that draws the curiosity of others so that theycan as Tom says probe with probity

But no this man across the table will not be feeding on myflesh nor will his colleaguesmdashthough one can tell that he has nocolleagues there is no possibility of colleagues He has no contextfor friends or co-workers though there are the kids and therersquosthe wife hersquos referred to her three times now Nicola She has herprofessional life too he tells me as though the matter were indispute

I canrsquot resist ldquoDoes Nicolamdashis she a journalist toordquoldquoJournalistrdquoldquoLike you I meanrdquoHis hand jumps and for a moment I think hersquos going to turn

the tape recorder on again But no hersquos reaching into his pocketand now hersquos releasing two coins onto the table The tip They liethere moist from his hand Two dimes I focus on them withwhat I hope is a cool censorious gaze

But hersquos not looking at me Hersquos looking across the roomwhere a silver-haired man is seating himself gracefully at a tableldquoIrsquom not sure but I think thatrsquos Gore Vidalrdquo my interviewer whis-pers in a hungry voice ldquoHersquos here for the writersrsquo festival youknowrdquo

I rise and exit as though led by a brass quintetThe charming Mrs Winters slips on her comfortable beige rain-

coat

I would like to thank a number of others who in one way or another encouraged me in the writing of Unless SharonAllan Marjorie Anderson the late Joan Austen-Leigh JoanBarfoot Clare Boylan Marg Edmond Brown Joan ClarkAnne Collins Cynthia Coop Patrick Crowe Maggie DwyerDarlene Hammell Blanche Howard Isabel Huggan CarlLenthe Madeline Li Elinor Lipman Anna and Sylvie MatasMargaret Shaw-Mackinnon Don McCarthy Peter ParkerBella Pomer Christopher Potter Linda Rogers CaroleSabiston Floyd St Clair Eleanor Wachtel Cindi WarnerMindy Werner the John Simon Guggenheim Foundationand as always my family John Audrey Anne CatherineMeg Sara and especially Don

About the Author

Carol Shields is the author of eight novels and two collections of short stories

The Stone Diaries won the Pulitzer Prize and was shortlisted for the Booker

Prize Larryrsquos Party won the Orange Prize Born and brought up in Chicago

Carol Shields has lived in Canada since 1957

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 1

Others

Intersect

Coming to Canada

Larryrsquos Party

The Stone Diaries

The Republic of Love

A Celibate Season (with Blanche Howard)Swann

A Fairly Conventional Woman

Happenstance

The Box Garden

Small Ceremonies

Various Miracles

The Orange Fish

Dressing Up for the Carnival

Departures and Arrivals

Thirteen Hands

Fashion Power Guilt and the Charity of Families

(with Catherine Shields)Anniversary (with David Williamson)

Susanna Moodie Voice and Vision

Jane Austen

Dropped Threads What We Arenrsquot Told

(Edited with Marjorie Anderson)

Credits

Design by Julian HumphriesPhotographer by Michael CrouserDesigned by Dinah Drazin

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 2

If you enjoyed reading this excerpt please visitHarperCollins Publishers to find out where to buy thisand other PerfectBound e-books

Australiahttpwwwharpercollinscomau

Canadahttpwwwharpercanadacom

New Zealandhttpwwwharpercollinsconz

United Kingdomhttpwwwfireandwatercom

United Stateshttpwwwperfectboundcom

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 3

The Pajama Game Words and Music by Richard Adler Music

and Jerry Ross copy Richard Adler Music and J amp J Ross Co USA

WarnerChappell Music Ltd London w6 8bs

Reproduced by permission of International Music Publications

Ltd All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction Names characters places and incidents

either are the products of the authorrsquos imagination or are used

fictitiously Any resemblance to actual events locales organiza-

tions or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and

beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher

UNLESS Copyright copy 2002 by Carol Shields All rights

reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright

Conventions By payment of the required fees you have been

granted the non-exclusive non-transferable right to access and

read the text of this e-book on-screen No part of this text may

be reproduced transmitted down-loaded decompiled reverse

engineered or stored in or introduced into any information stor-

age and retrieval system in any form or by any means whether

electronic or mechanical now known or hereinafter invented

without the express written permission of PerfectBoundtrade

PerfectBound trade and the PerfectBoundtrade logo are trademarks

of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

Adobe Acrobat E-Book Reader edition v 1 May 2002

ISBN 0-06-052370-0

Print edition first published in 2002

by Forth Estate a division of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 4

and evenly as human breath Naturally the novel would have ahappy ending I never doubted but that I could write this noveland I did in mdashin a swoop alone during three dark wintermonths when the girls were away all day at school

The Middle Years the translation of volume three of Wester-manrsquos memoirs is coming out this fall Volume three exploresWestermanrsquos numerous love affairs with both men and womenand none of this will be shocking or even surprising to her read-ers What is new is the suppleness and strength of her sentencesAlways an artist of concision and selflessness she has arrived inher old age at a gorgeous fluidity and expansion of phrase Mytranslation doesnrsquot begin to express what she has accomplishedThe book is stark itrsquos also sentimental one balances and rescuesthe other strangely enough I can only imagine that those end-less calcium pills Danielle chokes down every morning and the vitamin E and the emu oil capsules have fed directly into hervein of language so that what lands on the page is larger morerapturous more self-forgetful than anything shersquos written beforeand all of it sprouting short swift digressions that pretend to be just careless asides little swoons of surrender to her ownexperience inviting us her readers to believe in the totality ofher abandonment

Either that or shersquos gone senile to good effect a grand loosen-ing of language in her old age The thought has more than onceoccurred to me

Another thought has drifted by silken as a breeze against alattice Therersquos something missing in these memoirs or so I thinkin my solipsistic view Danielle Westerman suffers she feels the pangs of existential loneliness the absence of sexual love thetreason of her own womanrsquos body She has no partner no one forwhom she is the first person in the world order no one to dependon as I do on Tom She does not have a child or any survivingblood connection for that matter and perhaps itrsquos this that makesthe memoirs themselves childlike They go down like good milkfoaming swirling in the glass

I shouldnrsquot mention Book Number Eleven since it is not afait accompli but I will Irsquom going to write a second novel asequel to My Thyme Is Up Today is the day I intend to begin Thefirst sentence is already tapped into my computer ldquoAlicia was notas happy as she deserved to berdquo

I have no idea what will happen in this book It is a mereabstraction at the moment something thatrsquos popped out of theground like the rounded snout of a crocus on a cold lawn Irsquovestumbled up against this idea in my clumsy manner and now the urge to write it wonrsquot go away This will be a book about lostchildren about goodness and going home and being happy andtrying to keep the poison of the printed page in perspective Irsquomdesperate to know how the story will turn out

Nearly

We are more than halfway through the year Toward the beginning of August Tomrsquos old friendColin Glass came to dinner one night driving out

from Toronto Over coffee he attempted to explain the theory ofrelativity to me

I was the one who invited him to launch into the subjectRelativity is a piece of knowledge Irsquove always longed to under-stand a big piece but the explainers tend to go too fast or elsethey skip over a step they assume their audience has alreadyabsorbed Apparently there was once a time when only oneperson in the world understood relativity (Einstein) then twopeople then three or four and now most of the high-school kidswho take physics have at least an inkling or so Irsquom told Howhard can it be And itrsquos passed according to Colin from crazyspeculation to confirmed fact which makes it even more impor-tant to understand Irsquove tried but my grasp feels tenuous So thespeed of light is constant Is that all

Ordinarily I love these long August evenings the splash ofamber light that falls on the white dining-room walls just beforethe separate shades of twilight take over The medallion leavesthat flutter their round ghost shadows All day Irsquod listened to the white-throated sparrows in the woods behind our house their song resembles the Canadian national anthem at least theopening bars Summer was dying but in pieces Wersquod be eatingoutside if it werenrsquot for the wasps Good food the company of agood friend what more could anyone desire But I kept thinking

of Norah sitting on her square of pavement and holding up thepiece of cardboard with the word and then I lost trackof what Colin was saying

E=mc Energy equals mass times the speed of light squaredThe tidiness of the equation raised my immediate suspicion Howcan massmdashthis solid oak dining table for instancemdashhave any con-nection with how fast light travels Theyrsquore two different thingsColin who is a physicist was patient with my objections Hetook the linen napkin from his lap and stretched it taut across thetop of his coffee cup Then he took a cherry from the fruit bowland placed it on the napkin creating a small dimple He tipped thecup slightly so that the cherry rotated around the surface of the napkin He spoke of energy and mass but already I had lost a critical filament of the argument I worried slightly about hiscoffee sloshing up onto the napkin and staining it and thoughthow seldom in the last few years I had bothered with clothnapkins Nobody except maybe Danielle Westerman does realnapkins anymore it was understood that modern professionalwomen had better things to do with their time than launder linen

By now I had forgotten completely what the cherry (more thanfour dollars a pound) represented and what the little dimple wassupposed to be Colin talked on and on and Tom who is a familyphysician and has a broad scientific background seemed to befollowing at least he was nodding his head appropriately Mymother-in-law Lois had politely excused herself and returned toher house next door she would never miss the ten-orsquoclock newsher watching of the ten-orsquoclock news helps the country of Canadato go forward Christine and Natalie had long since drifted fromthe table and I could hear the buzz and burst of TV noises in the den

Pet our golden retriever parked his shaggy self under thetable his whole dog body humming away against my footSometimes in his dreams he groans and sometimes he chortleswith happiness I found myself thinking about Marietta Colinrsquoswife who had packed her bags a few months ago and moved to

Calgary to be with another man She claimed Colin was toowrapped up in his research and teaching to be a true partner Abeautiful woman with a neck like a plant stem she hinted thatthere had been a collapse of passion in their marriage She had left suddenly coldly he had been shocked he had had no idea hetold us in the early days that she had been unhappy all theseyears but he found her diaries in a desk drawer and read themsick with realization that a gulf of misunderstanding separatedthem

Why would a woman leave such personal diaries behind To punish to hurt of course Colin for the most part a decentkind-hearted man used to address her in a dry admonitory wayas though she were a graduate student instead of his wife ldquoDonrsquottell me this is processed cheeserdquo he asked her once when we were having dinner at their house Another time ldquoThis coffee isundrinkablerdquo He loved pleasuremdashhe was that kind of manmdashandtook it for granted and couldnrsquot help his little yelps of outragewhen pleasure failed You could call him an innocent in his expec-tations almost naive on this particular August evening It was asthough he were alone in a vaulted chamber echoing with immen-sities while Tom and I stood attendance just outside the doorcatching the overflow the odd glimpse of his skewed but calmbrilliance Even the little pockets under his eyes were phlegmaticHe was not a shallow person but perhaps he suspected that wewere I had to stop myself interrupting with a joke I often do thisIrsquom afraid ask for an explanation and then drift off into my ownthoughts

How could he now be sitting at our table so calmly toyingwith cherries and coffee cups and rolling the edge of his strawplacemat and pressing this heft of information on us It was closeto midnight he had an hourrsquos drive ahead of him What did thetheory of relativity really matter to his ongoing life Colin withhis small specs and trim moustache was at ease with big ideas likerelativity As a theory relativity worked it held all sorts of impor-tant ldquoconceptsrdquo together with its precision and elegance Think of

glue lavishly applied he said helpfully about relativity think ofthe power of the shrewd guess Such a sweeping perspective hadbeen visionary at the beginning but had been assessed and re-inforced and it was moreover Colin was now insisting usefulIn the face of lifersquos uncertainties relativityrsquos weight could beassumed and then set aside part of the package of consciousness

He finished awkwardly sat back in his chair with his two longarms extended ldquoSordquo Thatrsquos it he seemed to say or thatrsquos asmuch as I can do to simplify and explain so brilliant an idea Heglanced at his watch then sat back again exhausted pleased withhimself He wore a well-pressed cotton shirt with blue and yellowstripes neatly tucked into his black jeans He has no interest in clothes This shirt must go back to his married days chosen for him ironed for him by Marietta herself and put on a hangerperhaps a summer ago

The theory of relativity would not bring Colinrsquos wife hurryingback to the old stone house on Oriole Parkway It would notbring my daughter Norah home from the corner of Bathurst andBloor or the Promise Hostel where she beds at night Tom and I followed her one day we had to know how she managedwhether she was safe The weather would be turning cold soonHow does she bear it Cold concrete Dirt Uncombed hair

ldquoWould you sayrdquo I asked ColinmdashI had not spoken for severalminutesmdashldquothat the theory of relativity has reduced the weight ofgoodness and depravity in the worldrdquo

He stared at me ldquoRelativity has no moral position None what-everrdquo (ldquoThis coffee is undrinkablerdquo)

I looked to Tom for support but he was gazing with his mildeyes at the ceiling smiling I knew that smile

ldquoBut isnrsquot it possiblerdquo I said to Colin ldquoto think that goodnessor virtue if you like could be a wave or particle of energyrdquo

ldquoNordquo he said ldquoNo it is not possiblerdquoI made an abrupt move to clear the table I was suddenly

exhaustedStill I am thankful for the friendship and intellectual ardour of

such an unpretentious man as Colin Glass who despite his suffer-ing and shame really wanted me to understand a key concept ofthe twentieth century Or was he simply diverting himself for anhour This is what I must learn the art of diversion He said notone word about Marietta all evening long Tom and I understandthat he is reconstructing his life without her But a daughter issomething different A daughter of nineteen cannot be erased

Once

It was understood that I would do the publicity such as it was for Danielle Westermanrsquos third volume of memoirs Ateighty-five she was too old and too distinguished to handle

a day of interviews in Toronto even though she lives there I asthe translator could easily field questions from the press A verylight schedule was organized by the publisher since Dr Wester-man already possesses a long twilight of faithful readership

In early September I drove into Orangetown down its calmold-fashioned main street and into the countryside again The cityof Toronto monumental and lonely glowed in front of me Itsoutskirts are ragged though its numbered exits pretend at a kindof order Traffic was light I drove slowly by the corner of Bloorand Bathurst for a glimpse of Norah There she was as always onthe northeast corner seated on the ground near the subwayentrance with her bowl and cardboard sign even though it wasnot yet nine orsquoclock Had she had breakfast Did she have nits inher hair What is she thinking or is her mind a great blank

I parked the car and walked over to where she was ldquoHellodarling Norahrdquo I said setting down a plastic bag of food breadand cheese fruit and raw vegetables And in an envelope arecent photo of Pet with his straight proud muzzle and furry ruff Norah of all the girls doted on Pet and now I was bribingher shamelessly It was a chilly day and it iced my heart to see herunreadable immobility but I was glad to notice that she waswearing warm mittens Glad Me glad The least little signal willgladden my heart these days Today she looked not quite at me

and nodded Another wave of gladness struck I allow myself onlyone such glimpse a week since shersquos made it clear she doesnrsquotwant to see us

It is like watching her through plate glass All week I will drawexpensively on this brief moment of voyeurism at the same timetrying to blot it out with images of Norah on her bicycle Norahsitting at the kitchen table studying for exams Norah reaching forher green raincoat Norah trying on new school shoes Norahsleeping safe

After a while I went to have my eyebrows arched and tinted atSylviarsquos which calls itself a ldquospirit spardquo meaning it seemed thatwhile Madame Sylvia swiped at my brow with a little paintbrushshe murmured and sang into my ear It was now nine-thirty in themorning and I lay on a narrow table in a tiny white room ldquoYouare at the age when you must protect the fine skin around theeyesrdquo she warned ldquoA womanrsquos face falls it is inevitable but the eyes go on and on giving light You will be eighty ninety and your eyes will still charmrdquo

She knows nothing about my life Irsquove never been here beforeand have never thought of having an eyebrow tint I have per-fectly decent eyebrows nicely shaped and regular but I did lookinto a mirror a week or so ago and noticed that the small hairs atthe outside corners were coming in grey There was a little greyat the temples too but nothing to be surprised about not for a woman whose forty-fourth birthday is approaching not for awoman who has never even thought of herself as possessingldquotemplesrdquo such august body parts

ldquoAre you by any chance a Geminirdquo Madame Sylvia askedintimately Swish went the paintbrush She stopped peered at meclosely then swished again a deft little stroke

ldquoNordquo I said ashamed to acknowledge the astrological universeldquoMy birthdayrsquos in September Next week in factrdquo

ldquoI can tell yesrdquo She had a touch of the harridan in her voice ldquoIcan always tellrdquo

What could she tell

ldquoTwenty-four dollarsrdquo she said ldquoLet me give you my card Fornext timerdquo

Presumptuous but yes there will be a next time I calculatedquickly My face would make it through the next few weeks butby November I will probably be back in Madame Sylviarsquos hushedwhite cell I may well become a regular Eyebrows lashes fullfacials neck massage I have led a reflective life a life of thoughta writer a translator but all this is about to change The delicateskin around my eyes was demanding attention Has Tom noticedI donrsquot think so Christine and Natalie donrsquot really look at me inthat way they just see this watercolour blob that means motherwhich is rather how I see myself

ldquoA womanrsquos charm is with her for liferdquo Madame Sylvia saidldquobut you must pay attentionrdquo

No I thought an hour later no Irsquom sorry but I have no plansto be charming on a regular basis Anyone can be charming Itrsquosreally a cheap trick mere charm so astonishingly easy to per-form screwing up your face into sunbeams and spewing themforth The calculated lift of the wrist chin up thumb and fore-finger brought together to form a little feminine loop that trick of pretending to sit on a little glass chair that concentration ofradiance lrsquoesprit little sprinkles of it everywhere misting the airlike bargain scent Ingenue spritz Emma Allen calls it

I know that cheapness so intimatelymdashthe grainy sugary per-severing way charm enters a fresh mouth and rubs against themolars sticking there in soft wads promoting mouth ulcers or whatever it is thatrsquos the metaphoric projection of self-hatredOf all the social virtues charm is in the end the most unreward-ing And compared to goodness real goodness or the unmovableself-abnegation my daughter Norah practises charm is nothingbut crumpled tissue paper soiled from previous use

Sincerity No Sincerityrsquos over Sincerityrsquos lost whatever edge ithad Itrsquos fine fine matter but wasted on the press who all grew uppost-Holocaust devoted readers of Mad Magazine and wouldnrsquotrecognize a bar of willed innocence if it came wrapped in foil

Nor will I ever again be pointlessly endlessly polite I got overthat two years ago when I did my author tour It seems Irsquove lostlike a stream of pebbles leaving my hand the kind of endurancethat professional courtesy demands suck in your breath let yourface go numb listen to the interviewerrsquos questions registeroptimally let your breath out evaluate the feelings of those whodepend on you (agent publisher editor that nice Sheila personwho does publicity and of course Danielle Westerman) andperform again and again like the tuned-up athlete you are the fitphysical specimen that each new book demands then move on tothe next task

Mrs Winters who has just translated The Middle Years the un-

folding memoir of Holocaust survivor Danielle Westerman is a woman

of grace and charm whose thick brown hair is arranged into a bun

Putting down her coffee cup she shrugs off her beige raincoat and

Irsquove entered early middle age now and I have a nineteen-year-old daughter who lives on the street I no longer require a reputa-tion for charm those saving lilac shadows and contours Maybe Inever did I wonrsquotmdashnot nowmdashtuck the ends of my sentences intolittle licks of favour and the next time a journalist pins me downwith a personal question trolling for informationmdashTell me MrsWinters how are you able to balance your family and profes-sional lifemdashI will stare back hard with my newly practised stareHow do I balance my life Tinted eyebrows up Just what kind ofinquiry is this Wouldnrsquot you prefer Mrs Winters to pursue youown writing rather than translate Dr Westermanrsquos work Pleasenot that again How did you and your husband meet What doeshe think of your writing

I will in the future address my interviewer directly and saywith firmness ldquoThis interview is overrdquo There is nothing to loseRude and difficult people are more likely to be taken seriouslyCurmudgeons are positively adored Irsquove noticed this Even thefascinatingly unknowable earn respect

And when I read in the paper tomorrow that ldquoMrs Winterslooked all of her forty-three yearsrdquo and that ldquoMrs Winters with

her familiar overbite was reluctant to talk about her work sched-ulerdquo I will want to phone the editor and complain bitterly Thisfrom the pen of a small unattractive man almost entirely lip-less beneath a bony domineering nose sweating with minorambition head tilted like something carved out of yellow wax

He interviewed me in a cappuccino bar in mid-Toronto Achilly stooped round-headed man in his thirties or fortiesmdashitwas hard to tellmdashslow to smile pathetically in need of humanattention thinking his superior thoughts Fluff on his shouldersbegged to be picked off I on the other hand was wearing a softjade jacket of cashmere lined with silk which represented a raresplurge on my part but I could be sure this man would over-look this garment with its crystal buttons and mandarin collar andconcentrate instead on my drab raincoat beige and not quitepristine at the cuffs In print he will be certain to refer to mychignon as a bun Itrsquos taken me years to learn to do a glossy littlechignonmdashI can get my hair brushed back and securely pinned up each morning in a mere two and a half minutes and I considermy coiffure one of my major life accomplishments I really meanthis

Sheila from publicity had filled me in before the interview andI felt the information packet hovering what to do with it Thisyoungyoungish man was the newly appointed books columnistat Booktimes He was well known for holding pious opinions aboutthe literature of the Great North about his own role as advocateof a diverse new outpouring of Canadian voices the post-colonialcry of blaming anguish The stream of current fiction aboutmiddle-class people living in cities was diluting the authenticnational voice that rose from the landscape itself andmdash

Oh shut up shut upCappuccino foam dotted the corners of his undistinguished

mouth And just one more question Mrs WintersmdashOf course he didnrsquot call me Reta even though there might be

only a year or two between us The ldquoMrsrdquo gave him power overme that vexing r rucking things up in the middle and making one

think of such distractions as clotheslines and baking tins He wasthe barking terrier going at Mrs Wintersrsquos ankles shaking out hisfur and asking me to justify myself wanting me to explain thespluttering dying whimpering bonfire of my life which I wouldnot dream of sharing He seemed to forget he was interviewingme about Danielle Westermanrsquos new book

I understand yoursquore working on a second novel said heWell yesTakes nerveUh-huhActuallymdashactually well he had a novel on the go himselfReally What a surpriseAt the end of the hour he did not ask for the bill I asked for the

bill ldquoIrsquoll just put it on my Visardquo I said breaking a tenuous breadthof silence I announced this with all the majesty I could musterover a vinyl table like a grande dame adding twenty years to myage and feeling the vowels shifting in my beautifully mouldedthroat Such dignity I surprised myself with my own resonanceand I may have managed a pained smile displaying no doubtthat famous overbite He turned off the tape recorder at the wordldquoVisardquo

He had two young children at home he said Christ what aresponsibility although he loved the little bastards One of themwas quite quite gifted well they both were in their separateways But the work of raising kids Never enough time to read thebooks he had to review books all over the house with little mark-ers in them books he would never finish So much was expectedand of course like all journalists he was underpaid

Oh shut upThey also expected him to do a feature on the weekendUh-huhAnd last week hersquod actually broken the MacBunna storyReally Macumba MarimbaCongratulations said Mrs Reta Winters from OrangetownThanks

I should be getting on my way I said My parking meter Alunch date A long drive home

I understand you and your family live in a lovely old housenear Orangetown

And then slyly I understand one of your daughters now livesin Toronto and

Irsquove been here before There is something about having anestablished family a long-lasting spousal arrangement threedaughters in their teens a house in the country a suggestion ofimpermeability that draws the curiosity of others so that theycan as Tom says probe with probity

But no this man across the table will not be feeding on myflesh nor will his colleaguesmdashthough one can tell that he has nocolleagues there is no possibility of colleagues He has no contextfor friends or co-workers though there are the kids and therersquosthe wife hersquos referred to her three times now Nicola She has herprofessional life too he tells me as though the matter were indispute

I canrsquot resist ldquoDoes Nicolamdashis she a journalist toordquoldquoJournalistrdquoldquoLike you I meanrdquoHis hand jumps and for a moment I think hersquos going to turn

the tape recorder on again But no hersquos reaching into his pocketand now hersquos releasing two coins onto the table The tip They liethere moist from his hand Two dimes I focus on them withwhat I hope is a cool censorious gaze

But hersquos not looking at me Hersquos looking across the roomwhere a silver-haired man is seating himself gracefully at a tableldquoIrsquom not sure but I think thatrsquos Gore Vidalrdquo my interviewer whis-pers in a hungry voice ldquoHersquos here for the writersrsquo festival youknowrdquo

I rise and exit as though led by a brass quintetThe charming Mrs Winters slips on her comfortable beige rain-

coat

I would like to thank a number of others who in one way or another encouraged me in the writing of Unless SharonAllan Marjorie Anderson the late Joan Austen-Leigh JoanBarfoot Clare Boylan Marg Edmond Brown Joan ClarkAnne Collins Cynthia Coop Patrick Crowe Maggie DwyerDarlene Hammell Blanche Howard Isabel Huggan CarlLenthe Madeline Li Elinor Lipman Anna and Sylvie MatasMargaret Shaw-Mackinnon Don McCarthy Peter ParkerBella Pomer Christopher Potter Linda Rogers CaroleSabiston Floyd St Clair Eleanor Wachtel Cindi WarnerMindy Werner the John Simon Guggenheim Foundationand as always my family John Audrey Anne CatherineMeg Sara and especially Don

About the Author

Carol Shields is the author of eight novels and two collections of short stories

The Stone Diaries won the Pulitzer Prize and was shortlisted for the Booker

Prize Larryrsquos Party won the Orange Prize Born and brought up in Chicago

Carol Shields has lived in Canada since 1957

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 1

Others

Intersect

Coming to Canada

Larryrsquos Party

The Stone Diaries

The Republic of Love

A Celibate Season (with Blanche Howard)Swann

A Fairly Conventional Woman

Happenstance

The Box Garden

Small Ceremonies

Various Miracles

The Orange Fish

Dressing Up for the Carnival

Departures and Arrivals

Thirteen Hands

Fashion Power Guilt and the Charity of Families

(with Catherine Shields)Anniversary (with David Williamson)

Susanna Moodie Voice and Vision

Jane Austen

Dropped Threads What We Arenrsquot Told

(Edited with Marjorie Anderson)

Credits

Design by Julian HumphriesPhotographer by Michael CrouserDesigned by Dinah Drazin

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 2

If you enjoyed reading this excerpt please visitHarperCollins Publishers to find out where to buy thisand other PerfectBound e-books

Australiahttpwwwharpercollinscomau

Canadahttpwwwharpercanadacom

New Zealandhttpwwwharpercollinsconz

United Kingdomhttpwwwfireandwatercom

United Stateshttpwwwperfectboundcom

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 3

The Pajama Game Words and Music by Richard Adler Music

and Jerry Ross copy Richard Adler Music and J amp J Ross Co USA

WarnerChappell Music Ltd London w6 8bs

Reproduced by permission of International Music Publications

Ltd All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction Names characters places and incidents

either are the products of the authorrsquos imagination or are used

fictitiously Any resemblance to actual events locales organiza-

tions or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and

beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher

UNLESS Copyright copy 2002 by Carol Shields All rights

reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright

Conventions By payment of the required fees you have been

granted the non-exclusive non-transferable right to access and

read the text of this e-book on-screen No part of this text may

be reproduced transmitted down-loaded decompiled reverse

engineered or stored in or introduced into any information stor-

age and retrieval system in any form or by any means whether

electronic or mechanical now known or hereinafter invented

without the express written permission of PerfectBoundtrade

PerfectBound trade and the PerfectBoundtrade logo are trademarks

of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

Adobe Acrobat E-Book Reader edition v 1 May 2002

ISBN 0-06-052370-0

Print edition first published in 2002

by Forth Estate a division of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 4

I shouldnrsquot mention Book Number Eleven since it is not afait accompli but I will Irsquom going to write a second novel asequel to My Thyme Is Up Today is the day I intend to begin Thefirst sentence is already tapped into my computer ldquoAlicia was notas happy as she deserved to berdquo

I have no idea what will happen in this book It is a mereabstraction at the moment something thatrsquos popped out of theground like the rounded snout of a crocus on a cold lawn Irsquovestumbled up against this idea in my clumsy manner and now the urge to write it wonrsquot go away This will be a book about lostchildren about goodness and going home and being happy andtrying to keep the poison of the printed page in perspective Irsquomdesperate to know how the story will turn out

Nearly

We are more than halfway through the year Toward the beginning of August Tomrsquos old friendColin Glass came to dinner one night driving out

from Toronto Over coffee he attempted to explain the theory ofrelativity to me

I was the one who invited him to launch into the subjectRelativity is a piece of knowledge Irsquove always longed to under-stand a big piece but the explainers tend to go too fast or elsethey skip over a step they assume their audience has alreadyabsorbed Apparently there was once a time when only oneperson in the world understood relativity (Einstein) then twopeople then three or four and now most of the high-school kidswho take physics have at least an inkling or so Irsquom told Howhard can it be And itrsquos passed according to Colin from crazyspeculation to confirmed fact which makes it even more impor-tant to understand Irsquove tried but my grasp feels tenuous So thespeed of light is constant Is that all

Ordinarily I love these long August evenings the splash ofamber light that falls on the white dining-room walls just beforethe separate shades of twilight take over The medallion leavesthat flutter their round ghost shadows All day Irsquod listened to the white-throated sparrows in the woods behind our house their song resembles the Canadian national anthem at least theopening bars Summer was dying but in pieces Wersquod be eatingoutside if it werenrsquot for the wasps Good food the company of agood friend what more could anyone desire But I kept thinking

of Norah sitting on her square of pavement and holding up thepiece of cardboard with the word and then I lost trackof what Colin was saying

E=mc Energy equals mass times the speed of light squaredThe tidiness of the equation raised my immediate suspicion Howcan massmdashthis solid oak dining table for instancemdashhave any con-nection with how fast light travels Theyrsquore two different thingsColin who is a physicist was patient with my objections Hetook the linen napkin from his lap and stretched it taut across thetop of his coffee cup Then he took a cherry from the fruit bowland placed it on the napkin creating a small dimple He tipped thecup slightly so that the cherry rotated around the surface of the napkin He spoke of energy and mass but already I had lost a critical filament of the argument I worried slightly about hiscoffee sloshing up onto the napkin and staining it and thoughthow seldom in the last few years I had bothered with clothnapkins Nobody except maybe Danielle Westerman does realnapkins anymore it was understood that modern professionalwomen had better things to do with their time than launder linen

By now I had forgotten completely what the cherry (more thanfour dollars a pound) represented and what the little dimple wassupposed to be Colin talked on and on and Tom who is a familyphysician and has a broad scientific background seemed to befollowing at least he was nodding his head appropriately Mymother-in-law Lois had politely excused herself and returned toher house next door she would never miss the ten-orsquoclock newsher watching of the ten-orsquoclock news helps the country of Canadato go forward Christine and Natalie had long since drifted fromthe table and I could hear the buzz and burst of TV noises in the den

Pet our golden retriever parked his shaggy self under thetable his whole dog body humming away against my footSometimes in his dreams he groans and sometimes he chortleswith happiness I found myself thinking about Marietta Colinrsquoswife who had packed her bags a few months ago and moved to

Calgary to be with another man She claimed Colin was toowrapped up in his research and teaching to be a true partner Abeautiful woman with a neck like a plant stem she hinted thatthere had been a collapse of passion in their marriage She had left suddenly coldly he had been shocked he had had no idea hetold us in the early days that she had been unhappy all theseyears but he found her diaries in a desk drawer and read themsick with realization that a gulf of misunderstanding separatedthem

Why would a woman leave such personal diaries behind To punish to hurt of course Colin for the most part a decentkind-hearted man used to address her in a dry admonitory wayas though she were a graduate student instead of his wife ldquoDonrsquottell me this is processed cheeserdquo he asked her once when we were having dinner at their house Another time ldquoThis coffee isundrinkablerdquo He loved pleasuremdashhe was that kind of manmdashandtook it for granted and couldnrsquot help his little yelps of outragewhen pleasure failed You could call him an innocent in his expec-tations almost naive on this particular August evening It was asthough he were alone in a vaulted chamber echoing with immen-sities while Tom and I stood attendance just outside the doorcatching the overflow the odd glimpse of his skewed but calmbrilliance Even the little pockets under his eyes were phlegmaticHe was not a shallow person but perhaps he suspected that wewere I had to stop myself interrupting with a joke I often do thisIrsquom afraid ask for an explanation and then drift off into my ownthoughts

How could he now be sitting at our table so calmly toyingwith cherries and coffee cups and rolling the edge of his strawplacemat and pressing this heft of information on us It was closeto midnight he had an hourrsquos drive ahead of him What did thetheory of relativity really matter to his ongoing life Colin withhis small specs and trim moustache was at ease with big ideas likerelativity As a theory relativity worked it held all sorts of impor-tant ldquoconceptsrdquo together with its precision and elegance Think of

glue lavishly applied he said helpfully about relativity think ofthe power of the shrewd guess Such a sweeping perspective hadbeen visionary at the beginning but had been assessed and re-inforced and it was moreover Colin was now insisting usefulIn the face of lifersquos uncertainties relativityrsquos weight could beassumed and then set aside part of the package of consciousness

He finished awkwardly sat back in his chair with his two longarms extended ldquoSordquo Thatrsquos it he seemed to say or thatrsquos asmuch as I can do to simplify and explain so brilliant an idea Heglanced at his watch then sat back again exhausted pleased withhimself He wore a well-pressed cotton shirt with blue and yellowstripes neatly tucked into his black jeans He has no interest in clothes This shirt must go back to his married days chosen for him ironed for him by Marietta herself and put on a hangerperhaps a summer ago

The theory of relativity would not bring Colinrsquos wife hurryingback to the old stone house on Oriole Parkway It would notbring my daughter Norah home from the corner of Bathurst andBloor or the Promise Hostel where she beds at night Tom and I followed her one day we had to know how she managedwhether she was safe The weather would be turning cold soonHow does she bear it Cold concrete Dirt Uncombed hair

ldquoWould you sayrdquo I asked ColinmdashI had not spoken for severalminutesmdashldquothat the theory of relativity has reduced the weight ofgoodness and depravity in the worldrdquo

He stared at me ldquoRelativity has no moral position None what-everrdquo (ldquoThis coffee is undrinkablerdquo)

I looked to Tom for support but he was gazing with his mildeyes at the ceiling smiling I knew that smile

ldquoBut isnrsquot it possiblerdquo I said to Colin ldquoto think that goodnessor virtue if you like could be a wave or particle of energyrdquo

ldquoNordquo he said ldquoNo it is not possiblerdquoI made an abrupt move to clear the table I was suddenly

exhaustedStill I am thankful for the friendship and intellectual ardour of

such an unpretentious man as Colin Glass who despite his suffer-ing and shame really wanted me to understand a key concept ofthe twentieth century Or was he simply diverting himself for anhour This is what I must learn the art of diversion He said notone word about Marietta all evening long Tom and I understandthat he is reconstructing his life without her But a daughter issomething different A daughter of nineteen cannot be erased

Once

It was understood that I would do the publicity such as it was for Danielle Westermanrsquos third volume of memoirs Ateighty-five she was too old and too distinguished to handle

a day of interviews in Toronto even though she lives there I asthe translator could easily field questions from the press A verylight schedule was organized by the publisher since Dr Wester-man already possesses a long twilight of faithful readership

In early September I drove into Orangetown down its calmold-fashioned main street and into the countryside again The cityof Toronto monumental and lonely glowed in front of me Itsoutskirts are ragged though its numbered exits pretend at a kindof order Traffic was light I drove slowly by the corner of Bloorand Bathurst for a glimpse of Norah There she was as always onthe northeast corner seated on the ground near the subwayentrance with her bowl and cardboard sign even though it wasnot yet nine orsquoclock Had she had breakfast Did she have nits inher hair What is she thinking or is her mind a great blank

I parked the car and walked over to where she was ldquoHellodarling Norahrdquo I said setting down a plastic bag of food breadand cheese fruit and raw vegetables And in an envelope arecent photo of Pet with his straight proud muzzle and furry ruff Norah of all the girls doted on Pet and now I was bribingher shamelessly It was a chilly day and it iced my heart to see herunreadable immobility but I was glad to notice that she waswearing warm mittens Glad Me glad The least little signal willgladden my heart these days Today she looked not quite at me

and nodded Another wave of gladness struck I allow myself onlyone such glimpse a week since shersquos made it clear she doesnrsquotwant to see us

It is like watching her through plate glass All week I will drawexpensively on this brief moment of voyeurism at the same timetrying to blot it out with images of Norah on her bicycle Norahsitting at the kitchen table studying for exams Norah reaching forher green raincoat Norah trying on new school shoes Norahsleeping safe

After a while I went to have my eyebrows arched and tinted atSylviarsquos which calls itself a ldquospirit spardquo meaning it seemed thatwhile Madame Sylvia swiped at my brow with a little paintbrushshe murmured and sang into my ear It was now nine-thirty in themorning and I lay on a narrow table in a tiny white room ldquoYouare at the age when you must protect the fine skin around theeyesrdquo she warned ldquoA womanrsquos face falls it is inevitable but the eyes go on and on giving light You will be eighty ninety and your eyes will still charmrdquo

She knows nothing about my life Irsquove never been here beforeand have never thought of having an eyebrow tint I have per-fectly decent eyebrows nicely shaped and regular but I did lookinto a mirror a week or so ago and noticed that the small hairs atthe outside corners were coming in grey There was a little greyat the temples too but nothing to be surprised about not for a woman whose forty-fourth birthday is approaching not for awoman who has never even thought of herself as possessingldquotemplesrdquo such august body parts

ldquoAre you by any chance a Geminirdquo Madame Sylvia askedintimately Swish went the paintbrush She stopped peered at meclosely then swished again a deft little stroke

ldquoNordquo I said ashamed to acknowledge the astrological universeldquoMy birthdayrsquos in September Next week in factrdquo

ldquoI can tell yesrdquo She had a touch of the harridan in her voice ldquoIcan always tellrdquo

What could she tell

ldquoTwenty-four dollarsrdquo she said ldquoLet me give you my card Fornext timerdquo

Presumptuous but yes there will be a next time I calculatedquickly My face would make it through the next few weeks butby November I will probably be back in Madame Sylviarsquos hushedwhite cell I may well become a regular Eyebrows lashes fullfacials neck massage I have led a reflective life a life of thoughta writer a translator but all this is about to change The delicateskin around my eyes was demanding attention Has Tom noticedI donrsquot think so Christine and Natalie donrsquot really look at me inthat way they just see this watercolour blob that means motherwhich is rather how I see myself

ldquoA womanrsquos charm is with her for liferdquo Madame Sylvia saidldquobut you must pay attentionrdquo

No I thought an hour later no Irsquom sorry but I have no plansto be charming on a regular basis Anyone can be charming Itrsquosreally a cheap trick mere charm so astonishingly easy to per-form screwing up your face into sunbeams and spewing themforth The calculated lift of the wrist chin up thumb and fore-finger brought together to form a little feminine loop that trick of pretending to sit on a little glass chair that concentration ofradiance lrsquoesprit little sprinkles of it everywhere misting the airlike bargain scent Ingenue spritz Emma Allen calls it

I know that cheapness so intimatelymdashthe grainy sugary per-severing way charm enters a fresh mouth and rubs against themolars sticking there in soft wads promoting mouth ulcers or whatever it is thatrsquos the metaphoric projection of self-hatredOf all the social virtues charm is in the end the most unreward-ing And compared to goodness real goodness or the unmovableself-abnegation my daughter Norah practises charm is nothingbut crumpled tissue paper soiled from previous use

Sincerity No Sincerityrsquos over Sincerityrsquos lost whatever edge ithad Itrsquos fine fine matter but wasted on the press who all grew uppost-Holocaust devoted readers of Mad Magazine and wouldnrsquotrecognize a bar of willed innocence if it came wrapped in foil

Nor will I ever again be pointlessly endlessly polite I got overthat two years ago when I did my author tour It seems Irsquove lostlike a stream of pebbles leaving my hand the kind of endurancethat professional courtesy demands suck in your breath let yourface go numb listen to the interviewerrsquos questions registeroptimally let your breath out evaluate the feelings of those whodepend on you (agent publisher editor that nice Sheila personwho does publicity and of course Danielle Westerman) andperform again and again like the tuned-up athlete you are the fitphysical specimen that each new book demands then move on tothe next task

Mrs Winters who has just translated The Middle Years the un-

folding memoir of Holocaust survivor Danielle Westerman is a woman

of grace and charm whose thick brown hair is arranged into a bun

Putting down her coffee cup she shrugs off her beige raincoat and

Irsquove entered early middle age now and I have a nineteen-year-old daughter who lives on the street I no longer require a reputa-tion for charm those saving lilac shadows and contours Maybe Inever did I wonrsquotmdashnot nowmdashtuck the ends of my sentences intolittle licks of favour and the next time a journalist pins me downwith a personal question trolling for informationmdashTell me MrsWinters how are you able to balance your family and profes-sional lifemdashI will stare back hard with my newly practised stareHow do I balance my life Tinted eyebrows up Just what kind ofinquiry is this Wouldnrsquot you prefer Mrs Winters to pursue youown writing rather than translate Dr Westermanrsquos work Pleasenot that again How did you and your husband meet What doeshe think of your writing

I will in the future address my interviewer directly and saywith firmness ldquoThis interview is overrdquo There is nothing to loseRude and difficult people are more likely to be taken seriouslyCurmudgeons are positively adored Irsquove noticed this Even thefascinatingly unknowable earn respect

And when I read in the paper tomorrow that ldquoMrs Winterslooked all of her forty-three yearsrdquo and that ldquoMrs Winters with

her familiar overbite was reluctant to talk about her work sched-ulerdquo I will want to phone the editor and complain bitterly Thisfrom the pen of a small unattractive man almost entirely lip-less beneath a bony domineering nose sweating with minorambition head tilted like something carved out of yellow wax

He interviewed me in a cappuccino bar in mid-Toronto Achilly stooped round-headed man in his thirties or fortiesmdashitwas hard to tellmdashslow to smile pathetically in need of humanattention thinking his superior thoughts Fluff on his shouldersbegged to be picked off I on the other hand was wearing a softjade jacket of cashmere lined with silk which represented a raresplurge on my part but I could be sure this man would over-look this garment with its crystal buttons and mandarin collar andconcentrate instead on my drab raincoat beige and not quitepristine at the cuffs In print he will be certain to refer to mychignon as a bun Itrsquos taken me years to learn to do a glossy littlechignonmdashI can get my hair brushed back and securely pinned up each morning in a mere two and a half minutes and I considermy coiffure one of my major life accomplishments I really meanthis

Sheila from publicity had filled me in before the interview andI felt the information packet hovering what to do with it Thisyoungyoungish man was the newly appointed books columnistat Booktimes He was well known for holding pious opinions aboutthe literature of the Great North about his own role as advocateof a diverse new outpouring of Canadian voices the post-colonialcry of blaming anguish The stream of current fiction aboutmiddle-class people living in cities was diluting the authenticnational voice that rose from the landscape itself andmdash

Oh shut up shut upCappuccino foam dotted the corners of his undistinguished

mouth And just one more question Mrs WintersmdashOf course he didnrsquot call me Reta even though there might be

only a year or two between us The ldquoMrsrdquo gave him power overme that vexing r rucking things up in the middle and making one

think of such distractions as clotheslines and baking tins He wasthe barking terrier going at Mrs Wintersrsquos ankles shaking out hisfur and asking me to justify myself wanting me to explain thespluttering dying whimpering bonfire of my life which I wouldnot dream of sharing He seemed to forget he was interviewingme about Danielle Westermanrsquos new book

I understand yoursquore working on a second novel said heWell yesTakes nerveUh-huhActuallymdashactually well he had a novel on the go himselfReally What a surpriseAt the end of the hour he did not ask for the bill I asked for the

bill ldquoIrsquoll just put it on my Visardquo I said breaking a tenuous breadthof silence I announced this with all the majesty I could musterover a vinyl table like a grande dame adding twenty years to myage and feeling the vowels shifting in my beautifully mouldedthroat Such dignity I surprised myself with my own resonanceand I may have managed a pained smile displaying no doubtthat famous overbite He turned off the tape recorder at the wordldquoVisardquo

He had two young children at home he said Christ what aresponsibility although he loved the little bastards One of themwas quite quite gifted well they both were in their separateways But the work of raising kids Never enough time to read thebooks he had to review books all over the house with little mark-ers in them books he would never finish So much was expectedand of course like all journalists he was underpaid

Oh shut upThey also expected him to do a feature on the weekendUh-huhAnd last week hersquod actually broken the MacBunna storyReally Macumba MarimbaCongratulations said Mrs Reta Winters from OrangetownThanks

I should be getting on my way I said My parking meter Alunch date A long drive home

I understand you and your family live in a lovely old housenear Orangetown

And then slyly I understand one of your daughters now livesin Toronto and

Irsquove been here before There is something about having anestablished family a long-lasting spousal arrangement threedaughters in their teens a house in the country a suggestion ofimpermeability that draws the curiosity of others so that theycan as Tom says probe with probity

But no this man across the table will not be feeding on myflesh nor will his colleaguesmdashthough one can tell that he has nocolleagues there is no possibility of colleagues He has no contextfor friends or co-workers though there are the kids and therersquosthe wife hersquos referred to her three times now Nicola She has herprofessional life too he tells me as though the matter were indispute

I canrsquot resist ldquoDoes Nicolamdashis she a journalist toordquoldquoJournalistrdquoldquoLike you I meanrdquoHis hand jumps and for a moment I think hersquos going to turn

the tape recorder on again But no hersquos reaching into his pocketand now hersquos releasing two coins onto the table The tip They liethere moist from his hand Two dimes I focus on them withwhat I hope is a cool censorious gaze

But hersquos not looking at me Hersquos looking across the roomwhere a silver-haired man is seating himself gracefully at a tableldquoIrsquom not sure but I think thatrsquos Gore Vidalrdquo my interviewer whis-pers in a hungry voice ldquoHersquos here for the writersrsquo festival youknowrdquo

I rise and exit as though led by a brass quintetThe charming Mrs Winters slips on her comfortable beige rain-

coat

I would like to thank a number of others who in one way or another encouraged me in the writing of Unless SharonAllan Marjorie Anderson the late Joan Austen-Leigh JoanBarfoot Clare Boylan Marg Edmond Brown Joan ClarkAnne Collins Cynthia Coop Patrick Crowe Maggie DwyerDarlene Hammell Blanche Howard Isabel Huggan CarlLenthe Madeline Li Elinor Lipman Anna and Sylvie MatasMargaret Shaw-Mackinnon Don McCarthy Peter ParkerBella Pomer Christopher Potter Linda Rogers CaroleSabiston Floyd St Clair Eleanor Wachtel Cindi WarnerMindy Werner the John Simon Guggenheim Foundationand as always my family John Audrey Anne CatherineMeg Sara and especially Don

About the Author

Carol Shields is the author of eight novels and two collections of short stories

The Stone Diaries won the Pulitzer Prize and was shortlisted for the Booker

Prize Larryrsquos Party won the Orange Prize Born and brought up in Chicago

Carol Shields has lived in Canada since 1957

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 1

Others

Intersect

Coming to Canada

Larryrsquos Party

The Stone Diaries

The Republic of Love

A Celibate Season (with Blanche Howard)Swann

A Fairly Conventional Woman

Happenstance

The Box Garden

Small Ceremonies

Various Miracles

The Orange Fish

Dressing Up for the Carnival

Departures and Arrivals

Thirteen Hands

Fashion Power Guilt and the Charity of Families

(with Catherine Shields)Anniversary (with David Williamson)

Susanna Moodie Voice and Vision

Jane Austen

Dropped Threads What We Arenrsquot Told

(Edited with Marjorie Anderson)

Credits

Design by Julian HumphriesPhotographer by Michael CrouserDesigned by Dinah Drazin

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 2

If you enjoyed reading this excerpt please visitHarperCollins Publishers to find out where to buy thisand other PerfectBound e-books

Australiahttpwwwharpercollinscomau

Canadahttpwwwharpercanadacom

New Zealandhttpwwwharpercollinsconz

United Kingdomhttpwwwfireandwatercom

United Stateshttpwwwperfectboundcom

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 3

The Pajama Game Words and Music by Richard Adler Music

and Jerry Ross copy Richard Adler Music and J amp J Ross Co USA

WarnerChappell Music Ltd London w6 8bs

Reproduced by permission of International Music Publications

Ltd All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction Names characters places and incidents

either are the products of the authorrsquos imagination or are used

fictitiously Any resemblance to actual events locales organiza-

tions or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and

beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher

UNLESS Copyright copy 2002 by Carol Shields All rights

reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright

Conventions By payment of the required fees you have been

granted the non-exclusive non-transferable right to access and

read the text of this e-book on-screen No part of this text may

be reproduced transmitted down-loaded decompiled reverse

engineered or stored in or introduced into any information stor-

age and retrieval system in any form or by any means whether

electronic or mechanical now known or hereinafter invented

without the express written permission of PerfectBoundtrade

PerfectBound trade and the PerfectBoundtrade logo are trademarks

of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

Adobe Acrobat E-Book Reader edition v 1 May 2002

ISBN 0-06-052370-0

Print edition first published in 2002

by Forth Estate a division of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 4

Nearly

We are more than halfway through the year Toward the beginning of August Tomrsquos old friendColin Glass came to dinner one night driving out

from Toronto Over coffee he attempted to explain the theory ofrelativity to me

I was the one who invited him to launch into the subjectRelativity is a piece of knowledge Irsquove always longed to under-stand a big piece but the explainers tend to go too fast or elsethey skip over a step they assume their audience has alreadyabsorbed Apparently there was once a time when only oneperson in the world understood relativity (Einstein) then twopeople then three or four and now most of the high-school kidswho take physics have at least an inkling or so Irsquom told Howhard can it be And itrsquos passed according to Colin from crazyspeculation to confirmed fact which makes it even more impor-tant to understand Irsquove tried but my grasp feels tenuous So thespeed of light is constant Is that all

Ordinarily I love these long August evenings the splash ofamber light that falls on the white dining-room walls just beforethe separate shades of twilight take over The medallion leavesthat flutter their round ghost shadows All day Irsquod listened to the white-throated sparrows in the woods behind our house their song resembles the Canadian national anthem at least theopening bars Summer was dying but in pieces Wersquod be eatingoutside if it werenrsquot for the wasps Good food the company of agood friend what more could anyone desire But I kept thinking

of Norah sitting on her square of pavement and holding up thepiece of cardboard with the word and then I lost trackof what Colin was saying

E=mc Energy equals mass times the speed of light squaredThe tidiness of the equation raised my immediate suspicion Howcan massmdashthis solid oak dining table for instancemdashhave any con-nection with how fast light travels Theyrsquore two different thingsColin who is a physicist was patient with my objections Hetook the linen napkin from his lap and stretched it taut across thetop of his coffee cup Then he took a cherry from the fruit bowland placed it on the napkin creating a small dimple He tipped thecup slightly so that the cherry rotated around the surface of the napkin He spoke of energy and mass but already I had lost a critical filament of the argument I worried slightly about hiscoffee sloshing up onto the napkin and staining it and thoughthow seldom in the last few years I had bothered with clothnapkins Nobody except maybe Danielle Westerman does realnapkins anymore it was understood that modern professionalwomen had better things to do with their time than launder linen

By now I had forgotten completely what the cherry (more thanfour dollars a pound) represented and what the little dimple wassupposed to be Colin talked on and on and Tom who is a familyphysician and has a broad scientific background seemed to befollowing at least he was nodding his head appropriately Mymother-in-law Lois had politely excused herself and returned toher house next door she would never miss the ten-orsquoclock newsher watching of the ten-orsquoclock news helps the country of Canadato go forward Christine and Natalie had long since drifted fromthe table and I could hear the buzz and burst of TV noises in the den

Pet our golden retriever parked his shaggy self under thetable his whole dog body humming away against my footSometimes in his dreams he groans and sometimes he chortleswith happiness I found myself thinking about Marietta Colinrsquoswife who had packed her bags a few months ago and moved to

Calgary to be with another man She claimed Colin was toowrapped up in his research and teaching to be a true partner Abeautiful woman with a neck like a plant stem she hinted thatthere had been a collapse of passion in their marriage She had left suddenly coldly he had been shocked he had had no idea hetold us in the early days that she had been unhappy all theseyears but he found her diaries in a desk drawer and read themsick with realization that a gulf of misunderstanding separatedthem

Why would a woman leave such personal diaries behind To punish to hurt of course Colin for the most part a decentkind-hearted man used to address her in a dry admonitory wayas though she were a graduate student instead of his wife ldquoDonrsquottell me this is processed cheeserdquo he asked her once when we were having dinner at their house Another time ldquoThis coffee isundrinkablerdquo He loved pleasuremdashhe was that kind of manmdashandtook it for granted and couldnrsquot help his little yelps of outragewhen pleasure failed You could call him an innocent in his expec-tations almost naive on this particular August evening It was asthough he were alone in a vaulted chamber echoing with immen-sities while Tom and I stood attendance just outside the doorcatching the overflow the odd glimpse of his skewed but calmbrilliance Even the little pockets under his eyes were phlegmaticHe was not a shallow person but perhaps he suspected that wewere I had to stop myself interrupting with a joke I often do thisIrsquom afraid ask for an explanation and then drift off into my ownthoughts

How could he now be sitting at our table so calmly toyingwith cherries and coffee cups and rolling the edge of his strawplacemat and pressing this heft of information on us It was closeto midnight he had an hourrsquos drive ahead of him What did thetheory of relativity really matter to his ongoing life Colin withhis small specs and trim moustache was at ease with big ideas likerelativity As a theory relativity worked it held all sorts of impor-tant ldquoconceptsrdquo together with its precision and elegance Think of

glue lavishly applied he said helpfully about relativity think ofthe power of the shrewd guess Such a sweeping perspective hadbeen visionary at the beginning but had been assessed and re-inforced and it was moreover Colin was now insisting usefulIn the face of lifersquos uncertainties relativityrsquos weight could beassumed and then set aside part of the package of consciousness

He finished awkwardly sat back in his chair with his two longarms extended ldquoSordquo Thatrsquos it he seemed to say or thatrsquos asmuch as I can do to simplify and explain so brilliant an idea Heglanced at his watch then sat back again exhausted pleased withhimself He wore a well-pressed cotton shirt with blue and yellowstripes neatly tucked into his black jeans He has no interest in clothes This shirt must go back to his married days chosen for him ironed for him by Marietta herself and put on a hangerperhaps a summer ago

The theory of relativity would not bring Colinrsquos wife hurryingback to the old stone house on Oriole Parkway It would notbring my daughter Norah home from the corner of Bathurst andBloor or the Promise Hostel where she beds at night Tom and I followed her one day we had to know how she managedwhether she was safe The weather would be turning cold soonHow does she bear it Cold concrete Dirt Uncombed hair

ldquoWould you sayrdquo I asked ColinmdashI had not spoken for severalminutesmdashldquothat the theory of relativity has reduced the weight ofgoodness and depravity in the worldrdquo

He stared at me ldquoRelativity has no moral position None what-everrdquo (ldquoThis coffee is undrinkablerdquo)

I looked to Tom for support but he was gazing with his mildeyes at the ceiling smiling I knew that smile

ldquoBut isnrsquot it possiblerdquo I said to Colin ldquoto think that goodnessor virtue if you like could be a wave or particle of energyrdquo

ldquoNordquo he said ldquoNo it is not possiblerdquoI made an abrupt move to clear the table I was suddenly

exhaustedStill I am thankful for the friendship and intellectual ardour of

such an unpretentious man as Colin Glass who despite his suffer-ing and shame really wanted me to understand a key concept ofthe twentieth century Or was he simply diverting himself for anhour This is what I must learn the art of diversion He said notone word about Marietta all evening long Tom and I understandthat he is reconstructing his life without her But a daughter issomething different A daughter of nineteen cannot be erased

Once

It was understood that I would do the publicity such as it was for Danielle Westermanrsquos third volume of memoirs Ateighty-five she was too old and too distinguished to handle

a day of interviews in Toronto even though she lives there I asthe translator could easily field questions from the press A verylight schedule was organized by the publisher since Dr Wester-man already possesses a long twilight of faithful readership

In early September I drove into Orangetown down its calmold-fashioned main street and into the countryside again The cityof Toronto monumental and lonely glowed in front of me Itsoutskirts are ragged though its numbered exits pretend at a kindof order Traffic was light I drove slowly by the corner of Bloorand Bathurst for a glimpse of Norah There she was as always onthe northeast corner seated on the ground near the subwayentrance with her bowl and cardboard sign even though it wasnot yet nine orsquoclock Had she had breakfast Did she have nits inher hair What is she thinking or is her mind a great blank

I parked the car and walked over to where she was ldquoHellodarling Norahrdquo I said setting down a plastic bag of food breadand cheese fruit and raw vegetables And in an envelope arecent photo of Pet with his straight proud muzzle and furry ruff Norah of all the girls doted on Pet and now I was bribingher shamelessly It was a chilly day and it iced my heart to see herunreadable immobility but I was glad to notice that she waswearing warm mittens Glad Me glad The least little signal willgladden my heart these days Today she looked not quite at me

and nodded Another wave of gladness struck I allow myself onlyone such glimpse a week since shersquos made it clear she doesnrsquotwant to see us

It is like watching her through plate glass All week I will drawexpensively on this brief moment of voyeurism at the same timetrying to blot it out with images of Norah on her bicycle Norahsitting at the kitchen table studying for exams Norah reaching forher green raincoat Norah trying on new school shoes Norahsleeping safe

After a while I went to have my eyebrows arched and tinted atSylviarsquos which calls itself a ldquospirit spardquo meaning it seemed thatwhile Madame Sylvia swiped at my brow with a little paintbrushshe murmured and sang into my ear It was now nine-thirty in themorning and I lay on a narrow table in a tiny white room ldquoYouare at the age when you must protect the fine skin around theeyesrdquo she warned ldquoA womanrsquos face falls it is inevitable but the eyes go on and on giving light You will be eighty ninety and your eyes will still charmrdquo

She knows nothing about my life Irsquove never been here beforeand have never thought of having an eyebrow tint I have per-fectly decent eyebrows nicely shaped and regular but I did lookinto a mirror a week or so ago and noticed that the small hairs atthe outside corners were coming in grey There was a little greyat the temples too but nothing to be surprised about not for a woman whose forty-fourth birthday is approaching not for awoman who has never even thought of herself as possessingldquotemplesrdquo such august body parts

ldquoAre you by any chance a Geminirdquo Madame Sylvia askedintimately Swish went the paintbrush She stopped peered at meclosely then swished again a deft little stroke

ldquoNordquo I said ashamed to acknowledge the astrological universeldquoMy birthdayrsquos in September Next week in factrdquo

ldquoI can tell yesrdquo She had a touch of the harridan in her voice ldquoIcan always tellrdquo

What could she tell

ldquoTwenty-four dollarsrdquo she said ldquoLet me give you my card Fornext timerdquo

Presumptuous but yes there will be a next time I calculatedquickly My face would make it through the next few weeks butby November I will probably be back in Madame Sylviarsquos hushedwhite cell I may well become a regular Eyebrows lashes fullfacials neck massage I have led a reflective life a life of thoughta writer a translator but all this is about to change The delicateskin around my eyes was demanding attention Has Tom noticedI donrsquot think so Christine and Natalie donrsquot really look at me inthat way they just see this watercolour blob that means motherwhich is rather how I see myself

ldquoA womanrsquos charm is with her for liferdquo Madame Sylvia saidldquobut you must pay attentionrdquo

No I thought an hour later no Irsquom sorry but I have no plansto be charming on a regular basis Anyone can be charming Itrsquosreally a cheap trick mere charm so astonishingly easy to per-form screwing up your face into sunbeams and spewing themforth The calculated lift of the wrist chin up thumb and fore-finger brought together to form a little feminine loop that trick of pretending to sit on a little glass chair that concentration ofradiance lrsquoesprit little sprinkles of it everywhere misting the airlike bargain scent Ingenue spritz Emma Allen calls it

I know that cheapness so intimatelymdashthe grainy sugary per-severing way charm enters a fresh mouth and rubs against themolars sticking there in soft wads promoting mouth ulcers or whatever it is thatrsquos the metaphoric projection of self-hatredOf all the social virtues charm is in the end the most unreward-ing And compared to goodness real goodness or the unmovableself-abnegation my daughter Norah practises charm is nothingbut crumpled tissue paper soiled from previous use

Sincerity No Sincerityrsquos over Sincerityrsquos lost whatever edge ithad Itrsquos fine fine matter but wasted on the press who all grew uppost-Holocaust devoted readers of Mad Magazine and wouldnrsquotrecognize a bar of willed innocence if it came wrapped in foil

Nor will I ever again be pointlessly endlessly polite I got overthat two years ago when I did my author tour It seems Irsquove lostlike a stream of pebbles leaving my hand the kind of endurancethat professional courtesy demands suck in your breath let yourface go numb listen to the interviewerrsquos questions registeroptimally let your breath out evaluate the feelings of those whodepend on you (agent publisher editor that nice Sheila personwho does publicity and of course Danielle Westerman) andperform again and again like the tuned-up athlete you are the fitphysical specimen that each new book demands then move on tothe next task

Mrs Winters who has just translated The Middle Years the un-

folding memoir of Holocaust survivor Danielle Westerman is a woman

of grace and charm whose thick brown hair is arranged into a bun

Putting down her coffee cup she shrugs off her beige raincoat and

Irsquove entered early middle age now and I have a nineteen-year-old daughter who lives on the street I no longer require a reputa-tion for charm those saving lilac shadows and contours Maybe Inever did I wonrsquotmdashnot nowmdashtuck the ends of my sentences intolittle licks of favour and the next time a journalist pins me downwith a personal question trolling for informationmdashTell me MrsWinters how are you able to balance your family and profes-sional lifemdashI will stare back hard with my newly practised stareHow do I balance my life Tinted eyebrows up Just what kind ofinquiry is this Wouldnrsquot you prefer Mrs Winters to pursue youown writing rather than translate Dr Westermanrsquos work Pleasenot that again How did you and your husband meet What doeshe think of your writing

I will in the future address my interviewer directly and saywith firmness ldquoThis interview is overrdquo There is nothing to loseRude and difficult people are more likely to be taken seriouslyCurmudgeons are positively adored Irsquove noticed this Even thefascinatingly unknowable earn respect

And when I read in the paper tomorrow that ldquoMrs Winterslooked all of her forty-three yearsrdquo and that ldquoMrs Winters with

her familiar overbite was reluctant to talk about her work sched-ulerdquo I will want to phone the editor and complain bitterly Thisfrom the pen of a small unattractive man almost entirely lip-less beneath a bony domineering nose sweating with minorambition head tilted like something carved out of yellow wax

He interviewed me in a cappuccino bar in mid-Toronto Achilly stooped round-headed man in his thirties or fortiesmdashitwas hard to tellmdashslow to smile pathetically in need of humanattention thinking his superior thoughts Fluff on his shouldersbegged to be picked off I on the other hand was wearing a softjade jacket of cashmere lined with silk which represented a raresplurge on my part but I could be sure this man would over-look this garment with its crystal buttons and mandarin collar andconcentrate instead on my drab raincoat beige and not quitepristine at the cuffs In print he will be certain to refer to mychignon as a bun Itrsquos taken me years to learn to do a glossy littlechignonmdashI can get my hair brushed back and securely pinned up each morning in a mere two and a half minutes and I considermy coiffure one of my major life accomplishments I really meanthis

Sheila from publicity had filled me in before the interview andI felt the information packet hovering what to do with it Thisyoungyoungish man was the newly appointed books columnistat Booktimes He was well known for holding pious opinions aboutthe literature of the Great North about his own role as advocateof a diverse new outpouring of Canadian voices the post-colonialcry of blaming anguish The stream of current fiction aboutmiddle-class people living in cities was diluting the authenticnational voice that rose from the landscape itself andmdash

Oh shut up shut upCappuccino foam dotted the corners of his undistinguished

mouth And just one more question Mrs WintersmdashOf course he didnrsquot call me Reta even though there might be

only a year or two between us The ldquoMrsrdquo gave him power overme that vexing r rucking things up in the middle and making one

think of such distractions as clotheslines and baking tins He wasthe barking terrier going at Mrs Wintersrsquos ankles shaking out hisfur and asking me to justify myself wanting me to explain thespluttering dying whimpering bonfire of my life which I wouldnot dream of sharing He seemed to forget he was interviewingme about Danielle Westermanrsquos new book

I understand yoursquore working on a second novel said heWell yesTakes nerveUh-huhActuallymdashactually well he had a novel on the go himselfReally What a surpriseAt the end of the hour he did not ask for the bill I asked for the

bill ldquoIrsquoll just put it on my Visardquo I said breaking a tenuous breadthof silence I announced this with all the majesty I could musterover a vinyl table like a grande dame adding twenty years to myage and feeling the vowels shifting in my beautifully mouldedthroat Such dignity I surprised myself with my own resonanceand I may have managed a pained smile displaying no doubtthat famous overbite He turned off the tape recorder at the wordldquoVisardquo

He had two young children at home he said Christ what aresponsibility although he loved the little bastards One of themwas quite quite gifted well they both were in their separateways But the work of raising kids Never enough time to read thebooks he had to review books all over the house with little mark-ers in them books he would never finish So much was expectedand of course like all journalists he was underpaid

Oh shut upThey also expected him to do a feature on the weekendUh-huhAnd last week hersquod actually broken the MacBunna storyReally Macumba MarimbaCongratulations said Mrs Reta Winters from OrangetownThanks

I should be getting on my way I said My parking meter Alunch date A long drive home

I understand you and your family live in a lovely old housenear Orangetown

And then slyly I understand one of your daughters now livesin Toronto and

Irsquove been here before There is something about having anestablished family a long-lasting spousal arrangement threedaughters in their teens a house in the country a suggestion ofimpermeability that draws the curiosity of others so that theycan as Tom says probe with probity

But no this man across the table will not be feeding on myflesh nor will his colleaguesmdashthough one can tell that he has nocolleagues there is no possibility of colleagues He has no contextfor friends or co-workers though there are the kids and therersquosthe wife hersquos referred to her three times now Nicola She has herprofessional life too he tells me as though the matter were indispute

I canrsquot resist ldquoDoes Nicolamdashis she a journalist toordquoldquoJournalistrdquoldquoLike you I meanrdquoHis hand jumps and for a moment I think hersquos going to turn

the tape recorder on again But no hersquos reaching into his pocketand now hersquos releasing two coins onto the table The tip They liethere moist from his hand Two dimes I focus on them withwhat I hope is a cool censorious gaze

But hersquos not looking at me Hersquos looking across the roomwhere a silver-haired man is seating himself gracefully at a tableldquoIrsquom not sure but I think thatrsquos Gore Vidalrdquo my interviewer whis-pers in a hungry voice ldquoHersquos here for the writersrsquo festival youknowrdquo

I rise and exit as though led by a brass quintetThe charming Mrs Winters slips on her comfortable beige rain-

coat

I would like to thank a number of others who in one way or another encouraged me in the writing of Unless SharonAllan Marjorie Anderson the late Joan Austen-Leigh JoanBarfoot Clare Boylan Marg Edmond Brown Joan ClarkAnne Collins Cynthia Coop Patrick Crowe Maggie DwyerDarlene Hammell Blanche Howard Isabel Huggan CarlLenthe Madeline Li Elinor Lipman Anna and Sylvie MatasMargaret Shaw-Mackinnon Don McCarthy Peter ParkerBella Pomer Christopher Potter Linda Rogers CaroleSabiston Floyd St Clair Eleanor Wachtel Cindi WarnerMindy Werner the John Simon Guggenheim Foundationand as always my family John Audrey Anne CatherineMeg Sara and especially Don

About the Author

Carol Shields is the author of eight novels and two collections of short stories

The Stone Diaries won the Pulitzer Prize and was shortlisted for the Booker

Prize Larryrsquos Party won the Orange Prize Born and brought up in Chicago

Carol Shields has lived in Canada since 1957

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 1

Others

Intersect

Coming to Canada

Larryrsquos Party

The Stone Diaries

The Republic of Love

A Celibate Season (with Blanche Howard)Swann

A Fairly Conventional Woman

Happenstance

The Box Garden

Small Ceremonies

Various Miracles

The Orange Fish

Dressing Up for the Carnival

Departures and Arrivals

Thirteen Hands

Fashion Power Guilt and the Charity of Families

(with Catherine Shields)Anniversary (with David Williamson)

Susanna Moodie Voice and Vision

Jane Austen

Dropped Threads What We Arenrsquot Told

(Edited with Marjorie Anderson)

Credits

Design by Julian HumphriesPhotographer by Michael CrouserDesigned by Dinah Drazin

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 2

If you enjoyed reading this excerpt please visitHarperCollins Publishers to find out where to buy thisand other PerfectBound e-books

Australiahttpwwwharpercollinscomau

Canadahttpwwwharpercanadacom

New Zealandhttpwwwharpercollinsconz

United Kingdomhttpwwwfireandwatercom

United Stateshttpwwwperfectboundcom

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 3

The Pajama Game Words and Music by Richard Adler Music

and Jerry Ross copy Richard Adler Music and J amp J Ross Co USA

WarnerChappell Music Ltd London w6 8bs

Reproduced by permission of International Music Publications

Ltd All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction Names characters places and incidents

either are the products of the authorrsquos imagination or are used

fictitiously Any resemblance to actual events locales organiza-

tions or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and

beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher

UNLESS Copyright copy 2002 by Carol Shields All rights

reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright

Conventions By payment of the required fees you have been

granted the non-exclusive non-transferable right to access and

read the text of this e-book on-screen No part of this text may

be reproduced transmitted down-loaded decompiled reverse

engineered or stored in or introduced into any information stor-

age and retrieval system in any form or by any means whether

electronic or mechanical now known or hereinafter invented

without the express written permission of PerfectBoundtrade

PerfectBound trade and the PerfectBoundtrade logo are trademarks

of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

Adobe Acrobat E-Book Reader edition v 1 May 2002

ISBN 0-06-052370-0

Print edition first published in 2002

by Forth Estate a division of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 4

of Norah sitting on her square of pavement and holding up thepiece of cardboard with the word and then I lost trackof what Colin was saying

E=mc Energy equals mass times the speed of light squaredThe tidiness of the equation raised my immediate suspicion Howcan massmdashthis solid oak dining table for instancemdashhave any con-nection with how fast light travels Theyrsquore two different thingsColin who is a physicist was patient with my objections Hetook the linen napkin from his lap and stretched it taut across thetop of his coffee cup Then he took a cherry from the fruit bowland placed it on the napkin creating a small dimple He tipped thecup slightly so that the cherry rotated around the surface of the napkin He spoke of energy and mass but already I had lost a critical filament of the argument I worried slightly about hiscoffee sloshing up onto the napkin and staining it and thoughthow seldom in the last few years I had bothered with clothnapkins Nobody except maybe Danielle Westerman does realnapkins anymore it was understood that modern professionalwomen had better things to do with their time than launder linen

By now I had forgotten completely what the cherry (more thanfour dollars a pound) represented and what the little dimple wassupposed to be Colin talked on and on and Tom who is a familyphysician and has a broad scientific background seemed to befollowing at least he was nodding his head appropriately Mymother-in-law Lois had politely excused herself and returned toher house next door she would never miss the ten-orsquoclock newsher watching of the ten-orsquoclock news helps the country of Canadato go forward Christine and Natalie had long since drifted fromthe table and I could hear the buzz and burst of TV noises in the den

Pet our golden retriever parked his shaggy self under thetable his whole dog body humming away against my footSometimes in his dreams he groans and sometimes he chortleswith happiness I found myself thinking about Marietta Colinrsquoswife who had packed her bags a few months ago and moved to

Calgary to be with another man She claimed Colin was toowrapped up in his research and teaching to be a true partner Abeautiful woman with a neck like a plant stem she hinted thatthere had been a collapse of passion in their marriage She had left suddenly coldly he had been shocked he had had no idea hetold us in the early days that she had been unhappy all theseyears but he found her diaries in a desk drawer and read themsick with realization that a gulf of misunderstanding separatedthem

Why would a woman leave such personal diaries behind To punish to hurt of course Colin for the most part a decentkind-hearted man used to address her in a dry admonitory wayas though she were a graduate student instead of his wife ldquoDonrsquottell me this is processed cheeserdquo he asked her once when we were having dinner at their house Another time ldquoThis coffee isundrinkablerdquo He loved pleasuremdashhe was that kind of manmdashandtook it for granted and couldnrsquot help his little yelps of outragewhen pleasure failed You could call him an innocent in his expec-tations almost naive on this particular August evening It was asthough he were alone in a vaulted chamber echoing with immen-sities while Tom and I stood attendance just outside the doorcatching the overflow the odd glimpse of his skewed but calmbrilliance Even the little pockets under his eyes were phlegmaticHe was not a shallow person but perhaps he suspected that wewere I had to stop myself interrupting with a joke I often do thisIrsquom afraid ask for an explanation and then drift off into my ownthoughts

How could he now be sitting at our table so calmly toyingwith cherries and coffee cups and rolling the edge of his strawplacemat and pressing this heft of information on us It was closeto midnight he had an hourrsquos drive ahead of him What did thetheory of relativity really matter to his ongoing life Colin withhis small specs and trim moustache was at ease with big ideas likerelativity As a theory relativity worked it held all sorts of impor-tant ldquoconceptsrdquo together with its precision and elegance Think of

glue lavishly applied he said helpfully about relativity think ofthe power of the shrewd guess Such a sweeping perspective hadbeen visionary at the beginning but had been assessed and re-inforced and it was moreover Colin was now insisting usefulIn the face of lifersquos uncertainties relativityrsquos weight could beassumed and then set aside part of the package of consciousness

He finished awkwardly sat back in his chair with his two longarms extended ldquoSordquo Thatrsquos it he seemed to say or thatrsquos asmuch as I can do to simplify and explain so brilliant an idea Heglanced at his watch then sat back again exhausted pleased withhimself He wore a well-pressed cotton shirt with blue and yellowstripes neatly tucked into his black jeans He has no interest in clothes This shirt must go back to his married days chosen for him ironed for him by Marietta herself and put on a hangerperhaps a summer ago

The theory of relativity would not bring Colinrsquos wife hurryingback to the old stone house on Oriole Parkway It would notbring my daughter Norah home from the corner of Bathurst andBloor or the Promise Hostel where she beds at night Tom and I followed her one day we had to know how she managedwhether she was safe The weather would be turning cold soonHow does she bear it Cold concrete Dirt Uncombed hair

ldquoWould you sayrdquo I asked ColinmdashI had not spoken for severalminutesmdashldquothat the theory of relativity has reduced the weight ofgoodness and depravity in the worldrdquo

He stared at me ldquoRelativity has no moral position None what-everrdquo (ldquoThis coffee is undrinkablerdquo)

I looked to Tom for support but he was gazing with his mildeyes at the ceiling smiling I knew that smile

ldquoBut isnrsquot it possiblerdquo I said to Colin ldquoto think that goodnessor virtue if you like could be a wave or particle of energyrdquo

ldquoNordquo he said ldquoNo it is not possiblerdquoI made an abrupt move to clear the table I was suddenly

exhaustedStill I am thankful for the friendship and intellectual ardour of

such an unpretentious man as Colin Glass who despite his suffer-ing and shame really wanted me to understand a key concept ofthe twentieth century Or was he simply diverting himself for anhour This is what I must learn the art of diversion He said notone word about Marietta all evening long Tom and I understandthat he is reconstructing his life without her But a daughter issomething different A daughter of nineteen cannot be erased

Once

It was understood that I would do the publicity such as it was for Danielle Westermanrsquos third volume of memoirs Ateighty-five she was too old and too distinguished to handle

a day of interviews in Toronto even though she lives there I asthe translator could easily field questions from the press A verylight schedule was organized by the publisher since Dr Wester-man already possesses a long twilight of faithful readership

In early September I drove into Orangetown down its calmold-fashioned main street and into the countryside again The cityof Toronto monumental and lonely glowed in front of me Itsoutskirts are ragged though its numbered exits pretend at a kindof order Traffic was light I drove slowly by the corner of Bloorand Bathurst for a glimpse of Norah There she was as always onthe northeast corner seated on the ground near the subwayentrance with her bowl and cardboard sign even though it wasnot yet nine orsquoclock Had she had breakfast Did she have nits inher hair What is she thinking or is her mind a great blank

I parked the car and walked over to where she was ldquoHellodarling Norahrdquo I said setting down a plastic bag of food breadand cheese fruit and raw vegetables And in an envelope arecent photo of Pet with his straight proud muzzle and furry ruff Norah of all the girls doted on Pet and now I was bribingher shamelessly It was a chilly day and it iced my heart to see herunreadable immobility but I was glad to notice that she waswearing warm mittens Glad Me glad The least little signal willgladden my heart these days Today she looked not quite at me

and nodded Another wave of gladness struck I allow myself onlyone such glimpse a week since shersquos made it clear she doesnrsquotwant to see us

It is like watching her through plate glass All week I will drawexpensively on this brief moment of voyeurism at the same timetrying to blot it out with images of Norah on her bicycle Norahsitting at the kitchen table studying for exams Norah reaching forher green raincoat Norah trying on new school shoes Norahsleeping safe

After a while I went to have my eyebrows arched and tinted atSylviarsquos which calls itself a ldquospirit spardquo meaning it seemed thatwhile Madame Sylvia swiped at my brow with a little paintbrushshe murmured and sang into my ear It was now nine-thirty in themorning and I lay on a narrow table in a tiny white room ldquoYouare at the age when you must protect the fine skin around theeyesrdquo she warned ldquoA womanrsquos face falls it is inevitable but the eyes go on and on giving light You will be eighty ninety and your eyes will still charmrdquo

She knows nothing about my life Irsquove never been here beforeand have never thought of having an eyebrow tint I have per-fectly decent eyebrows nicely shaped and regular but I did lookinto a mirror a week or so ago and noticed that the small hairs atthe outside corners were coming in grey There was a little greyat the temples too but nothing to be surprised about not for a woman whose forty-fourth birthday is approaching not for awoman who has never even thought of herself as possessingldquotemplesrdquo such august body parts

ldquoAre you by any chance a Geminirdquo Madame Sylvia askedintimately Swish went the paintbrush She stopped peered at meclosely then swished again a deft little stroke

ldquoNordquo I said ashamed to acknowledge the astrological universeldquoMy birthdayrsquos in September Next week in factrdquo

ldquoI can tell yesrdquo She had a touch of the harridan in her voice ldquoIcan always tellrdquo

What could she tell

ldquoTwenty-four dollarsrdquo she said ldquoLet me give you my card Fornext timerdquo

Presumptuous but yes there will be a next time I calculatedquickly My face would make it through the next few weeks butby November I will probably be back in Madame Sylviarsquos hushedwhite cell I may well become a regular Eyebrows lashes fullfacials neck massage I have led a reflective life a life of thoughta writer a translator but all this is about to change The delicateskin around my eyes was demanding attention Has Tom noticedI donrsquot think so Christine and Natalie donrsquot really look at me inthat way they just see this watercolour blob that means motherwhich is rather how I see myself

ldquoA womanrsquos charm is with her for liferdquo Madame Sylvia saidldquobut you must pay attentionrdquo

No I thought an hour later no Irsquom sorry but I have no plansto be charming on a regular basis Anyone can be charming Itrsquosreally a cheap trick mere charm so astonishingly easy to per-form screwing up your face into sunbeams and spewing themforth The calculated lift of the wrist chin up thumb and fore-finger brought together to form a little feminine loop that trick of pretending to sit on a little glass chair that concentration ofradiance lrsquoesprit little sprinkles of it everywhere misting the airlike bargain scent Ingenue spritz Emma Allen calls it

I know that cheapness so intimatelymdashthe grainy sugary per-severing way charm enters a fresh mouth and rubs against themolars sticking there in soft wads promoting mouth ulcers or whatever it is thatrsquos the metaphoric projection of self-hatredOf all the social virtues charm is in the end the most unreward-ing And compared to goodness real goodness or the unmovableself-abnegation my daughter Norah practises charm is nothingbut crumpled tissue paper soiled from previous use

Sincerity No Sincerityrsquos over Sincerityrsquos lost whatever edge ithad Itrsquos fine fine matter but wasted on the press who all grew uppost-Holocaust devoted readers of Mad Magazine and wouldnrsquotrecognize a bar of willed innocence if it came wrapped in foil

Nor will I ever again be pointlessly endlessly polite I got overthat two years ago when I did my author tour It seems Irsquove lostlike a stream of pebbles leaving my hand the kind of endurancethat professional courtesy demands suck in your breath let yourface go numb listen to the interviewerrsquos questions registeroptimally let your breath out evaluate the feelings of those whodepend on you (agent publisher editor that nice Sheila personwho does publicity and of course Danielle Westerman) andperform again and again like the tuned-up athlete you are the fitphysical specimen that each new book demands then move on tothe next task

Mrs Winters who has just translated The Middle Years the un-

folding memoir of Holocaust survivor Danielle Westerman is a woman

of grace and charm whose thick brown hair is arranged into a bun

Putting down her coffee cup she shrugs off her beige raincoat and

Irsquove entered early middle age now and I have a nineteen-year-old daughter who lives on the street I no longer require a reputa-tion for charm those saving lilac shadows and contours Maybe Inever did I wonrsquotmdashnot nowmdashtuck the ends of my sentences intolittle licks of favour and the next time a journalist pins me downwith a personal question trolling for informationmdashTell me MrsWinters how are you able to balance your family and profes-sional lifemdashI will stare back hard with my newly practised stareHow do I balance my life Tinted eyebrows up Just what kind ofinquiry is this Wouldnrsquot you prefer Mrs Winters to pursue youown writing rather than translate Dr Westermanrsquos work Pleasenot that again How did you and your husband meet What doeshe think of your writing

I will in the future address my interviewer directly and saywith firmness ldquoThis interview is overrdquo There is nothing to loseRude and difficult people are more likely to be taken seriouslyCurmudgeons are positively adored Irsquove noticed this Even thefascinatingly unknowable earn respect

And when I read in the paper tomorrow that ldquoMrs Winterslooked all of her forty-three yearsrdquo and that ldquoMrs Winters with

her familiar overbite was reluctant to talk about her work sched-ulerdquo I will want to phone the editor and complain bitterly Thisfrom the pen of a small unattractive man almost entirely lip-less beneath a bony domineering nose sweating with minorambition head tilted like something carved out of yellow wax

He interviewed me in a cappuccino bar in mid-Toronto Achilly stooped round-headed man in his thirties or fortiesmdashitwas hard to tellmdashslow to smile pathetically in need of humanattention thinking his superior thoughts Fluff on his shouldersbegged to be picked off I on the other hand was wearing a softjade jacket of cashmere lined with silk which represented a raresplurge on my part but I could be sure this man would over-look this garment with its crystal buttons and mandarin collar andconcentrate instead on my drab raincoat beige and not quitepristine at the cuffs In print he will be certain to refer to mychignon as a bun Itrsquos taken me years to learn to do a glossy littlechignonmdashI can get my hair brushed back and securely pinned up each morning in a mere two and a half minutes and I considermy coiffure one of my major life accomplishments I really meanthis

Sheila from publicity had filled me in before the interview andI felt the information packet hovering what to do with it Thisyoungyoungish man was the newly appointed books columnistat Booktimes He was well known for holding pious opinions aboutthe literature of the Great North about his own role as advocateof a diverse new outpouring of Canadian voices the post-colonialcry of blaming anguish The stream of current fiction aboutmiddle-class people living in cities was diluting the authenticnational voice that rose from the landscape itself andmdash

Oh shut up shut upCappuccino foam dotted the corners of his undistinguished

mouth And just one more question Mrs WintersmdashOf course he didnrsquot call me Reta even though there might be

only a year or two between us The ldquoMrsrdquo gave him power overme that vexing r rucking things up in the middle and making one

think of such distractions as clotheslines and baking tins He wasthe barking terrier going at Mrs Wintersrsquos ankles shaking out hisfur and asking me to justify myself wanting me to explain thespluttering dying whimpering bonfire of my life which I wouldnot dream of sharing He seemed to forget he was interviewingme about Danielle Westermanrsquos new book

I understand yoursquore working on a second novel said heWell yesTakes nerveUh-huhActuallymdashactually well he had a novel on the go himselfReally What a surpriseAt the end of the hour he did not ask for the bill I asked for the

bill ldquoIrsquoll just put it on my Visardquo I said breaking a tenuous breadthof silence I announced this with all the majesty I could musterover a vinyl table like a grande dame adding twenty years to myage and feeling the vowels shifting in my beautifully mouldedthroat Such dignity I surprised myself with my own resonanceand I may have managed a pained smile displaying no doubtthat famous overbite He turned off the tape recorder at the wordldquoVisardquo

He had two young children at home he said Christ what aresponsibility although he loved the little bastards One of themwas quite quite gifted well they both were in their separateways But the work of raising kids Never enough time to read thebooks he had to review books all over the house with little mark-ers in them books he would never finish So much was expectedand of course like all journalists he was underpaid

Oh shut upThey also expected him to do a feature on the weekendUh-huhAnd last week hersquod actually broken the MacBunna storyReally Macumba MarimbaCongratulations said Mrs Reta Winters from OrangetownThanks

I should be getting on my way I said My parking meter Alunch date A long drive home

I understand you and your family live in a lovely old housenear Orangetown

And then slyly I understand one of your daughters now livesin Toronto and

Irsquove been here before There is something about having anestablished family a long-lasting spousal arrangement threedaughters in their teens a house in the country a suggestion ofimpermeability that draws the curiosity of others so that theycan as Tom says probe with probity

But no this man across the table will not be feeding on myflesh nor will his colleaguesmdashthough one can tell that he has nocolleagues there is no possibility of colleagues He has no contextfor friends or co-workers though there are the kids and therersquosthe wife hersquos referred to her three times now Nicola She has herprofessional life too he tells me as though the matter were indispute

I canrsquot resist ldquoDoes Nicolamdashis she a journalist toordquoldquoJournalistrdquoldquoLike you I meanrdquoHis hand jumps and for a moment I think hersquos going to turn

the tape recorder on again But no hersquos reaching into his pocketand now hersquos releasing two coins onto the table The tip They liethere moist from his hand Two dimes I focus on them withwhat I hope is a cool censorious gaze

But hersquos not looking at me Hersquos looking across the roomwhere a silver-haired man is seating himself gracefully at a tableldquoIrsquom not sure but I think thatrsquos Gore Vidalrdquo my interviewer whis-pers in a hungry voice ldquoHersquos here for the writersrsquo festival youknowrdquo

I rise and exit as though led by a brass quintetThe charming Mrs Winters slips on her comfortable beige rain-

coat

I would like to thank a number of others who in one way or another encouraged me in the writing of Unless SharonAllan Marjorie Anderson the late Joan Austen-Leigh JoanBarfoot Clare Boylan Marg Edmond Brown Joan ClarkAnne Collins Cynthia Coop Patrick Crowe Maggie DwyerDarlene Hammell Blanche Howard Isabel Huggan CarlLenthe Madeline Li Elinor Lipman Anna and Sylvie MatasMargaret Shaw-Mackinnon Don McCarthy Peter ParkerBella Pomer Christopher Potter Linda Rogers CaroleSabiston Floyd St Clair Eleanor Wachtel Cindi WarnerMindy Werner the John Simon Guggenheim Foundationand as always my family John Audrey Anne CatherineMeg Sara and especially Don

About the Author

Carol Shields is the author of eight novels and two collections of short stories

The Stone Diaries won the Pulitzer Prize and was shortlisted for the Booker

Prize Larryrsquos Party won the Orange Prize Born and brought up in Chicago

Carol Shields has lived in Canada since 1957

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 1

Others

Intersect

Coming to Canada

Larryrsquos Party

The Stone Diaries

The Republic of Love

A Celibate Season (with Blanche Howard)Swann

A Fairly Conventional Woman

Happenstance

The Box Garden

Small Ceremonies

Various Miracles

The Orange Fish

Dressing Up for the Carnival

Departures and Arrivals

Thirteen Hands

Fashion Power Guilt and the Charity of Families

(with Catherine Shields)Anniversary (with David Williamson)

Susanna Moodie Voice and Vision

Jane Austen

Dropped Threads What We Arenrsquot Told

(Edited with Marjorie Anderson)

Credits

Design by Julian HumphriesPhotographer by Michael CrouserDesigned by Dinah Drazin

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 2

If you enjoyed reading this excerpt please visitHarperCollins Publishers to find out where to buy thisand other PerfectBound e-books

Australiahttpwwwharpercollinscomau

Canadahttpwwwharpercanadacom

New Zealandhttpwwwharpercollinsconz

United Kingdomhttpwwwfireandwatercom

United Stateshttpwwwperfectboundcom

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 3

The Pajama Game Words and Music by Richard Adler Music

and Jerry Ross copy Richard Adler Music and J amp J Ross Co USA

WarnerChappell Music Ltd London w6 8bs

Reproduced by permission of International Music Publications

Ltd All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction Names characters places and incidents

either are the products of the authorrsquos imagination or are used

fictitiously Any resemblance to actual events locales organiza-

tions or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and

beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher

UNLESS Copyright copy 2002 by Carol Shields All rights

reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright

Conventions By payment of the required fees you have been

granted the non-exclusive non-transferable right to access and

read the text of this e-book on-screen No part of this text may

be reproduced transmitted down-loaded decompiled reverse

engineered or stored in or introduced into any information stor-

age and retrieval system in any form or by any means whether

electronic or mechanical now known or hereinafter invented

without the express written permission of PerfectBoundtrade

PerfectBound trade and the PerfectBoundtrade logo are trademarks

of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

Adobe Acrobat E-Book Reader edition v 1 May 2002

ISBN 0-06-052370-0

Print edition first published in 2002

by Forth Estate a division of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 4

Calgary to be with another man She claimed Colin was toowrapped up in his research and teaching to be a true partner Abeautiful woman with a neck like a plant stem she hinted thatthere had been a collapse of passion in their marriage She had left suddenly coldly he had been shocked he had had no idea hetold us in the early days that she had been unhappy all theseyears but he found her diaries in a desk drawer and read themsick with realization that a gulf of misunderstanding separatedthem

Why would a woman leave such personal diaries behind To punish to hurt of course Colin for the most part a decentkind-hearted man used to address her in a dry admonitory wayas though she were a graduate student instead of his wife ldquoDonrsquottell me this is processed cheeserdquo he asked her once when we were having dinner at their house Another time ldquoThis coffee isundrinkablerdquo He loved pleasuremdashhe was that kind of manmdashandtook it for granted and couldnrsquot help his little yelps of outragewhen pleasure failed You could call him an innocent in his expec-tations almost naive on this particular August evening It was asthough he were alone in a vaulted chamber echoing with immen-sities while Tom and I stood attendance just outside the doorcatching the overflow the odd glimpse of his skewed but calmbrilliance Even the little pockets under his eyes were phlegmaticHe was not a shallow person but perhaps he suspected that wewere I had to stop myself interrupting with a joke I often do thisIrsquom afraid ask for an explanation and then drift off into my ownthoughts

How could he now be sitting at our table so calmly toyingwith cherries and coffee cups and rolling the edge of his strawplacemat and pressing this heft of information on us It was closeto midnight he had an hourrsquos drive ahead of him What did thetheory of relativity really matter to his ongoing life Colin withhis small specs and trim moustache was at ease with big ideas likerelativity As a theory relativity worked it held all sorts of impor-tant ldquoconceptsrdquo together with its precision and elegance Think of

glue lavishly applied he said helpfully about relativity think ofthe power of the shrewd guess Such a sweeping perspective hadbeen visionary at the beginning but had been assessed and re-inforced and it was moreover Colin was now insisting usefulIn the face of lifersquos uncertainties relativityrsquos weight could beassumed and then set aside part of the package of consciousness

He finished awkwardly sat back in his chair with his two longarms extended ldquoSordquo Thatrsquos it he seemed to say or thatrsquos asmuch as I can do to simplify and explain so brilliant an idea Heglanced at his watch then sat back again exhausted pleased withhimself He wore a well-pressed cotton shirt with blue and yellowstripes neatly tucked into his black jeans He has no interest in clothes This shirt must go back to his married days chosen for him ironed for him by Marietta herself and put on a hangerperhaps a summer ago

The theory of relativity would not bring Colinrsquos wife hurryingback to the old stone house on Oriole Parkway It would notbring my daughter Norah home from the corner of Bathurst andBloor or the Promise Hostel where she beds at night Tom and I followed her one day we had to know how she managedwhether she was safe The weather would be turning cold soonHow does she bear it Cold concrete Dirt Uncombed hair

ldquoWould you sayrdquo I asked ColinmdashI had not spoken for severalminutesmdashldquothat the theory of relativity has reduced the weight ofgoodness and depravity in the worldrdquo

He stared at me ldquoRelativity has no moral position None what-everrdquo (ldquoThis coffee is undrinkablerdquo)

I looked to Tom for support but he was gazing with his mildeyes at the ceiling smiling I knew that smile

ldquoBut isnrsquot it possiblerdquo I said to Colin ldquoto think that goodnessor virtue if you like could be a wave or particle of energyrdquo

ldquoNordquo he said ldquoNo it is not possiblerdquoI made an abrupt move to clear the table I was suddenly

exhaustedStill I am thankful for the friendship and intellectual ardour of

such an unpretentious man as Colin Glass who despite his suffer-ing and shame really wanted me to understand a key concept ofthe twentieth century Or was he simply diverting himself for anhour This is what I must learn the art of diversion He said notone word about Marietta all evening long Tom and I understandthat he is reconstructing his life without her But a daughter issomething different A daughter of nineteen cannot be erased

Once

It was understood that I would do the publicity such as it was for Danielle Westermanrsquos third volume of memoirs Ateighty-five she was too old and too distinguished to handle

a day of interviews in Toronto even though she lives there I asthe translator could easily field questions from the press A verylight schedule was organized by the publisher since Dr Wester-man already possesses a long twilight of faithful readership

In early September I drove into Orangetown down its calmold-fashioned main street and into the countryside again The cityof Toronto monumental and lonely glowed in front of me Itsoutskirts are ragged though its numbered exits pretend at a kindof order Traffic was light I drove slowly by the corner of Bloorand Bathurst for a glimpse of Norah There she was as always onthe northeast corner seated on the ground near the subwayentrance with her bowl and cardboard sign even though it wasnot yet nine orsquoclock Had she had breakfast Did she have nits inher hair What is she thinking or is her mind a great blank

I parked the car and walked over to where she was ldquoHellodarling Norahrdquo I said setting down a plastic bag of food breadand cheese fruit and raw vegetables And in an envelope arecent photo of Pet with his straight proud muzzle and furry ruff Norah of all the girls doted on Pet and now I was bribingher shamelessly It was a chilly day and it iced my heart to see herunreadable immobility but I was glad to notice that she waswearing warm mittens Glad Me glad The least little signal willgladden my heart these days Today she looked not quite at me

and nodded Another wave of gladness struck I allow myself onlyone such glimpse a week since shersquos made it clear she doesnrsquotwant to see us

It is like watching her through plate glass All week I will drawexpensively on this brief moment of voyeurism at the same timetrying to blot it out with images of Norah on her bicycle Norahsitting at the kitchen table studying for exams Norah reaching forher green raincoat Norah trying on new school shoes Norahsleeping safe

After a while I went to have my eyebrows arched and tinted atSylviarsquos which calls itself a ldquospirit spardquo meaning it seemed thatwhile Madame Sylvia swiped at my brow with a little paintbrushshe murmured and sang into my ear It was now nine-thirty in themorning and I lay on a narrow table in a tiny white room ldquoYouare at the age when you must protect the fine skin around theeyesrdquo she warned ldquoA womanrsquos face falls it is inevitable but the eyes go on and on giving light You will be eighty ninety and your eyes will still charmrdquo

She knows nothing about my life Irsquove never been here beforeand have never thought of having an eyebrow tint I have per-fectly decent eyebrows nicely shaped and regular but I did lookinto a mirror a week or so ago and noticed that the small hairs atthe outside corners were coming in grey There was a little greyat the temples too but nothing to be surprised about not for a woman whose forty-fourth birthday is approaching not for awoman who has never even thought of herself as possessingldquotemplesrdquo such august body parts

ldquoAre you by any chance a Geminirdquo Madame Sylvia askedintimately Swish went the paintbrush She stopped peered at meclosely then swished again a deft little stroke

ldquoNordquo I said ashamed to acknowledge the astrological universeldquoMy birthdayrsquos in September Next week in factrdquo

ldquoI can tell yesrdquo She had a touch of the harridan in her voice ldquoIcan always tellrdquo

What could she tell

ldquoTwenty-four dollarsrdquo she said ldquoLet me give you my card Fornext timerdquo

Presumptuous but yes there will be a next time I calculatedquickly My face would make it through the next few weeks butby November I will probably be back in Madame Sylviarsquos hushedwhite cell I may well become a regular Eyebrows lashes fullfacials neck massage I have led a reflective life a life of thoughta writer a translator but all this is about to change The delicateskin around my eyes was demanding attention Has Tom noticedI donrsquot think so Christine and Natalie donrsquot really look at me inthat way they just see this watercolour blob that means motherwhich is rather how I see myself

ldquoA womanrsquos charm is with her for liferdquo Madame Sylvia saidldquobut you must pay attentionrdquo

No I thought an hour later no Irsquom sorry but I have no plansto be charming on a regular basis Anyone can be charming Itrsquosreally a cheap trick mere charm so astonishingly easy to per-form screwing up your face into sunbeams and spewing themforth The calculated lift of the wrist chin up thumb and fore-finger brought together to form a little feminine loop that trick of pretending to sit on a little glass chair that concentration ofradiance lrsquoesprit little sprinkles of it everywhere misting the airlike bargain scent Ingenue spritz Emma Allen calls it

I know that cheapness so intimatelymdashthe grainy sugary per-severing way charm enters a fresh mouth and rubs against themolars sticking there in soft wads promoting mouth ulcers or whatever it is thatrsquos the metaphoric projection of self-hatredOf all the social virtues charm is in the end the most unreward-ing And compared to goodness real goodness or the unmovableself-abnegation my daughter Norah practises charm is nothingbut crumpled tissue paper soiled from previous use

Sincerity No Sincerityrsquos over Sincerityrsquos lost whatever edge ithad Itrsquos fine fine matter but wasted on the press who all grew uppost-Holocaust devoted readers of Mad Magazine and wouldnrsquotrecognize a bar of willed innocence if it came wrapped in foil

Nor will I ever again be pointlessly endlessly polite I got overthat two years ago when I did my author tour It seems Irsquove lostlike a stream of pebbles leaving my hand the kind of endurancethat professional courtesy demands suck in your breath let yourface go numb listen to the interviewerrsquos questions registeroptimally let your breath out evaluate the feelings of those whodepend on you (agent publisher editor that nice Sheila personwho does publicity and of course Danielle Westerman) andperform again and again like the tuned-up athlete you are the fitphysical specimen that each new book demands then move on tothe next task

Mrs Winters who has just translated The Middle Years the un-

folding memoir of Holocaust survivor Danielle Westerman is a woman

of grace and charm whose thick brown hair is arranged into a bun

Putting down her coffee cup she shrugs off her beige raincoat and

Irsquove entered early middle age now and I have a nineteen-year-old daughter who lives on the street I no longer require a reputa-tion for charm those saving lilac shadows and contours Maybe Inever did I wonrsquotmdashnot nowmdashtuck the ends of my sentences intolittle licks of favour and the next time a journalist pins me downwith a personal question trolling for informationmdashTell me MrsWinters how are you able to balance your family and profes-sional lifemdashI will stare back hard with my newly practised stareHow do I balance my life Tinted eyebrows up Just what kind ofinquiry is this Wouldnrsquot you prefer Mrs Winters to pursue youown writing rather than translate Dr Westermanrsquos work Pleasenot that again How did you and your husband meet What doeshe think of your writing

I will in the future address my interviewer directly and saywith firmness ldquoThis interview is overrdquo There is nothing to loseRude and difficult people are more likely to be taken seriouslyCurmudgeons are positively adored Irsquove noticed this Even thefascinatingly unknowable earn respect

And when I read in the paper tomorrow that ldquoMrs Winterslooked all of her forty-three yearsrdquo and that ldquoMrs Winters with

her familiar overbite was reluctant to talk about her work sched-ulerdquo I will want to phone the editor and complain bitterly Thisfrom the pen of a small unattractive man almost entirely lip-less beneath a bony domineering nose sweating with minorambition head tilted like something carved out of yellow wax

He interviewed me in a cappuccino bar in mid-Toronto Achilly stooped round-headed man in his thirties or fortiesmdashitwas hard to tellmdashslow to smile pathetically in need of humanattention thinking his superior thoughts Fluff on his shouldersbegged to be picked off I on the other hand was wearing a softjade jacket of cashmere lined with silk which represented a raresplurge on my part but I could be sure this man would over-look this garment with its crystal buttons and mandarin collar andconcentrate instead on my drab raincoat beige and not quitepristine at the cuffs In print he will be certain to refer to mychignon as a bun Itrsquos taken me years to learn to do a glossy littlechignonmdashI can get my hair brushed back and securely pinned up each morning in a mere two and a half minutes and I considermy coiffure one of my major life accomplishments I really meanthis

Sheila from publicity had filled me in before the interview andI felt the information packet hovering what to do with it Thisyoungyoungish man was the newly appointed books columnistat Booktimes He was well known for holding pious opinions aboutthe literature of the Great North about his own role as advocateof a diverse new outpouring of Canadian voices the post-colonialcry of blaming anguish The stream of current fiction aboutmiddle-class people living in cities was diluting the authenticnational voice that rose from the landscape itself andmdash

Oh shut up shut upCappuccino foam dotted the corners of his undistinguished

mouth And just one more question Mrs WintersmdashOf course he didnrsquot call me Reta even though there might be

only a year or two between us The ldquoMrsrdquo gave him power overme that vexing r rucking things up in the middle and making one

think of such distractions as clotheslines and baking tins He wasthe barking terrier going at Mrs Wintersrsquos ankles shaking out hisfur and asking me to justify myself wanting me to explain thespluttering dying whimpering bonfire of my life which I wouldnot dream of sharing He seemed to forget he was interviewingme about Danielle Westermanrsquos new book

I understand yoursquore working on a second novel said heWell yesTakes nerveUh-huhActuallymdashactually well he had a novel on the go himselfReally What a surpriseAt the end of the hour he did not ask for the bill I asked for the

bill ldquoIrsquoll just put it on my Visardquo I said breaking a tenuous breadthof silence I announced this with all the majesty I could musterover a vinyl table like a grande dame adding twenty years to myage and feeling the vowels shifting in my beautifully mouldedthroat Such dignity I surprised myself with my own resonanceand I may have managed a pained smile displaying no doubtthat famous overbite He turned off the tape recorder at the wordldquoVisardquo

He had two young children at home he said Christ what aresponsibility although he loved the little bastards One of themwas quite quite gifted well they both were in their separateways But the work of raising kids Never enough time to read thebooks he had to review books all over the house with little mark-ers in them books he would never finish So much was expectedand of course like all journalists he was underpaid

Oh shut upThey also expected him to do a feature on the weekendUh-huhAnd last week hersquod actually broken the MacBunna storyReally Macumba MarimbaCongratulations said Mrs Reta Winters from OrangetownThanks

I should be getting on my way I said My parking meter Alunch date A long drive home

I understand you and your family live in a lovely old housenear Orangetown

And then slyly I understand one of your daughters now livesin Toronto and

Irsquove been here before There is something about having anestablished family a long-lasting spousal arrangement threedaughters in their teens a house in the country a suggestion ofimpermeability that draws the curiosity of others so that theycan as Tom says probe with probity

But no this man across the table will not be feeding on myflesh nor will his colleaguesmdashthough one can tell that he has nocolleagues there is no possibility of colleagues He has no contextfor friends or co-workers though there are the kids and therersquosthe wife hersquos referred to her three times now Nicola She has herprofessional life too he tells me as though the matter were indispute

I canrsquot resist ldquoDoes Nicolamdashis she a journalist toordquoldquoJournalistrdquoldquoLike you I meanrdquoHis hand jumps and for a moment I think hersquos going to turn

the tape recorder on again But no hersquos reaching into his pocketand now hersquos releasing two coins onto the table The tip They liethere moist from his hand Two dimes I focus on them withwhat I hope is a cool censorious gaze

But hersquos not looking at me Hersquos looking across the roomwhere a silver-haired man is seating himself gracefully at a tableldquoIrsquom not sure but I think thatrsquos Gore Vidalrdquo my interviewer whis-pers in a hungry voice ldquoHersquos here for the writersrsquo festival youknowrdquo

I rise and exit as though led by a brass quintetThe charming Mrs Winters slips on her comfortable beige rain-

coat

I would like to thank a number of others who in one way or another encouraged me in the writing of Unless SharonAllan Marjorie Anderson the late Joan Austen-Leigh JoanBarfoot Clare Boylan Marg Edmond Brown Joan ClarkAnne Collins Cynthia Coop Patrick Crowe Maggie DwyerDarlene Hammell Blanche Howard Isabel Huggan CarlLenthe Madeline Li Elinor Lipman Anna and Sylvie MatasMargaret Shaw-Mackinnon Don McCarthy Peter ParkerBella Pomer Christopher Potter Linda Rogers CaroleSabiston Floyd St Clair Eleanor Wachtel Cindi WarnerMindy Werner the John Simon Guggenheim Foundationand as always my family John Audrey Anne CatherineMeg Sara and especially Don

About the Author

Carol Shields is the author of eight novels and two collections of short stories

The Stone Diaries won the Pulitzer Prize and was shortlisted for the Booker

Prize Larryrsquos Party won the Orange Prize Born and brought up in Chicago

Carol Shields has lived in Canada since 1957

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 1

Others

Intersect

Coming to Canada

Larryrsquos Party

The Stone Diaries

The Republic of Love

A Celibate Season (with Blanche Howard)Swann

A Fairly Conventional Woman

Happenstance

The Box Garden

Small Ceremonies

Various Miracles

The Orange Fish

Dressing Up for the Carnival

Departures and Arrivals

Thirteen Hands

Fashion Power Guilt and the Charity of Families

(with Catherine Shields)Anniversary (with David Williamson)

Susanna Moodie Voice and Vision

Jane Austen

Dropped Threads What We Arenrsquot Told

(Edited with Marjorie Anderson)

Credits

Design by Julian HumphriesPhotographer by Michael CrouserDesigned by Dinah Drazin

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 2

If you enjoyed reading this excerpt please visitHarperCollins Publishers to find out where to buy thisand other PerfectBound e-books

Australiahttpwwwharpercollinscomau

Canadahttpwwwharpercanadacom

New Zealandhttpwwwharpercollinsconz

United Kingdomhttpwwwfireandwatercom

United Stateshttpwwwperfectboundcom

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 3

The Pajama Game Words and Music by Richard Adler Music

and Jerry Ross copy Richard Adler Music and J amp J Ross Co USA

WarnerChappell Music Ltd London w6 8bs

Reproduced by permission of International Music Publications

Ltd All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction Names characters places and incidents

either are the products of the authorrsquos imagination or are used

fictitiously Any resemblance to actual events locales organiza-

tions or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and

beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher

UNLESS Copyright copy 2002 by Carol Shields All rights

reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright

Conventions By payment of the required fees you have been

granted the non-exclusive non-transferable right to access and

read the text of this e-book on-screen No part of this text may

be reproduced transmitted down-loaded decompiled reverse

engineered or stored in or introduced into any information stor-

age and retrieval system in any form or by any means whether

electronic or mechanical now known or hereinafter invented

without the express written permission of PerfectBoundtrade

PerfectBound trade and the PerfectBoundtrade logo are trademarks

of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

Adobe Acrobat E-Book Reader edition v 1 May 2002

ISBN 0-06-052370-0

Print edition first published in 2002

by Forth Estate a division of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 4

glue lavishly applied he said helpfully about relativity think ofthe power of the shrewd guess Such a sweeping perspective hadbeen visionary at the beginning but had been assessed and re-inforced and it was moreover Colin was now insisting usefulIn the face of lifersquos uncertainties relativityrsquos weight could beassumed and then set aside part of the package of consciousness

He finished awkwardly sat back in his chair with his two longarms extended ldquoSordquo Thatrsquos it he seemed to say or thatrsquos asmuch as I can do to simplify and explain so brilliant an idea Heglanced at his watch then sat back again exhausted pleased withhimself He wore a well-pressed cotton shirt with blue and yellowstripes neatly tucked into his black jeans He has no interest in clothes This shirt must go back to his married days chosen for him ironed for him by Marietta herself and put on a hangerperhaps a summer ago

The theory of relativity would not bring Colinrsquos wife hurryingback to the old stone house on Oriole Parkway It would notbring my daughter Norah home from the corner of Bathurst andBloor or the Promise Hostel where she beds at night Tom and I followed her one day we had to know how she managedwhether she was safe The weather would be turning cold soonHow does she bear it Cold concrete Dirt Uncombed hair

ldquoWould you sayrdquo I asked ColinmdashI had not spoken for severalminutesmdashldquothat the theory of relativity has reduced the weight ofgoodness and depravity in the worldrdquo

He stared at me ldquoRelativity has no moral position None what-everrdquo (ldquoThis coffee is undrinkablerdquo)

I looked to Tom for support but he was gazing with his mildeyes at the ceiling smiling I knew that smile

ldquoBut isnrsquot it possiblerdquo I said to Colin ldquoto think that goodnessor virtue if you like could be a wave or particle of energyrdquo

ldquoNordquo he said ldquoNo it is not possiblerdquoI made an abrupt move to clear the table I was suddenly

exhaustedStill I am thankful for the friendship and intellectual ardour of

such an unpretentious man as Colin Glass who despite his suffer-ing and shame really wanted me to understand a key concept ofthe twentieth century Or was he simply diverting himself for anhour This is what I must learn the art of diversion He said notone word about Marietta all evening long Tom and I understandthat he is reconstructing his life without her But a daughter issomething different A daughter of nineteen cannot be erased

Once

It was understood that I would do the publicity such as it was for Danielle Westermanrsquos third volume of memoirs Ateighty-five she was too old and too distinguished to handle

a day of interviews in Toronto even though she lives there I asthe translator could easily field questions from the press A verylight schedule was organized by the publisher since Dr Wester-man already possesses a long twilight of faithful readership

In early September I drove into Orangetown down its calmold-fashioned main street and into the countryside again The cityof Toronto monumental and lonely glowed in front of me Itsoutskirts are ragged though its numbered exits pretend at a kindof order Traffic was light I drove slowly by the corner of Bloorand Bathurst for a glimpse of Norah There she was as always onthe northeast corner seated on the ground near the subwayentrance with her bowl and cardboard sign even though it wasnot yet nine orsquoclock Had she had breakfast Did she have nits inher hair What is she thinking or is her mind a great blank

I parked the car and walked over to where she was ldquoHellodarling Norahrdquo I said setting down a plastic bag of food breadand cheese fruit and raw vegetables And in an envelope arecent photo of Pet with his straight proud muzzle and furry ruff Norah of all the girls doted on Pet and now I was bribingher shamelessly It was a chilly day and it iced my heart to see herunreadable immobility but I was glad to notice that she waswearing warm mittens Glad Me glad The least little signal willgladden my heart these days Today she looked not quite at me

and nodded Another wave of gladness struck I allow myself onlyone such glimpse a week since shersquos made it clear she doesnrsquotwant to see us

It is like watching her through plate glass All week I will drawexpensively on this brief moment of voyeurism at the same timetrying to blot it out with images of Norah on her bicycle Norahsitting at the kitchen table studying for exams Norah reaching forher green raincoat Norah trying on new school shoes Norahsleeping safe

After a while I went to have my eyebrows arched and tinted atSylviarsquos which calls itself a ldquospirit spardquo meaning it seemed thatwhile Madame Sylvia swiped at my brow with a little paintbrushshe murmured and sang into my ear It was now nine-thirty in themorning and I lay on a narrow table in a tiny white room ldquoYouare at the age when you must protect the fine skin around theeyesrdquo she warned ldquoA womanrsquos face falls it is inevitable but the eyes go on and on giving light You will be eighty ninety and your eyes will still charmrdquo

She knows nothing about my life Irsquove never been here beforeand have never thought of having an eyebrow tint I have per-fectly decent eyebrows nicely shaped and regular but I did lookinto a mirror a week or so ago and noticed that the small hairs atthe outside corners were coming in grey There was a little greyat the temples too but nothing to be surprised about not for a woman whose forty-fourth birthday is approaching not for awoman who has never even thought of herself as possessingldquotemplesrdquo such august body parts

ldquoAre you by any chance a Geminirdquo Madame Sylvia askedintimately Swish went the paintbrush She stopped peered at meclosely then swished again a deft little stroke

ldquoNordquo I said ashamed to acknowledge the astrological universeldquoMy birthdayrsquos in September Next week in factrdquo

ldquoI can tell yesrdquo She had a touch of the harridan in her voice ldquoIcan always tellrdquo

What could she tell

ldquoTwenty-four dollarsrdquo she said ldquoLet me give you my card Fornext timerdquo

Presumptuous but yes there will be a next time I calculatedquickly My face would make it through the next few weeks butby November I will probably be back in Madame Sylviarsquos hushedwhite cell I may well become a regular Eyebrows lashes fullfacials neck massage I have led a reflective life a life of thoughta writer a translator but all this is about to change The delicateskin around my eyes was demanding attention Has Tom noticedI donrsquot think so Christine and Natalie donrsquot really look at me inthat way they just see this watercolour blob that means motherwhich is rather how I see myself

ldquoA womanrsquos charm is with her for liferdquo Madame Sylvia saidldquobut you must pay attentionrdquo

No I thought an hour later no Irsquom sorry but I have no plansto be charming on a regular basis Anyone can be charming Itrsquosreally a cheap trick mere charm so astonishingly easy to per-form screwing up your face into sunbeams and spewing themforth The calculated lift of the wrist chin up thumb and fore-finger brought together to form a little feminine loop that trick of pretending to sit on a little glass chair that concentration ofradiance lrsquoesprit little sprinkles of it everywhere misting the airlike bargain scent Ingenue spritz Emma Allen calls it

I know that cheapness so intimatelymdashthe grainy sugary per-severing way charm enters a fresh mouth and rubs against themolars sticking there in soft wads promoting mouth ulcers or whatever it is thatrsquos the metaphoric projection of self-hatredOf all the social virtues charm is in the end the most unreward-ing And compared to goodness real goodness or the unmovableself-abnegation my daughter Norah practises charm is nothingbut crumpled tissue paper soiled from previous use

Sincerity No Sincerityrsquos over Sincerityrsquos lost whatever edge ithad Itrsquos fine fine matter but wasted on the press who all grew uppost-Holocaust devoted readers of Mad Magazine and wouldnrsquotrecognize a bar of willed innocence if it came wrapped in foil

Nor will I ever again be pointlessly endlessly polite I got overthat two years ago when I did my author tour It seems Irsquove lostlike a stream of pebbles leaving my hand the kind of endurancethat professional courtesy demands suck in your breath let yourface go numb listen to the interviewerrsquos questions registeroptimally let your breath out evaluate the feelings of those whodepend on you (agent publisher editor that nice Sheila personwho does publicity and of course Danielle Westerman) andperform again and again like the tuned-up athlete you are the fitphysical specimen that each new book demands then move on tothe next task

Mrs Winters who has just translated The Middle Years the un-

folding memoir of Holocaust survivor Danielle Westerman is a woman

of grace and charm whose thick brown hair is arranged into a bun

Putting down her coffee cup she shrugs off her beige raincoat and

Irsquove entered early middle age now and I have a nineteen-year-old daughter who lives on the street I no longer require a reputa-tion for charm those saving lilac shadows and contours Maybe Inever did I wonrsquotmdashnot nowmdashtuck the ends of my sentences intolittle licks of favour and the next time a journalist pins me downwith a personal question trolling for informationmdashTell me MrsWinters how are you able to balance your family and profes-sional lifemdashI will stare back hard with my newly practised stareHow do I balance my life Tinted eyebrows up Just what kind ofinquiry is this Wouldnrsquot you prefer Mrs Winters to pursue youown writing rather than translate Dr Westermanrsquos work Pleasenot that again How did you and your husband meet What doeshe think of your writing

I will in the future address my interviewer directly and saywith firmness ldquoThis interview is overrdquo There is nothing to loseRude and difficult people are more likely to be taken seriouslyCurmudgeons are positively adored Irsquove noticed this Even thefascinatingly unknowable earn respect

And when I read in the paper tomorrow that ldquoMrs Winterslooked all of her forty-three yearsrdquo and that ldquoMrs Winters with

her familiar overbite was reluctant to talk about her work sched-ulerdquo I will want to phone the editor and complain bitterly Thisfrom the pen of a small unattractive man almost entirely lip-less beneath a bony domineering nose sweating with minorambition head tilted like something carved out of yellow wax

He interviewed me in a cappuccino bar in mid-Toronto Achilly stooped round-headed man in his thirties or fortiesmdashitwas hard to tellmdashslow to smile pathetically in need of humanattention thinking his superior thoughts Fluff on his shouldersbegged to be picked off I on the other hand was wearing a softjade jacket of cashmere lined with silk which represented a raresplurge on my part but I could be sure this man would over-look this garment with its crystal buttons and mandarin collar andconcentrate instead on my drab raincoat beige and not quitepristine at the cuffs In print he will be certain to refer to mychignon as a bun Itrsquos taken me years to learn to do a glossy littlechignonmdashI can get my hair brushed back and securely pinned up each morning in a mere two and a half minutes and I considermy coiffure one of my major life accomplishments I really meanthis

Sheila from publicity had filled me in before the interview andI felt the information packet hovering what to do with it Thisyoungyoungish man was the newly appointed books columnistat Booktimes He was well known for holding pious opinions aboutthe literature of the Great North about his own role as advocateof a diverse new outpouring of Canadian voices the post-colonialcry of blaming anguish The stream of current fiction aboutmiddle-class people living in cities was diluting the authenticnational voice that rose from the landscape itself andmdash

Oh shut up shut upCappuccino foam dotted the corners of his undistinguished

mouth And just one more question Mrs WintersmdashOf course he didnrsquot call me Reta even though there might be

only a year or two between us The ldquoMrsrdquo gave him power overme that vexing r rucking things up in the middle and making one

think of such distractions as clotheslines and baking tins He wasthe barking terrier going at Mrs Wintersrsquos ankles shaking out hisfur and asking me to justify myself wanting me to explain thespluttering dying whimpering bonfire of my life which I wouldnot dream of sharing He seemed to forget he was interviewingme about Danielle Westermanrsquos new book

I understand yoursquore working on a second novel said heWell yesTakes nerveUh-huhActuallymdashactually well he had a novel on the go himselfReally What a surpriseAt the end of the hour he did not ask for the bill I asked for the

bill ldquoIrsquoll just put it on my Visardquo I said breaking a tenuous breadthof silence I announced this with all the majesty I could musterover a vinyl table like a grande dame adding twenty years to myage and feeling the vowels shifting in my beautifully mouldedthroat Such dignity I surprised myself with my own resonanceand I may have managed a pained smile displaying no doubtthat famous overbite He turned off the tape recorder at the wordldquoVisardquo

He had two young children at home he said Christ what aresponsibility although he loved the little bastards One of themwas quite quite gifted well they both were in their separateways But the work of raising kids Never enough time to read thebooks he had to review books all over the house with little mark-ers in them books he would never finish So much was expectedand of course like all journalists he was underpaid

Oh shut upThey also expected him to do a feature on the weekendUh-huhAnd last week hersquod actually broken the MacBunna storyReally Macumba MarimbaCongratulations said Mrs Reta Winters from OrangetownThanks

I should be getting on my way I said My parking meter Alunch date A long drive home

I understand you and your family live in a lovely old housenear Orangetown

And then slyly I understand one of your daughters now livesin Toronto and

Irsquove been here before There is something about having anestablished family a long-lasting spousal arrangement threedaughters in their teens a house in the country a suggestion ofimpermeability that draws the curiosity of others so that theycan as Tom says probe with probity

But no this man across the table will not be feeding on myflesh nor will his colleaguesmdashthough one can tell that he has nocolleagues there is no possibility of colleagues He has no contextfor friends or co-workers though there are the kids and therersquosthe wife hersquos referred to her three times now Nicola She has herprofessional life too he tells me as though the matter were indispute

I canrsquot resist ldquoDoes Nicolamdashis she a journalist toordquoldquoJournalistrdquoldquoLike you I meanrdquoHis hand jumps and for a moment I think hersquos going to turn

the tape recorder on again But no hersquos reaching into his pocketand now hersquos releasing two coins onto the table The tip They liethere moist from his hand Two dimes I focus on them withwhat I hope is a cool censorious gaze

But hersquos not looking at me Hersquos looking across the roomwhere a silver-haired man is seating himself gracefully at a tableldquoIrsquom not sure but I think thatrsquos Gore Vidalrdquo my interviewer whis-pers in a hungry voice ldquoHersquos here for the writersrsquo festival youknowrdquo

I rise and exit as though led by a brass quintetThe charming Mrs Winters slips on her comfortable beige rain-

coat

I would like to thank a number of others who in one way or another encouraged me in the writing of Unless SharonAllan Marjorie Anderson the late Joan Austen-Leigh JoanBarfoot Clare Boylan Marg Edmond Brown Joan ClarkAnne Collins Cynthia Coop Patrick Crowe Maggie DwyerDarlene Hammell Blanche Howard Isabel Huggan CarlLenthe Madeline Li Elinor Lipman Anna and Sylvie MatasMargaret Shaw-Mackinnon Don McCarthy Peter ParkerBella Pomer Christopher Potter Linda Rogers CaroleSabiston Floyd St Clair Eleanor Wachtel Cindi WarnerMindy Werner the John Simon Guggenheim Foundationand as always my family John Audrey Anne CatherineMeg Sara and especially Don

About the Author

Carol Shields is the author of eight novels and two collections of short stories

The Stone Diaries won the Pulitzer Prize and was shortlisted for the Booker

Prize Larryrsquos Party won the Orange Prize Born and brought up in Chicago

Carol Shields has lived in Canada since 1957

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 1

Others

Intersect

Coming to Canada

Larryrsquos Party

The Stone Diaries

The Republic of Love

A Celibate Season (with Blanche Howard)Swann

A Fairly Conventional Woman

Happenstance

The Box Garden

Small Ceremonies

Various Miracles

The Orange Fish

Dressing Up for the Carnival

Departures and Arrivals

Thirteen Hands

Fashion Power Guilt and the Charity of Families

(with Catherine Shields)Anniversary (with David Williamson)

Susanna Moodie Voice and Vision

Jane Austen

Dropped Threads What We Arenrsquot Told

(Edited with Marjorie Anderson)

Credits

Design by Julian HumphriesPhotographer by Michael CrouserDesigned by Dinah Drazin

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 2

If you enjoyed reading this excerpt please visitHarperCollins Publishers to find out where to buy thisand other PerfectBound e-books

Australiahttpwwwharpercollinscomau

Canadahttpwwwharpercanadacom

New Zealandhttpwwwharpercollinsconz

United Kingdomhttpwwwfireandwatercom

United Stateshttpwwwperfectboundcom

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 3

The Pajama Game Words and Music by Richard Adler Music

and Jerry Ross copy Richard Adler Music and J amp J Ross Co USA

WarnerChappell Music Ltd London w6 8bs

Reproduced by permission of International Music Publications

Ltd All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction Names characters places and incidents

either are the products of the authorrsquos imagination or are used

fictitiously Any resemblance to actual events locales organiza-

tions or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and

beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher

UNLESS Copyright copy 2002 by Carol Shields All rights

reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright

Conventions By payment of the required fees you have been

granted the non-exclusive non-transferable right to access and

read the text of this e-book on-screen No part of this text may

be reproduced transmitted down-loaded decompiled reverse

engineered or stored in or introduced into any information stor-

age and retrieval system in any form or by any means whether

electronic or mechanical now known or hereinafter invented

without the express written permission of PerfectBoundtrade

PerfectBound trade and the PerfectBoundtrade logo are trademarks

of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

Adobe Acrobat E-Book Reader edition v 1 May 2002

ISBN 0-06-052370-0

Print edition first published in 2002

by Forth Estate a division of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 4

such an unpretentious man as Colin Glass who despite his suffer-ing and shame really wanted me to understand a key concept ofthe twentieth century Or was he simply diverting himself for anhour This is what I must learn the art of diversion He said notone word about Marietta all evening long Tom and I understandthat he is reconstructing his life without her But a daughter issomething different A daughter of nineteen cannot be erased

Once

It was understood that I would do the publicity such as it was for Danielle Westermanrsquos third volume of memoirs Ateighty-five she was too old and too distinguished to handle

a day of interviews in Toronto even though she lives there I asthe translator could easily field questions from the press A verylight schedule was organized by the publisher since Dr Wester-man already possesses a long twilight of faithful readership

In early September I drove into Orangetown down its calmold-fashioned main street and into the countryside again The cityof Toronto monumental and lonely glowed in front of me Itsoutskirts are ragged though its numbered exits pretend at a kindof order Traffic was light I drove slowly by the corner of Bloorand Bathurst for a glimpse of Norah There she was as always onthe northeast corner seated on the ground near the subwayentrance with her bowl and cardboard sign even though it wasnot yet nine orsquoclock Had she had breakfast Did she have nits inher hair What is she thinking or is her mind a great blank

I parked the car and walked over to where she was ldquoHellodarling Norahrdquo I said setting down a plastic bag of food breadand cheese fruit and raw vegetables And in an envelope arecent photo of Pet with his straight proud muzzle and furry ruff Norah of all the girls doted on Pet and now I was bribingher shamelessly It was a chilly day and it iced my heart to see herunreadable immobility but I was glad to notice that she waswearing warm mittens Glad Me glad The least little signal willgladden my heart these days Today she looked not quite at me

and nodded Another wave of gladness struck I allow myself onlyone such glimpse a week since shersquos made it clear she doesnrsquotwant to see us

It is like watching her through plate glass All week I will drawexpensively on this brief moment of voyeurism at the same timetrying to blot it out with images of Norah on her bicycle Norahsitting at the kitchen table studying for exams Norah reaching forher green raincoat Norah trying on new school shoes Norahsleeping safe

After a while I went to have my eyebrows arched and tinted atSylviarsquos which calls itself a ldquospirit spardquo meaning it seemed thatwhile Madame Sylvia swiped at my brow with a little paintbrushshe murmured and sang into my ear It was now nine-thirty in themorning and I lay on a narrow table in a tiny white room ldquoYouare at the age when you must protect the fine skin around theeyesrdquo she warned ldquoA womanrsquos face falls it is inevitable but the eyes go on and on giving light You will be eighty ninety and your eyes will still charmrdquo

She knows nothing about my life Irsquove never been here beforeand have never thought of having an eyebrow tint I have per-fectly decent eyebrows nicely shaped and regular but I did lookinto a mirror a week or so ago and noticed that the small hairs atthe outside corners were coming in grey There was a little greyat the temples too but nothing to be surprised about not for a woman whose forty-fourth birthday is approaching not for awoman who has never even thought of herself as possessingldquotemplesrdquo such august body parts

ldquoAre you by any chance a Geminirdquo Madame Sylvia askedintimately Swish went the paintbrush She stopped peered at meclosely then swished again a deft little stroke

ldquoNordquo I said ashamed to acknowledge the astrological universeldquoMy birthdayrsquos in September Next week in factrdquo

ldquoI can tell yesrdquo She had a touch of the harridan in her voice ldquoIcan always tellrdquo

What could she tell

ldquoTwenty-four dollarsrdquo she said ldquoLet me give you my card Fornext timerdquo

Presumptuous but yes there will be a next time I calculatedquickly My face would make it through the next few weeks butby November I will probably be back in Madame Sylviarsquos hushedwhite cell I may well become a regular Eyebrows lashes fullfacials neck massage I have led a reflective life a life of thoughta writer a translator but all this is about to change The delicateskin around my eyes was demanding attention Has Tom noticedI donrsquot think so Christine and Natalie donrsquot really look at me inthat way they just see this watercolour blob that means motherwhich is rather how I see myself

ldquoA womanrsquos charm is with her for liferdquo Madame Sylvia saidldquobut you must pay attentionrdquo

No I thought an hour later no Irsquom sorry but I have no plansto be charming on a regular basis Anyone can be charming Itrsquosreally a cheap trick mere charm so astonishingly easy to per-form screwing up your face into sunbeams and spewing themforth The calculated lift of the wrist chin up thumb and fore-finger brought together to form a little feminine loop that trick of pretending to sit on a little glass chair that concentration ofradiance lrsquoesprit little sprinkles of it everywhere misting the airlike bargain scent Ingenue spritz Emma Allen calls it

I know that cheapness so intimatelymdashthe grainy sugary per-severing way charm enters a fresh mouth and rubs against themolars sticking there in soft wads promoting mouth ulcers or whatever it is thatrsquos the metaphoric projection of self-hatredOf all the social virtues charm is in the end the most unreward-ing And compared to goodness real goodness or the unmovableself-abnegation my daughter Norah practises charm is nothingbut crumpled tissue paper soiled from previous use

Sincerity No Sincerityrsquos over Sincerityrsquos lost whatever edge ithad Itrsquos fine fine matter but wasted on the press who all grew uppost-Holocaust devoted readers of Mad Magazine and wouldnrsquotrecognize a bar of willed innocence if it came wrapped in foil

Nor will I ever again be pointlessly endlessly polite I got overthat two years ago when I did my author tour It seems Irsquove lostlike a stream of pebbles leaving my hand the kind of endurancethat professional courtesy demands suck in your breath let yourface go numb listen to the interviewerrsquos questions registeroptimally let your breath out evaluate the feelings of those whodepend on you (agent publisher editor that nice Sheila personwho does publicity and of course Danielle Westerman) andperform again and again like the tuned-up athlete you are the fitphysical specimen that each new book demands then move on tothe next task

Mrs Winters who has just translated The Middle Years the un-

folding memoir of Holocaust survivor Danielle Westerman is a woman

of grace and charm whose thick brown hair is arranged into a bun

Putting down her coffee cup she shrugs off her beige raincoat and

Irsquove entered early middle age now and I have a nineteen-year-old daughter who lives on the street I no longer require a reputa-tion for charm those saving lilac shadows and contours Maybe Inever did I wonrsquotmdashnot nowmdashtuck the ends of my sentences intolittle licks of favour and the next time a journalist pins me downwith a personal question trolling for informationmdashTell me MrsWinters how are you able to balance your family and profes-sional lifemdashI will stare back hard with my newly practised stareHow do I balance my life Tinted eyebrows up Just what kind ofinquiry is this Wouldnrsquot you prefer Mrs Winters to pursue youown writing rather than translate Dr Westermanrsquos work Pleasenot that again How did you and your husband meet What doeshe think of your writing

I will in the future address my interviewer directly and saywith firmness ldquoThis interview is overrdquo There is nothing to loseRude and difficult people are more likely to be taken seriouslyCurmudgeons are positively adored Irsquove noticed this Even thefascinatingly unknowable earn respect

And when I read in the paper tomorrow that ldquoMrs Winterslooked all of her forty-three yearsrdquo and that ldquoMrs Winters with

her familiar overbite was reluctant to talk about her work sched-ulerdquo I will want to phone the editor and complain bitterly Thisfrom the pen of a small unattractive man almost entirely lip-less beneath a bony domineering nose sweating with minorambition head tilted like something carved out of yellow wax

He interviewed me in a cappuccino bar in mid-Toronto Achilly stooped round-headed man in his thirties or fortiesmdashitwas hard to tellmdashslow to smile pathetically in need of humanattention thinking his superior thoughts Fluff on his shouldersbegged to be picked off I on the other hand was wearing a softjade jacket of cashmere lined with silk which represented a raresplurge on my part but I could be sure this man would over-look this garment with its crystal buttons and mandarin collar andconcentrate instead on my drab raincoat beige and not quitepristine at the cuffs In print he will be certain to refer to mychignon as a bun Itrsquos taken me years to learn to do a glossy littlechignonmdashI can get my hair brushed back and securely pinned up each morning in a mere two and a half minutes and I considermy coiffure one of my major life accomplishments I really meanthis

Sheila from publicity had filled me in before the interview andI felt the information packet hovering what to do with it Thisyoungyoungish man was the newly appointed books columnistat Booktimes He was well known for holding pious opinions aboutthe literature of the Great North about his own role as advocateof a diverse new outpouring of Canadian voices the post-colonialcry of blaming anguish The stream of current fiction aboutmiddle-class people living in cities was diluting the authenticnational voice that rose from the landscape itself andmdash

Oh shut up shut upCappuccino foam dotted the corners of his undistinguished

mouth And just one more question Mrs WintersmdashOf course he didnrsquot call me Reta even though there might be

only a year or two between us The ldquoMrsrdquo gave him power overme that vexing r rucking things up in the middle and making one

think of such distractions as clotheslines and baking tins He wasthe barking terrier going at Mrs Wintersrsquos ankles shaking out hisfur and asking me to justify myself wanting me to explain thespluttering dying whimpering bonfire of my life which I wouldnot dream of sharing He seemed to forget he was interviewingme about Danielle Westermanrsquos new book

I understand yoursquore working on a second novel said heWell yesTakes nerveUh-huhActuallymdashactually well he had a novel on the go himselfReally What a surpriseAt the end of the hour he did not ask for the bill I asked for the

bill ldquoIrsquoll just put it on my Visardquo I said breaking a tenuous breadthof silence I announced this with all the majesty I could musterover a vinyl table like a grande dame adding twenty years to myage and feeling the vowels shifting in my beautifully mouldedthroat Such dignity I surprised myself with my own resonanceand I may have managed a pained smile displaying no doubtthat famous overbite He turned off the tape recorder at the wordldquoVisardquo

He had two young children at home he said Christ what aresponsibility although he loved the little bastards One of themwas quite quite gifted well they both were in their separateways But the work of raising kids Never enough time to read thebooks he had to review books all over the house with little mark-ers in them books he would never finish So much was expectedand of course like all journalists he was underpaid

Oh shut upThey also expected him to do a feature on the weekendUh-huhAnd last week hersquod actually broken the MacBunna storyReally Macumba MarimbaCongratulations said Mrs Reta Winters from OrangetownThanks

I should be getting on my way I said My parking meter Alunch date A long drive home

I understand you and your family live in a lovely old housenear Orangetown

And then slyly I understand one of your daughters now livesin Toronto and

Irsquove been here before There is something about having anestablished family a long-lasting spousal arrangement threedaughters in their teens a house in the country a suggestion ofimpermeability that draws the curiosity of others so that theycan as Tom says probe with probity

But no this man across the table will not be feeding on myflesh nor will his colleaguesmdashthough one can tell that he has nocolleagues there is no possibility of colleagues He has no contextfor friends or co-workers though there are the kids and therersquosthe wife hersquos referred to her three times now Nicola She has herprofessional life too he tells me as though the matter were indispute

I canrsquot resist ldquoDoes Nicolamdashis she a journalist toordquoldquoJournalistrdquoldquoLike you I meanrdquoHis hand jumps and for a moment I think hersquos going to turn

the tape recorder on again But no hersquos reaching into his pocketand now hersquos releasing two coins onto the table The tip They liethere moist from his hand Two dimes I focus on them withwhat I hope is a cool censorious gaze

But hersquos not looking at me Hersquos looking across the roomwhere a silver-haired man is seating himself gracefully at a tableldquoIrsquom not sure but I think thatrsquos Gore Vidalrdquo my interviewer whis-pers in a hungry voice ldquoHersquos here for the writersrsquo festival youknowrdquo

I rise and exit as though led by a brass quintetThe charming Mrs Winters slips on her comfortable beige rain-

coat

I would like to thank a number of others who in one way or another encouraged me in the writing of Unless SharonAllan Marjorie Anderson the late Joan Austen-Leigh JoanBarfoot Clare Boylan Marg Edmond Brown Joan ClarkAnne Collins Cynthia Coop Patrick Crowe Maggie DwyerDarlene Hammell Blanche Howard Isabel Huggan CarlLenthe Madeline Li Elinor Lipman Anna and Sylvie MatasMargaret Shaw-Mackinnon Don McCarthy Peter ParkerBella Pomer Christopher Potter Linda Rogers CaroleSabiston Floyd St Clair Eleanor Wachtel Cindi WarnerMindy Werner the John Simon Guggenheim Foundationand as always my family John Audrey Anne CatherineMeg Sara and especially Don

About the Author

Carol Shields is the author of eight novels and two collections of short stories

The Stone Diaries won the Pulitzer Prize and was shortlisted for the Booker

Prize Larryrsquos Party won the Orange Prize Born and brought up in Chicago

Carol Shields has lived in Canada since 1957

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 1

Others

Intersect

Coming to Canada

Larryrsquos Party

The Stone Diaries

The Republic of Love

A Celibate Season (with Blanche Howard)Swann

A Fairly Conventional Woman

Happenstance

The Box Garden

Small Ceremonies

Various Miracles

The Orange Fish

Dressing Up for the Carnival

Departures and Arrivals

Thirteen Hands

Fashion Power Guilt and the Charity of Families

(with Catherine Shields)Anniversary (with David Williamson)

Susanna Moodie Voice and Vision

Jane Austen

Dropped Threads What We Arenrsquot Told

(Edited with Marjorie Anderson)

Credits

Design by Julian HumphriesPhotographer by Michael CrouserDesigned by Dinah Drazin

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 2

If you enjoyed reading this excerpt please visitHarperCollins Publishers to find out where to buy thisand other PerfectBound e-books

Australiahttpwwwharpercollinscomau

Canadahttpwwwharpercanadacom

New Zealandhttpwwwharpercollinsconz

United Kingdomhttpwwwfireandwatercom

United Stateshttpwwwperfectboundcom

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 3

The Pajama Game Words and Music by Richard Adler Music

and Jerry Ross copy Richard Adler Music and J amp J Ross Co USA

WarnerChappell Music Ltd London w6 8bs

Reproduced by permission of International Music Publications

Ltd All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction Names characters places and incidents

either are the products of the authorrsquos imagination or are used

fictitiously Any resemblance to actual events locales organiza-

tions or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and

beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher

UNLESS Copyright copy 2002 by Carol Shields All rights

reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright

Conventions By payment of the required fees you have been

granted the non-exclusive non-transferable right to access and

read the text of this e-book on-screen No part of this text may

be reproduced transmitted down-loaded decompiled reverse

engineered or stored in or introduced into any information stor-

age and retrieval system in any form or by any means whether

electronic or mechanical now known or hereinafter invented

without the express written permission of PerfectBoundtrade

PerfectBound trade and the PerfectBoundtrade logo are trademarks

of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

Adobe Acrobat E-Book Reader edition v 1 May 2002

ISBN 0-06-052370-0

Print edition first published in 2002

by Forth Estate a division of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 4

Once

It was understood that I would do the publicity such as it was for Danielle Westermanrsquos third volume of memoirs Ateighty-five she was too old and too distinguished to handle

a day of interviews in Toronto even though she lives there I asthe translator could easily field questions from the press A verylight schedule was organized by the publisher since Dr Wester-man already possesses a long twilight of faithful readership

In early September I drove into Orangetown down its calmold-fashioned main street and into the countryside again The cityof Toronto monumental and lonely glowed in front of me Itsoutskirts are ragged though its numbered exits pretend at a kindof order Traffic was light I drove slowly by the corner of Bloorand Bathurst for a glimpse of Norah There she was as always onthe northeast corner seated on the ground near the subwayentrance with her bowl and cardboard sign even though it wasnot yet nine orsquoclock Had she had breakfast Did she have nits inher hair What is she thinking or is her mind a great blank

I parked the car and walked over to where she was ldquoHellodarling Norahrdquo I said setting down a plastic bag of food breadand cheese fruit and raw vegetables And in an envelope arecent photo of Pet with his straight proud muzzle and furry ruff Norah of all the girls doted on Pet and now I was bribingher shamelessly It was a chilly day and it iced my heart to see herunreadable immobility but I was glad to notice that she waswearing warm mittens Glad Me glad The least little signal willgladden my heart these days Today she looked not quite at me

and nodded Another wave of gladness struck I allow myself onlyone such glimpse a week since shersquos made it clear she doesnrsquotwant to see us

It is like watching her through plate glass All week I will drawexpensively on this brief moment of voyeurism at the same timetrying to blot it out with images of Norah on her bicycle Norahsitting at the kitchen table studying for exams Norah reaching forher green raincoat Norah trying on new school shoes Norahsleeping safe

After a while I went to have my eyebrows arched and tinted atSylviarsquos which calls itself a ldquospirit spardquo meaning it seemed thatwhile Madame Sylvia swiped at my brow with a little paintbrushshe murmured and sang into my ear It was now nine-thirty in themorning and I lay on a narrow table in a tiny white room ldquoYouare at the age when you must protect the fine skin around theeyesrdquo she warned ldquoA womanrsquos face falls it is inevitable but the eyes go on and on giving light You will be eighty ninety and your eyes will still charmrdquo

She knows nothing about my life Irsquove never been here beforeand have never thought of having an eyebrow tint I have per-fectly decent eyebrows nicely shaped and regular but I did lookinto a mirror a week or so ago and noticed that the small hairs atthe outside corners were coming in grey There was a little greyat the temples too but nothing to be surprised about not for a woman whose forty-fourth birthday is approaching not for awoman who has never even thought of herself as possessingldquotemplesrdquo such august body parts

ldquoAre you by any chance a Geminirdquo Madame Sylvia askedintimately Swish went the paintbrush She stopped peered at meclosely then swished again a deft little stroke

ldquoNordquo I said ashamed to acknowledge the astrological universeldquoMy birthdayrsquos in September Next week in factrdquo

ldquoI can tell yesrdquo She had a touch of the harridan in her voice ldquoIcan always tellrdquo

What could she tell

ldquoTwenty-four dollarsrdquo she said ldquoLet me give you my card Fornext timerdquo

Presumptuous but yes there will be a next time I calculatedquickly My face would make it through the next few weeks butby November I will probably be back in Madame Sylviarsquos hushedwhite cell I may well become a regular Eyebrows lashes fullfacials neck massage I have led a reflective life a life of thoughta writer a translator but all this is about to change The delicateskin around my eyes was demanding attention Has Tom noticedI donrsquot think so Christine and Natalie donrsquot really look at me inthat way they just see this watercolour blob that means motherwhich is rather how I see myself

ldquoA womanrsquos charm is with her for liferdquo Madame Sylvia saidldquobut you must pay attentionrdquo

No I thought an hour later no Irsquom sorry but I have no plansto be charming on a regular basis Anyone can be charming Itrsquosreally a cheap trick mere charm so astonishingly easy to per-form screwing up your face into sunbeams and spewing themforth The calculated lift of the wrist chin up thumb and fore-finger brought together to form a little feminine loop that trick of pretending to sit on a little glass chair that concentration ofradiance lrsquoesprit little sprinkles of it everywhere misting the airlike bargain scent Ingenue spritz Emma Allen calls it

I know that cheapness so intimatelymdashthe grainy sugary per-severing way charm enters a fresh mouth and rubs against themolars sticking there in soft wads promoting mouth ulcers or whatever it is thatrsquos the metaphoric projection of self-hatredOf all the social virtues charm is in the end the most unreward-ing And compared to goodness real goodness or the unmovableself-abnegation my daughter Norah practises charm is nothingbut crumpled tissue paper soiled from previous use

Sincerity No Sincerityrsquos over Sincerityrsquos lost whatever edge ithad Itrsquos fine fine matter but wasted on the press who all grew uppost-Holocaust devoted readers of Mad Magazine and wouldnrsquotrecognize a bar of willed innocence if it came wrapped in foil

Nor will I ever again be pointlessly endlessly polite I got overthat two years ago when I did my author tour It seems Irsquove lostlike a stream of pebbles leaving my hand the kind of endurancethat professional courtesy demands suck in your breath let yourface go numb listen to the interviewerrsquos questions registeroptimally let your breath out evaluate the feelings of those whodepend on you (agent publisher editor that nice Sheila personwho does publicity and of course Danielle Westerman) andperform again and again like the tuned-up athlete you are the fitphysical specimen that each new book demands then move on tothe next task

Mrs Winters who has just translated The Middle Years the un-

folding memoir of Holocaust survivor Danielle Westerman is a woman

of grace and charm whose thick brown hair is arranged into a bun

Putting down her coffee cup she shrugs off her beige raincoat and

Irsquove entered early middle age now and I have a nineteen-year-old daughter who lives on the street I no longer require a reputa-tion for charm those saving lilac shadows and contours Maybe Inever did I wonrsquotmdashnot nowmdashtuck the ends of my sentences intolittle licks of favour and the next time a journalist pins me downwith a personal question trolling for informationmdashTell me MrsWinters how are you able to balance your family and profes-sional lifemdashI will stare back hard with my newly practised stareHow do I balance my life Tinted eyebrows up Just what kind ofinquiry is this Wouldnrsquot you prefer Mrs Winters to pursue youown writing rather than translate Dr Westermanrsquos work Pleasenot that again How did you and your husband meet What doeshe think of your writing

I will in the future address my interviewer directly and saywith firmness ldquoThis interview is overrdquo There is nothing to loseRude and difficult people are more likely to be taken seriouslyCurmudgeons are positively adored Irsquove noticed this Even thefascinatingly unknowable earn respect

And when I read in the paper tomorrow that ldquoMrs Winterslooked all of her forty-three yearsrdquo and that ldquoMrs Winters with

her familiar overbite was reluctant to talk about her work sched-ulerdquo I will want to phone the editor and complain bitterly Thisfrom the pen of a small unattractive man almost entirely lip-less beneath a bony domineering nose sweating with minorambition head tilted like something carved out of yellow wax

He interviewed me in a cappuccino bar in mid-Toronto Achilly stooped round-headed man in his thirties or fortiesmdashitwas hard to tellmdashslow to smile pathetically in need of humanattention thinking his superior thoughts Fluff on his shouldersbegged to be picked off I on the other hand was wearing a softjade jacket of cashmere lined with silk which represented a raresplurge on my part but I could be sure this man would over-look this garment with its crystal buttons and mandarin collar andconcentrate instead on my drab raincoat beige and not quitepristine at the cuffs In print he will be certain to refer to mychignon as a bun Itrsquos taken me years to learn to do a glossy littlechignonmdashI can get my hair brushed back and securely pinned up each morning in a mere two and a half minutes and I considermy coiffure one of my major life accomplishments I really meanthis

Sheila from publicity had filled me in before the interview andI felt the information packet hovering what to do with it Thisyoungyoungish man was the newly appointed books columnistat Booktimes He was well known for holding pious opinions aboutthe literature of the Great North about his own role as advocateof a diverse new outpouring of Canadian voices the post-colonialcry of blaming anguish The stream of current fiction aboutmiddle-class people living in cities was diluting the authenticnational voice that rose from the landscape itself andmdash

Oh shut up shut upCappuccino foam dotted the corners of his undistinguished

mouth And just one more question Mrs WintersmdashOf course he didnrsquot call me Reta even though there might be

only a year or two between us The ldquoMrsrdquo gave him power overme that vexing r rucking things up in the middle and making one

think of such distractions as clotheslines and baking tins He wasthe barking terrier going at Mrs Wintersrsquos ankles shaking out hisfur and asking me to justify myself wanting me to explain thespluttering dying whimpering bonfire of my life which I wouldnot dream of sharing He seemed to forget he was interviewingme about Danielle Westermanrsquos new book

I understand yoursquore working on a second novel said heWell yesTakes nerveUh-huhActuallymdashactually well he had a novel on the go himselfReally What a surpriseAt the end of the hour he did not ask for the bill I asked for the

bill ldquoIrsquoll just put it on my Visardquo I said breaking a tenuous breadthof silence I announced this with all the majesty I could musterover a vinyl table like a grande dame adding twenty years to myage and feeling the vowels shifting in my beautifully mouldedthroat Such dignity I surprised myself with my own resonanceand I may have managed a pained smile displaying no doubtthat famous overbite He turned off the tape recorder at the wordldquoVisardquo

He had two young children at home he said Christ what aresponsibility although he loved the little bastards One of themwas quite quite gifted well they both were in their separateways But the work of raising kids Never enough time to read thebooks he had to review books all over the house with little mark-ers in them books he would never finish So much was expectedand of course like all journalists he was underpaid

Oh shut upThey also expected him to do a feature on the weekendUh-huhAnd last week hersquod actually broken the MacBunna storyReally Macumba MarimbaCongratulations said Mrs Reta Winters from OrangetownThanks

I should be getting on my way I said My parking meter Alunch date A long drive home

I understand you and your family live in a lovely old housenear Orangetown

And then slyly I understand one of your daughters now livesin Toronto and

Irsquove been here before There is something about having anestablished family a long-lasting spousal arrangement threedaughters in their teens a house in the country a suggestion ofimpermeability that draws the curiosity of others so that theycan as Tom says probe with probity

But no this man across the table will not be feeding on myflesh nor will his colleaguesmdashthough one can tell that he has nocolleagues there is no possibility of colleagues He has no contextfor friends or co-workers though there are the kids and therersquosthe wife hersquos referred to her three times now Nicola She has herprofessional life too he tells me as though the matter were indispute

I canrsquot resist ldquoDoes Nicolamdashis she a journalist toordquoldquoJournalistrdquoldquoLike you I meanrdquoHis hand jumps and for a moment I think hersquos going to turn

the tape recorder on again But no hersquos reaching into his pocketand now hersquos releasing two coins onto the table The tip They liethere moist from his hand Two dimes I focus on them withwhat I hope is a cool censorious gaze

But hersquos not looking at me Hersquos looking across the roomwhere a silver-haired man is seating himself gracefully at a tableldquoIrsquom not sure but I think thatrsquos Gore Vidalrdquo my interviewer whis-pers in a hungry voice ldquoHersquos here for the writersrsquo festival youknowrdquo

I rise and exit as though led by a brass quintetThe charming Mrs Winters slips on her comfortable beige rain-

coat

I would like to thank a number of others who in one way or another encouraged me in the writing of Unless SharonAllan Marjorie Anderson the late Joan Austen-Leigh JoanBarfoot Clare Boylan Marg Edmond Brown Joan ClarkAnne Collins Cynthia Coop Patrick Crowe Maggie DwyerDarlene Hammell Blanche Howard Isabel Huggan CarlLenthe Madeline Li Elinor Lipman Anna and Sylvie MatasMargaret Shaw-Mackinnon Don McCarthy Peter ParkerBella Pomer Christopher Potter Linda Rogers CaroleSabiston Floyd St Clair Eleanor Wachtel Cindi WarnerMindy Werner the John Simon Guggenheim Foundationand as always my family John Audrey Anne CatherineMeg Sara and especially Don

About the Author

Carol Shields is the author of eight novels and two collections of short stories

The Stone Diaries won the Pulitzer Prize and was shortlisted for the Booker

Prize Larryrsquos Party won the Orange Prize Born and brought up in Chicago

Carol Shields has lived in Canada since 1957

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 1

Others

Intersect

Coming to Canada

Larryrsquos Party

The Stone Diaries

The Republic of Love

A Celibate Season (with Blanche Howard)Swann

A Fairly Conventional Woman

Happenstance

The Box Garden

Small Ceremonies

Various Miracles

The Orange Fish

Dressing Up for the Carnival

Departures and Arrivals

Thirteen Hands

Fashion Power Guilt and the Charity of Families

(with Catherine Shields)Anniversary (with David Williamson)

Susanna Moodie Voice and Vision

Jane Austen

Dropped Threads What We Arenrsquot Told

(Edited with Marjorie Anderson)

Credits

Design by Julian HumphriesPhotographer by Michael CrouserDesigned by Dinah Drazin

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 2

If you enjoyed reading this excerpt please visitHarperCollins Publishers to find out where to buy thisand other PerfectBound e-books

Australiahttpwwwharpercollinscomau

Canadahttpwwwharpercanadacom

New Zealandhttpwwwharpercollinsconz

United Kingdomhttpwwwfireandwatercom

United Stateshttpwwwperfectboundcom

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 3

The Pajama Game Words and Music by Richard Adler Music

and Jerry Ross copy Richard Adler Music and J amp J Ross Co USA

WarnerChappell Music Ltd London w6 8bs

Reproduced by permission of International Music Publications

Ltd All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction Names characters places and incidents

either are the products of the authorrsquos imagination or are used

fictitiously Any resemblance to actual events locales organiza-

tions or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and

beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher

UNLESS Copyright copy 2002 by Carol Shields All rights

reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright

Conventions By payment of the required fees you have been

granted the non-exclusive non-transferable right to access and

read the text of this e-book on-screen No part of this text may

be reproduced transmitted down-loaded decompiled reverse

engineered or stored in or introduced into any information stor-

age and retrieval system in any form or by any means whether

electronic or mechanical now known or hereinafter invented

without the express written permission of PerfectBoundtrade

PerfectBound trade and the PerfectBoundtrade logo are trademarks

of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

Adobe Acrobat E-Book Reader edition v 1 May 2002

ISBN 0-06-052370-0

Print edition first published in 2002

by Forth Estate a division of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 4

and nodded Another wave of gladness struck I allow myself onlyone such glimpse a week since shersquos made it clear she doesnrsquotwant to see us

It is like watching her through plate glass All week I will drawexpensively on this brief moment of voyeurism at the same timetrying to blot it out with images of Norah on her bicycle Norahsitting at the kitchen table studying for exams Norah reaching forher green raincoat Norah trying on new school shoes Norahsleeping safe

After a while I went to have my eyebrows arched and tinted atSylviarsquos which calls itself a ldquospirit spardquo meaning it seemed thatwhile Madame Sylvia swiped at my brow with a little paintbrushshe murmured and sang into my ear It was now nine-thirty in themorning and I lay on a narrow table in a tiny white room ldquoYouare at the age when you must protect the fine skin around theeyesrdquo she warned ldquoA womanrsquos face falls it is inevitable but the eyes go on and on giving light You will be eighty ninety and your eyes will still charmrdquo

She knows nothing about my life Irsquove never been here beforeand have never thought of having an eyebrow tint I have per-fectly decent eyebrows nicely shaped and regular but I did lookinto a mirror a week or so ago and noticed that the small hairs atthe outside corners were coming in grey There was a little greyat the temples too but nothing to be surprised about not for a woman whose forty-fourth birthday is approaching not for awoman who has never even thought of herself as possessingldquotemplesrdquo such august body parts

ldquoAre you by any chance a Geminirdquo Madame Sylvia askedintimately Swish went the paintbrush She stopped peered at meclosely then swished again a deft little stroke

ldquoNordquo I said ashamed to acknowledge the astrological universeldquoMy birthdayrsquos in September Next week in factrdquo

ldquoI can tell yesrdquo She had a touch of the harridan in her voice ldquoIcan always tellrdquo

What could she tell

ldquoTwenty-four dollarsrdquo she said ldquoLet me give you my card Fornext timerdquo

Presumptuous but yes there will be a next time I calculatedquickly My face would make it through the next few weeks butby November I will probably be back in Madame Sylviarsquos hushedwhite cell I may well become a regular Eyebrows lashes fullfacials neck massage I have led a reflective life a life of thoughta writer a translator but all this is about to change The delicateskin around my eyes was demanding attention Has Tom noticedI donrsquot think so Christine and Natalie donrsquot really look at me inthat way they just see this watercolour blob that means motherwhich is rather how I see myself

ldquoA womanrsquos charm is with her for liferdquo Madame Sylvia saidldquobut you must pay attentionrdquo

No I thought an hour later no Irsquom sorry but I have no plansto be charming on a regular basis Anyone can be charming Itrsquosreally a cheap trick mere charm so astonishingly easy to per-form screwing up your face into sunbeams and spewing themforth The calculated lift of the wrist chin up thumb and fore-finger brought together to form a little feminine loop that trick of pretending to sit on a little glass chair that concentration ofradiance lrsquoesprit little sprinkles of it everywhere misting the airlike bargain scent Ingenue spritz Emma Allen calls it

I know that cheapness so intimatelymdashthe grainy sugary per-severing way charm enters a fresh mouth and rubs against themolars sticking there in soft wads promoting mouth ulcers or whatever it is thatrsquos the metaphoric projection of self-hatredOf all the social virtues charm is in the end the most unreward-ing And compared to goodness real goodness or the unmovableself-abnegation my daughter Norah practises charm is nothingbut crumpled tissue paper soiled from previous use

Sincerity No Sincerityrsquos over Sincerityrsquos lost whatever edge ithad Itrsquos fine fine matter but wasted on the press who all grew uppost-Holocaust devoted readers of Mad Magazine and wouldnrsquotrecognize a bar of willed innocence if it came wrapped in foil

Nor will I ever again be pointlessly endlessly polite I got overthat two years ago when I did my author tour It seems Irsquove lostlike a stream of pebbles leaving my hand the kind of endurancethat professional courtesy demands suck in your breath let yourface go numb listen to the interviewerrsquos questions registeroptimally let your breath out evaluate the feelings of those whodepend on you (agent publisher editor that nice Sheila personwho does publicity and of course Danielle Westerman) andperform again and again like the tuned-up athlete you are the fitphysical specimen that each new book demands then move on tothe next task

Mrs Winters who has just translated The Middle Years the un-

folding memoir of Holocaust survivor Danielle Westerman is a woman

of grace and charm whose thick brown hair is arranged into a bun

Putting down her coffee cup she shrugs off her beige raincoat and

Irsquove entered early middle age now and I have a nineteen-year-old daughter who lives on the street I no longer require a reputa-tion for charm those saving lilac shadows and contours Maybe Inever did I wonrsquotmdashnot nowmdashtuck the ends of my sentences intolittle licks of favour and the next time a journalist pins me downwith a personal question trolling for informationmdashTell me MrsWinters how are you able to balance your family and profes-sional lifemdashI will stare back hard with my newly practised stareHow do I balance my life Tinted eyebrows up Just what kind ofinquiry is this Wouldnrsquot you prefer Mrs Winters to pursue youown writing rather than translate Dr Westermanrsquos work Pleasenot that again How did you and your husband meet What doeshe think of your writing

I will in the future address my interviewer directly and saywith firmness ldquoThis interview is overrdquo There is nothing to loseRude and difficult people are more likely to be taken seriouslyCurmudgeons are positively adored Irsquove noticed this Even thefascinatingly unknowable earn respect

And when I read in the paper tomorrow that ldquoMrs Winterslooked all of her forty-three yearsrdquo and that ldquoMrs Winters with

her familiar overbite was reluctant to talk about her work sched-ulerdquo I will want to phone the editor and complain bitterly Thisfrom the pen of a small unattractive man almost entirely lip-less beneath a bony domineering nose sweating with minorambition head tilted like something carved out of yellow wax

He interviewed me in a cappuccino bar in mid-Toronto Achilly stooped round-headed man in his thirties or fortiesmdashitwas hard to tellmdashslow to smile pathetically in need of humanattention thinking his superior thoughts Fluff on his shouldersbegged to be picked off I on the other hand was wearing a softjade jacket of cashmere lined with silk which represented a raresplurge on my part but I could be sure this man would over-look this garment with its crystal buttons and mandarin collar andconcentrate instead on my drab raincoat beige and not quitepristine at the cuffs In print he will be certain to refer to mychignon as a bun Itrsquos taken me years to learn to do a glossy littlechignonmdashI can get my hair brushed back and securely pinned up each morning in a mere two and a half minutes and I considermy coiffure one of my major life accomplishments I really meanthis

Sheila from publicity had filled me in before the interview andI felt the information packet hovering what to do with it Thisyoungyoungish man was the newly appointed books columnistat Booktimes He was well known for holding pious opinions aboutthe literature of the Great North about his own role as advocateof a diverse new outpouring of Canadian voices the post-colonialcry of blaming anguish The stream of current fiction aboutmiddle-class people living in cities was diluting the authenticnational voice that rose from the landscape itself andmdash

Oh shut up shut upCappuccino foam dotted the corners of his undistinguished

mouth And just one more question Mrs WintersmdashOf course he didnrsquot call me Reta even though there might be

only a year or two between us The ldquoMrsrdquo gave him power overme that vexing r rucking things up in the middle and making one

think of such distractions as clotheslines and baking tins He wasthe barking terrier going at Mrs Wintersrsquos ankles shaking out hisfur and asking me to justify myself wanting me to explain thespluttering dying whimpering bonfire of my life which I wouldnot dream of sharing He seemed to forget he was interviewingme about Danielle Westermanrsquos new book

I understand yoursquore working on a second novel said heWell yesTakes nerveUh-huhActuallymdashactually well he had a novel on the go himselfReally What a surpriseAt the end of the hour he did not ask for the bill I asked for the

bill ldquoIrsquoll just put it on my Visardquo I said breaking a tenuous breadthof silence I announced this with all the majesty I could musterover a vinyl table like a grande dame adding twenty years to myage and feeling the vowels shifting in my beautifully mouldedthroat Such dignity I surprised myself with my own resonanceand I may have managed a pained smile displaying no doubtthat famous overbite He turned off the tape recorder at the wordldquoVisardquo

He had two young children at home he said Christ what aresponsibility although he loved the little bastards One of themwas quite quite gifted well they both were in their separateways But the work of raising kids Never enough time to read thebooks he had to review books all over the house with little mark-ers in them books he would never finish So much was expectedand of course like all journalists he was underpaid

Oh shut upThey also expected him to do a feature on the weekendUh-huhAnd last week hersquod actually broken the MacBunna storyReally Macumba MarimbaCongratulations said Mrs Reta Winters from OrangetownThanks

I should be getting on my way I said My parking meter Alunch date A long drive home

I understand you and your family live in a lovely old housenear Orangetown

And then slyly I understand one of your daughters now livesin Toronto and

Irsquove been here before There is something about having anestablished family a long-lasting spousal arrangement threedaughters in their teens a house in the country a suggestion ofimpermeability that draws the curiosity of others so that theycan as Tom says probe with probity

But no this man across the table will not be feeding on myflesh nor will his colleaguesmdashthough one can tell that he has nocolleagues there is no possibility of colleagues He has no contextfor friends or co-workers though there are the kids and therersquosthe wife hersquos referred to her three times now Nicola She has herprofessional life too he tells me as though the matter were indispute

I canrsquot resist ldquoDoes Nicolamdashis she a journalist toordquoldquoJournalistrdquoldquoLike you I meanrdquoHis hand jumps and for a moment I think hersquos going to turn

the tape recorder on again But no hersquos reaching into his pocketand now hersquos releasing two coins onto the table The tip They liethere moist from his hand Two dimes I focus on them withwhat I hope is a cool censorious gaze

But hersquos not looking at me Hersquos looking across the roomwhere a silver-haired man is seating himself gracefully at a tableldquoIrsquom not sure but I think thatrsquos Gore Vidalrdquo my interviewer whis-pers in a hungry voice ldquoHersquos here for the writersrsquo festival youknowrdquo

I rise and exit as though led by a brass quintetThe charming Mrs Winters slips on her comfortable beige rain-

coat

I would like to thank a number of others who in one way or another encouraged me in the writing of Unless SharonAllan Marjorie Anderson the late Joan Austen-Leigh JoanBarfoot Clare Boylan Marg Edmond Brown Joan ClarkAnne Collins Cynthia Coop Patrick Crowe Maggie DwyerDarlene Hammell Blanche Howard Isabel Huggan CarlLenthe Madeline Li Elinor Lipman Anna and Sylvie MatasMargaret Shaw-Mackinnon Don McCarthy Peter ParkerBella Pomer Christopher Potter Linda Rogers CaroleSabiston Floyd St Clair Eleanor Wachtel Cindi WarnerMindy Werner the John Simon Guggenheim Foundationand as always my family John Audrey Anne CatherineMeg Sara and especially Don

About the Author

Carol Shields is the author of eight novels and two collections of short stories

The Stone Diaries won the Pulitzer Prize and was shortlisted for the Booker

Prize Larryrsquos Party won the Orange Prize Born and brought up in Chicago

Carol Shields has lived in Canada since 1957

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 1

Others

Intersect

Coming to Canada

Larryrsquos Party

The Stone Diaries

The Republic of Love

A Celibate Season (with Blanche Howard)Swann

A Fairly Conventional Woman

Happenstance

The Box Garden

Small Ceremonies

Various Miracles

The Orange Fish

Dressing Up for the Carnival

Departures and Arrivals

Thirteen Hands

Fashion Power Guilt and the Charity of Families

(with Catherine Shields)Anniversary (with David Williamson)

Susanna Moodie Voice and Vision

Jane Austen

Dropped Threads What We Arenrsquot Told

(Edited with Marjorie Anderson)

Credits

Design by Julian HumphriesPhotographer by Michael CrouserDesigned by Dinah Drazin

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 2

If you enjoyed reading this excerpt please visitHarperCollins Publishers to find out where to buy thisand other PerfectBound e-books

Australiahttpwwwharpercollinscomau

Canadahttpwwwharpercanadacom

New Zealandhttpwwwharpercollinsconz

United Kingdomhttpwwwfireandwatercom

United Stateshttpwwwperfectboundcom

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 3

The Pajama Game Words and Music by Richard Adler Music

and Jerry Ross copy Richard Adler Music and J amp J Ross Co USA

WarnerChappell Music Ltd London w6 8bs

Reproduced by permission of International Music Publications

Ltd All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction Names characters places and incidents

either are the products of the authorrsquos imagination or are used

fictitiously Any resemblance to actual events locales organiza-

tions or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and

beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher

UNLESS Copyright copy 2002 by Carol Shields All rights

reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright

Conventions By payment of the required fees you have been

granted the non-exclusive non-transferable right to access and

read the text of this e-book on-screen No part of this text may

be reproduced transmitted down-loaded decompiled reverse

engineered or stored in or introduced into any information stor-

age and retrieval system in any form or by any means whether

electronic or mechanical now known or hereinafter invented

without the express written permission of PerfectBoundtrade

PerfectBound trade and the PerfectBoundtrade logo are trademarks

of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

Adobe Acrobat E-Book Reader edition v 1 May 2002

ISBN 0-06-052370-0

Print edition first published in 2002

by Forth Estate a division of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 4

ldquoTwenty-four dollarsrdquo she said ldquoLet me give you my card Fornext timerdquo

Presumptuous but yes there will be a next time I calculatedquickly My face would make it through the next few weeks butby November I will probably be back in Madame Sylviarsquos hushedwhite cell I may well become a regular Eyebrows lashes fullfacials neck massage I have led a reflective life a life of thoughta writer a translator but all this is about to change The delicateskin around my eyes was demanding attention Has Tom noticedI donrsquot think so Christine and Natalie donrsquot really look at me inthat way they just see this watercolour blob that means motherwhich is rather how I see myself

ldquoA womanrsquos charm is with her for liferdquo Madame Sylvia saidldquobut you must pay attentionrdquo

No I thought an hour later no Irsquom sorry but I have no plansto be charming on a regular basis Anyone can be charming Itrsquosreally a cheap trick mere charm so astonishingly easy to per-form screwing up your face into sunbeams and spewing themforth The calculated lift of the wrist chin up thumb and fore-finger brought together to form a little feminine loop that trick of pretending to sit on a little glass chair that concentration ofradiance lrsquoesprit little sprinkles of it everywhere misting the airlike bargain scent Ingenue spritz Emma Allen calls it

I know that cheapness so intimatelymdashthe grainy sugary per-severing way charm enters a fresh mouth and rubs against themolars sticking there in soft wads promoting mouth ulcers or whatever it is thatrsquos the metaphoric projection of self-hatredOf all the social virtues charm is in the end the most unreward-ing And compared to goodness real goodness or the unmovableself-abnegation my daughter Norah practises charm is nothingbut crumpled tissue paper soiled from previous use

Sincerity No Sincerityrsquos over Sincerityrsquos lost whatever edge ithad Itrsquos fine fine matter but wasted on the press who all grew uppost-Holocaust devoted readers of Mad Magazine and wouldnrsquotrecognize a bar of willed innocence if it came wrapped in foil

Nor will I ever again be pointlessly endlessly polite I got overthat two years ago when I did my author tour It seems Irsquove lostlike a stream of pebbles leaving my hand the kind of endurancethat professional courtesy demands suck in your breath let yourface go numb listen to the interviewerrsquos questions registeroptimally let your breath out evaluate the feelings of those whodepend on you (agent publisher editor that nice Sheila personwho does publicity and of course Danielle Westerman) andperform again and again like the tuned-up athlete you are the fitphysical specimen that each new book demands then move on tothe next task

Mrs Winters who has just translated The Middle Years the un-

folding memoir of Holocaust survivor Danielle Westerman is a woman

of grace and charm whose thick brown hair is arranged into a bun

Putting down her coffee cup she shrugs off her beige raincoat and

Irsquove entered early middle age now and I have a nineteen-year-old daughter who lives on the street I no longer require a reputa-tion for charm those saving lilac shadows and contours Maybe Inever did I wonrsquotmdashnot nowmdashtuck the ends of my sentences intolittle licks of favour and the next time a journalist pins me downwith a personal question trolling for informationmdashTell me MrsWinters how are you able to balance your family and profes-sional lifemdashI will stare back hard with my newly practised stareHow do I balance my life Tinted eyebrows up Just what kind ofinquiry is this Wouldnrsquot you prefer Mrs Winters to pursue youown writing rather than translate Dr Westermanrsquos work Pleasenot that again How did you and your husband meet What doeshe think of your writing

I will in the future address my interviewer directly and saywith firmness ldquoThis interview is overrdquo There is nothing to loseRude and difficult people are more likely to be taken seriouslyCurmudgeons are positively adored Irsquove noticed this Even thefascinatingly unknowable earn respect

And when I read in the paper tomorrow that ldquoMrs Winterslooked all of her forty-three yearsrdquo and that ldquoMrs Winters with

her familiar overbite was reluctant to talk about her work sched-ulerdquo I will want to phone the editor and complain bitterly Thisfrom the pen of a small unattractive man almost entirely lip-less beneath a bony domineering nose sweating with minorambition head tilted like something carved out of yellow wax

He interviewed me in a cappuccino bar in mid-Toronto Achilly stooped round-headed man in his thirties or fortiesmdashitwas hard to tellmdashslow to smile pathetically in need of humanattention thinking his superior thoughts Fluff on his shouldersbegged to be picked off I on the other hand was wearing a softjade jacket of cashmere lined with silk which represented a raresplurge on my part but I could be sure this man would over-look this garment with its crystal buttons and mandarin collar andconcentrate instead on my drab raincoat beige and not quitepristine at the cuffs In print he will be certain to refer to mychignon as a bun Itrsquos taken me years to learn to do a glossy littlechignonmdashI can get my hair brushed back and securely pinned up each morning in a mere two and a half minutes and I considermy coiffure one of my major life accomplishments I really meanthis

Sheila from publicity had filled me in before the interview andI felt the information packet hovering what to do with it Thisyoungyoungish man was the newly appointed books columnistat Booktimes He was well known for holding pious opinions aboutthe literature of the Great North about his own role as advocateof a diverse new outpouring of Canadian voices the post-colonialcry of blaming anguish The stream of current fiction aboutmiddle-class people living in cities was diluting the authenticnational voice that rose from the landscape itself andmdash

Oh shut up shut upCappuccino foam dotted the corners of his undistinguished

mouth And just one more question Mrs WintersmdashOf course he didnrsquot call me Reta even though there might be

only a year or two between us The ldquoMrsrdquo gave him power overme that vexing r rucking things up in the middle and making one

think of such distractions as clotheslines and baking tins He wasthe barking terrier going at Mrs Wintersrsquos ankles shaking out hisfur and asking me to justify myself wanting me to explain thespluttering dying whimpering bonfire of my life which I wouldnot dream of sharing He seemed to forget he was interviewingme about Danielle Westermanrsquos new book

I understand yoursquore working on a second novel said heWell yesTakes nerveUh-huhActuallymdashactually well he had a novel on the go himselfReally What a surpriseAt the end of the hour he did not ask for the bill I asked for the

bill ldquoIrsquoll just put it on my Visardquo I said breaking a tenuous breadthof silence I announced this with all the majesty I could musterover a vinyl table like a grande dame adding twenty years to myage and feeling the vowels shifting in my beautifully mouldedthroat Such dignity I surprised myself with my own resonanceand I may have managed a pained smile displaying no doubtthat famous overbite He turned off the tape recorder at the wordldquoVisardquo

He had two young children at home he said Christ what aresponsibility although he loved the little bastards One of themwas quite quite gifted well they both were in their separateways But the work of raising kids Never enough time to read thebooks he had to review books all over the house with little mark-ers in them books he would never finish So much was expectedand of course like all journalists he was underpaid

Oh shut upThey also expected him to do a feature on the weekendUh-huhAnd last week hersquod actually broken the MacBunna storyReally Macumba MarimbaCongratulations said Mrs Reta Winters from OrangetownThanks

I should be getting on my way I said My parking meter Alunch date A long drive home

I understand you and your family live in a lovely old housenear Orangetown

And then slyly I understand one of your daughters now livesin Toronto and

Irsquove been here before There is something about having anestablished family a long-lasting spousal arrangement threedaughters in their teens a house in the country a suggestion ofimpermeability that draws the curiosity of others so that theycan as Tom says probe with probity

But no this man across the table will not be feeding on myflesh nor will his colleaguesmdashthough one can tell that he has nocolleagues there is no possibility of colleagues He has no contextfor friends or co-workers though there are the kids and therersquosthe wife hersquos referred to her three times now Nicola She has herprofessional life too he tells me as though the matter were indispute

I canrsquot resist ldquoDoes Nicolamdashis she a journalist toordquoldquoJournalistrdquoldquoLike you I meanrdquoHis hand jumps and for a moment I think hersquos going to turn

the tape recorder on again But no hersquos reaching into his pocketand now hersquos releasing two coins onto the table The tip They liethere moist from his hand Two dimes I focus on them withwhat I hope is a cool censorious gaze

But hersquos not looking at me Hersquos looking across the roomwhere a silver-haired man is seating himself gracefully at a tableldquoIrsquom not sure but I think thatrsquos Gore Vidalrdquo my interviewer whis-pers in a hungry voice ldquoHersquos here for the writersrsquo festival youknowrdquo

I rise and exit as though led by a brass quintetThe charming Mrs Winters slips on her comfortable beige rain-

coat

I would like to thank a number of others who in one way or another encouraged me in the writing of Unless SharonAllan Marjorie Anderson the late Joan Austen-Leigh JoanBarfoot Clare Boylan Marg Edmond Brown Joan ClarkAnne Collins Cynthia Coop Patrick Crowe Maggie DwyerDarlene Hammell Blanche Howard Isabel Huggan CarlLenthe Madeline Li Elinor Lipman Anna and Sylvie MatasMargaret Shaw-Mackinnon Don McCarthy Peter ParkerBella Pomer Christopher Potter Linda Rogers CaroleSabiston Floyd St Clair Eleanor Wachtel Cindi WarnerMindy Werner the John Simon Guggenheim Foundationand as always my family John Audrey Anne CatherineMeg Sara and especially Don

About the Author

Carol Shields is the author of eight novels and two collections of short stories

The Stone Diaries won the Pulitzer Prize and was shortlisted for the Booker

Prize Larryrsquos Party won the Orange Prize Born and brought up in Chicago

Carol Shields has lived in Canada since 1957

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 1

Others

Intersect

Coming to Canada

Larryrsquos Party

The Stone Diaries

The Republic of Love

A Celibate Season (with Blanche Howard)Swann

A Fairly Conventional Woman

Happenstance

The Box Garden

Small Ceremonies

Various Miracles

The Orange Fish

Dressing Up for the Carnival

Departures and Arrivals

Thirteen Hands

Fashion Power Guilt and the Charity of Families

(with Catherine Shields)Anniversary (with David Williamson)

Susanna Moodie Voice and Vision

Jane Austen

Dropped Threads What We Arenrsquot Told

(Edited with Marjorie Anderson)

Credits

Design by Julian HumphriesPhotographer by Michael CrouserDesigned by Dinah Drazin

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 2

If you enjoyed reading this excerpt please visitHarperCollins Publishers to find out where to buy thisand other PerfectBound e-books

Australiahttpwwwharpercollinscomau

Canadahttpwwwharpercanadacom

New Zealandhttpwwwharpercollinsconz

United Kingdomhttpwwwfireandwatercom

United Stateshttpwwwperfectboundcom

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 3

The Pajama Game Words and Music by Richard Adler Music

and Jerry Ross copy Richard Adler Music and J amp J Ross Co USA

WarnerChappell Music Ltd London w6 8bs

Reproduced by permission of International Music Publications

Ltd All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction Names characters places and incidents

either are the products of the authorrsquos imagination or are used

fictitiously Any resemblance to actual events locales organiza-

tions or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and

beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher

UNLESS Copyright copy 2002 by Carol Shields All rights

reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright

Conventions By payment of the required fees you have been

granted the non-exclusive non-transferable right to access and

read the text of this e-book on-screen No part of this text may

be reproduced transmitted down-loaded decompiled reverse

engineered or stored in or introduced into any information stor-

age and retrieval system in any form or by any means whether

electronic or mechanical now known or hereinafter invented

without the express written permission of PerfectBoundtrade

PerfectBound trade and the PerfectBoundtrade logo are trademarks

of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

Adobe Acrobat E-Book Reader edition v 1 May 2002

ISBN 0-06-052370-0

Print edition first published in 2002

by Forth Estate a division of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 4

Nor will I ever again be pointlessly endlessly polite I got overthat two years ago when I did my author tour It seems Irsquove lostlike a stream of pebbles leaving my hand the kind of endurancethat professional courtesy demands suck in your breath let yourface go numb listen to the interviewerrsquos questions registeroptimally let your breath out evaluate the feelings of those whodepend on you (agent publisher editor that nice Sheila personwho does publicity and of course Danielle Westerman) andperform again and again like the tuned-up athlete you are the fitphysical specimen that each new book demands then move on tothe next task

Mrs Winters who has just translated The Middle Years the un-

folding memoir of Holocaust survivor Danielle Westerman is a woman

of grace and charm whose thick brown hair is arranged into a bun

Putting down her coffee cup she shrugs off her beige raincoat and

Irsquove entered early middle age now and I have a nineteen-year-old daughter who lives on the street I no longer require a reputa-tion for charm those saving lilac shadows and contours Maybe Inever did I wonrsquotmdashnot nowmdashtuck the ends of my sentences intolittle licks of favour and the next time a journalist pins me downwith a personal question trolling for informationmdashTell me MrsWinters how are you able to balance your family and profes-sional lifemdashI will stare back hard with my newly practised stareHow do I balance my life Tinted eyebrows up Just what kind ofinquiry is this Wouldnrsquot you prefer Mrs Winters to pursue youown writing rather than translate Dr Westermanrsquos work Pleasenot that again How did you and your husband meet What doeshe think of your writing

I will in the future address my interviewer directly and saywith firmness ldquoThis interview is overrdquo There is nothing to loseRude and difficult people are more likely to be taken seriouslyCurmudgeons are positively adored Irsquove noticed this Even thefascinatingly unknowable earn respect

And when I read in the paper tomorrow that ldquoMrs Winterslooked all of her forty-three yearsrdquo and that ldquoMrs Winters with

her familiar overbite was reluctant to talk about her work sched-ulerdquo I will want to phone the editor and complain bitterly Thisfrom the pen of a small unattractive man almost entirely lip-less beneath a bony domineering nose sweating with minorambition head tilted like something carved out of yellow wax

He interviewed me in a cappuccino bar in mid-Toronto Achilly stooped round-headed man in his thirties or fortiesmdashitwas hard to tellmdashslow to smile pathetically in need of humanattention thinking his superior thoughts Fluff on his shouldersbegged to be picked off I on the other hand was wearing a softjade jacket of cashmere lined with silk which represented a raresplurge on my part but I could be sure this man would over-look this garment with its crystal buttons and mandarin collar andconcentrate instead on my drab raincoat beige and not quitepristine at the cuffs In print he will be certain to refer to mychignon as a bun Itrsquos taken me years to learn to do a glossy littlechignonmdashI can get my hair brushed back and securely pinned up each morning in a mere two and a half minutes and I considermy coiffure one of my major life accomplishments I really meanthis

Sheila from publicity had filled me in before the interview andI felt the information packet hovering what to do with it Thisyoungyoungish man was the newly appointed books columnistat Booktimes He was well known for holding pious opinions aboutthe literature of the Great North about his own role as advocateof a diverse new outpouring of Canadian voices the post-colonialcry of blaming anguish The stream of current fiction aboutmiddle-class people living in cities was diluting the authenticnational voice that rose from the landscape itself andmdash

Oh shut up shut upCappuccino foam dotted the corners of his undistinguished

mouth And just one more question Mrs WintersmdashOf course he didnrsquot call me Reta even though there might be

only a year or two between us The ldquoMrsrdquo gave him power overme that vexing r rucking things up in the middle and making one

think of such distractions as clotheslines and baking tins He wasthe barking terrier going at Mrs Wintersrsquos ankles shaking out hisfur and asking me to justify myself wanting me to explain thespluttering dying whimpering bonfire of my life which I wouldnot dream of sharing He seemed to forget he was interviewingme about Danielle Westermanrsquos new book

I understand yoursquore working on a second novel said heWell yesTakes nerveUh-huhActuallymdashactually well he had a novel on the go himselfReally What a surpriseAt the end of the hour he did not ask for the bill I asked for the

bill ldquoIrsquoll just put it on my Visardquo I said breaking a tenuous breadthof silence I announced this with all the majesty I could musterover a vinyl table like a grande dame adding twenty years to myage and feeling the vowels shifting in my beautifully mouldedthroat Such dignity I surprised myself with my own resonanceand I may have managed a pained smile displaying no doubtthat famous overbite He turned off the tape recorder at the wordldquoVisardquo

He had two young children at home he said Christ what aresponsibility although he loved the little bastards One of themwas quite quite gifted well they both were in their separateways But the work of raising kids Never enough time to read thebooks he had to review books all over the house with little mark-ers in them books he would never finish So much was expectedand of course like all journalists he was underpaid

Oh shut upThey also expected him to do a feature on the weekendUh-huhAnd last week hersquod actually broken the MacBunna storyReally Macumba MarimbaCongratulations said Mrs Reta Winters from OrangetownThanks

I should be getting on my way I said My parking meter Alunch date A long drive home

I understand you and your family live in a lovely old housenear Orangetown

And then slyly I understand one of your daughters now livesin Toronto and

Irsquove been here before There is something about having anestablished family a long-lasting spousal arrangement threedaughters in their teens a house in the country a suggestion ofimpermeability that draws the curiosity of others so that theycan as Tom says probe with probity

But no this man across the table will not be feeding on myflesh nor will his colleaguesmdashthough one can tell that he has nocolleagues there is no possibility of colleagues He has no contextfor friends or co-workers though there are the kids and therersquosthe wife hersquos referred to her three times now Nicola She has herprofessional life too he tells me as though the matter were indispute

I canrsquot resist ldquoDoes Nicolamdashis she a journalist toordquoldquoJournalistrdquoldquoLike you I meanrdquoHis hand jumps and for a moment I think hersquos going to turn

the tape recorder on again But no hersquos reaching into his pocketand now hersquos releasing two coins onto the table The tip They liethere moist from his hand Two dimes I focus on them withwhat I hope is a cool censorious gaze

But hersquos not looking at me Hersquos looking across the roomwhere a silver-haired man is seating himself gracefully at a tableldquoIrsquom not sure but I think thatrsquos Gore Vidalrdquo my interviewer whis-pers in a hungry voice ldquoHersquos here for the writersrsquo festival youknowrdquo

I rise and exit as though led by a brass quintetThe charming Mrs Winters slips on her comfortable beige rain-

coat

I would like to thank a number of others who in one way or another encouraged me in the writing of Unless SharonAllan Marjorie Anderson the late Joan Austen-Leigh JoanBarfoot Clare Boylan Marg Edmond Brown Joan ClarkAnne Collins Cynthia Coop Patrick Crowe Maggie DwyerDarlene Hammell Blanche Howard Isabel Huggan CarlLenthe Madeline Li Elinor Lipman Anna and Sylvie MatasMargaret Shaw-Mackinnon Don McCarthy Peter ParkerBella Pomer Christopher Potter Linda Rogers CaroleSabiston Floyd St Clair Eleanor Wachtel Cindi WarnerMindy Werner the John Simon Guggenheim Foundationand as always my family John Audrey Anne CatherineMeg Sara and especially Don

About the Author

Carol Shields is the author of eight novels and two collections of short stories

The Stone Diaries won the Pulitzer Prize and was shortlisted for the Booker

Prize Larryrsquos Party won the Orange Prize Born and brought up in Chicago

Carol Shields has lived in Canada since 1957

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 1

Others

Intersect

Coming to Canada

Larryrsquos Party

The Stone Diaries

The Republic of Love

A Celibate Season (with Blanche Howard)Swann

A Fairly Conventional Woman

Happenstance

The Box Garden

Small Ceremonies

Various Miracles

The Orange Fish

Dressing Up for the Carnival

Departures and Arrivals

Thirteen Hands

Fashion Power Guilt and the Charity of Families

(with Catherine Shields)Anniversary (with David Williamson)

Susanna Moodie Voice and Vision

Jane Austen

Dropped Threads What We Arenrsquot Told

(Edited with Marjorie Anderson)

Credits

Design by Julian HumphriesPhotographer by Michael CrouserDesigned by Dinah Drazin

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 2

If you enjoyed reading this excerpt please visitHarperCollins Publishers to find out where to buy thisand other PerfectBound e-books

Australiahttpwwwharpercollinscomau

Canadahttpwwwharpercanadacom

New Zealandhttpwwwharpercollinsconz

United Kingdomhttpwwwfireandwatercom

United Stateshttpwwwperfectboundcom

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 3

The Pajama Game Words and Music by Richard Adler Music

and Jerry Ross copy Richard Adler Music and J amp J Ross Co USA

WarnerChappell Music Ltd London w6 8bs

Reproduced by permission of International Music Publications

Ltd All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction Names characters places and incidents

either are the products of the authorrsquos imagination or are used

fictitiously Any resemblance to actual events locales organiza-

tions or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and

beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher

UNLESS Copyright copy 2002 by Carol Shields All rights

reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright

Conventions By payment of the required fees you have been

granted the non-exclusive non-transferable right to access and

read the text of this e-book on-screen No part of this text may

be reproduced transmitted down-loaded decompiled reverse

engineered or stored in or introduced into any information stor-

age and retrieval system in any form or by any means whether

electronic or mechanical now known or hereinafter invented

without the express written permission of PerfectBoundtrade

PerfectBound trade and the PerfectBoundtrade logo are trademarks

of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

Adobe Acrobat E-Book Reader edition v 1 May 2002

ISBN 0-06-052370-0

Print edition first published in 2002

by Forth Estate a division of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 4

her familiar overbite was reluctant to talk about her work sched-ulerdquo I will want to phone the editor and complain bitterly Thisfrom the pen of a small unattractive man almost entirely lip-less beneath a bony domineering nose sweating with minorambition head tilted like something carved out of yellow wax

He interviewed me in a cappuccino bar in mid-Toronto Achilly stooped round-headed man in his thirties or fortiesmdashitwas hard to tellmdashslow to smile pathetically in need of humanattention thinking his superior thoughts Fluff on his shouldersbegged to be picked off I on the other hand was wearing a softjade jacket of cashmere lined with silk which represented a raresplurge on my part but I could be sure this man would over-look this garment with its crystal buttons and mandarin collar andconcentrate instead on my drab raincoat beige and not quitepristine at the cuffs In print he will be certain to refer to mychignon as a bun Itrsquos taken me years to learn to do a glossy littlechignonmdashI can get my hair brushed back and securely pinned up each morning in a mere two and a half minutes and I considermy coiffure one of my major life accomplishments I really meanthis

Sheila from publicity had filled me in before the interview andI felt the information packet hovering what to do with it Thisyoungyoungish man was the newly appointed books columnistat Booktimes He was well known for holding pious opinions aboutthe literature of the Great North about his own role as advocateof a diverse new outpouring of Canadian voices the post-colonialcry of blaming anguish The stream of current fiction aboutmiddle-class people living in cities was diluting the authenticnational voice that rose from the landscape itself andmdash

Oh shut up shut upCappuccino foam dotted the corners of his undistinguished

mouth And just one more question Mrs WintersmdashOf course he didnrsquot call me Reta even though there might be

only a year or two between us The ldquoMrsrdquo gave him power overme that vexing r rucking things up in the middle and making one

think of such distractions as clotheslines and baking tins He wasthe barking terrier going at Mrs Wintersrsquos ankles shaking out hisfur and asking me to justify myself wanting me to explain thespluttering dying whimpering bonfire of my life which I wouldnot dream of sharing He seemed to forget he was interviewingme about Danielle Westermanrsquos new book

I understand yoursquore working on a second novel said heWell yesTakes nerveUh-huhActuallymdashactually well he had a novel on the go himselfReally What a surpriseAt the end of the hour he did not ask for the bill I asked for the

bill ldquoIrsquoll just put it on my Visardquo I said breaking a tenuous breadthof silence I announced this with all the majesty I could musterover a vinyl table like a grande dame adding twenty years to myage and feeling the vowels shifting in my beautifully mouldedthroat Such dignity I surprised myself with my own resonanceand I may have managed a pained smile displaying no doubtthat famous overbite He turned off the tape recorder at the wordldquoVisardquo

He had two young children at home he said Christ what aresponsibility although he loved the little bastards One of themwas quite quite gifted well they both were in their separateways But the work of raising kids Never enough time to read thebooks he had to review books all over the house with little mark-ers in them books he would never finish So much was expectedand of course like all journalists he was underpaid

Oh shut upThey also expected him to do a feature on the weekendUh-huhAnd last week hersquod actually broken the MacBunna storyReally Macumba MarimbaCongratulations said Mrs Reta Winters from OrangetownThanks

I should be getting on my way I said My parking meter Alunch date A long drive home

I understand you and your family live in a lovely old housenear Orangetown

And then slyly I understand one of your daughters now livesin Toronto and

Irsquove been here before There is something about having anestablished family a long-lasting spousal arrangement threedaughters in their teens a house in the country a suggestion ofimpermeability that draws the curiosity of others so that theycan as Tom says probe with probity

But no this man across the table will not be feeding on myflesh nor will his colleaguesmdashthough one can tell that he has nocolleagues there is no possibility of colleagues He has no contextfor friends or co-workers though there are the kids and therersquosthe wife hersquos referred to her three times now Nicola She has herprofessional life too he tells me as though the matter were indispute

I canrsquot resist ldquoDoes Nicolamdashis she a journalist toordquoldquoJournalistrdquoldquoLike you I meanrdquoHis hand jumps and for a moment I think hersquos going to turn

the tape recorder on again But no hersquos reaching into his pocketand now hersquos releasing two coins onto the table The tip They liethere moist from his hand Two dimes I focus on them withwhat I hope is a cool censorious gaze

But hersquos not looking at me Hersquos looking across the roomwhere a silver-haired man is seating himself gracefully at a tableldquoIrsquom not sure but I think thatrsquos Gore Vidalrdquo my interviewer whis-pers in a hungry voice ldquoHersquos here for the writersrsquo festival youknowrdquo

I rise and exit as though led by a brass quintetThe charming Mrs Winters slips on her comfortable beige rain-

coat

I would like to thank a number of others who in one way or another encouraged me in the writing of Unless SharonAllan Marjorie Anderson the late Joan Austen-Leigh JoanBarfoot Clare Boylan Marg Edmond Brown Joan ClarkAnne Collins Cynthia Coop Patrick Crowe Maggie DwyerDarlene Hammell Blanche Howard Isabel Huggan CarlLenthe Madeline Li Elinor Lipman Anna and Sylvie MatasMargaret Shaw-Mackinnon Don McCarthy Peter ParkerBella Pomer Christopher Potter Linda Rogers CaroleSabiston Floyd St Clair Eleanor Wachtel Cindi WarnerMindy Werner the John Simon Guggenheim Foundationand as always my family John Audrey Anne CatherineMeg Sara and especially Don

About the Author

Carol Shields is the author of eight novels and two collections of short stories

The Stone Diaries won the Pulitzer Prize and was shortlisted for the Booker

Prize Larryrsquos Party won the Orange Prize Born and brought up in Chicago

Carol Shields has lived in Canada since 1957

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 1

Others

Intersect

Coming to Canada

Larryrsquos Party

The Stone Diaries

The Republic of Love

A Celibate Season (with Blanche Howard)Swann

A Fairly Conventional Woman

Happenstance

The Box Garden

Small Ceremonies

Various Miracles

The Orange Fish

Dressing Up for the Carnival

Departures and Arrivals

Thirteen Hands

Fashion Power Guilt and the Charity of Families

(with Catherine Shields)Anniversary (with David Williamson)

Susanna Moodie Voice and Vision

Jane Austen

Dropped Threads What We Arenrsquot Told

(Edited with Marjorie Anderson)

Credits

Design by Julian HumphriesPhotographer by Michael CrouserDesigned by Dinah Drazin

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 2

If you enjoyed reading this excerpt please visitHarperCollins Publishers to find out where to buy thisand other PerfectBound e-books

Australiahttpwwwharpercollinscomau

Canadahttpwwwharpercanadacom

New Zealandhttpwwwharpercollinsconz

United Kingdomhttpwwwfireandwatercom

United Stateshttpwwwperfectboundcom

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 3

The Pajama Game Words and Music by Richard Adler Music

and Jerry Ross copy Richard Adler Music and J amp J Ross Co USA

WarnerChappell Music Ltd London w6 8bs

Reproduced by permission of International Music Publications

Ltd All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction Names characters places and incidents

either are the products of the authorrsquos imagination or are used

fictitiously Any resemblance to actual events locales organiza-

tions or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and

beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher

UNLESS Copyright copy 2002 by Carol Shields All rights

reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright

Conventions By payment of the required fees you have been

granted the non-exclusive non-transferable right to access and

read the text of this e-book on-screen No part of this text may

be reproduced transmitted down-loaded decompiled reverse

engineered or stored in or introduced into any information stor-

age and retrieval system in any form or by any means whether

electronic or mechanical now known or hereinafter invented

without the express written permission of PerfectBoundtrade

PerfectBound trade and the PerfectBoundtrade logo are trademarks

of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

Adobe Acrobat E-Book Reader edition v 1 May 2002

ISBN 0-06-052370-0

Print edition first published in 2002

by Forth Estate a division of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 4

think of such distractions as clotheslines and baking tins He wasthe barking terrier going at Mrs Wintersrsquos ankles shaking out hisfur and asking me to justify myself wanting me to explain thespluttering dying whimpering bonfire of my life which I wouldnot dream of sharing He seemed to forget he was interviewingme about Danielle Westermanrsquos new book

I understand yoursquore working on a second novel said heWell yesTakes nerveUh-huhActuallymdashactually well he had a novel on the go himselfReally What a surpriseAt the end of the hour he did not ask for the bill I asked for the

bill ldquoIrsquoll just put it on my Visardquo I said breaking a tenuous breadthof silence I announced this with all the majesty I could musterover a vinyl table like a grande dame adding twenty years to myage and feeling the vowels shifting in my beautifully mouldedthroat Such dignity I surprised myself with my own resonanceand I may have managed a pained smile displaying no doubtthat famous overbite He turned off the tape recorder at the wordldquoVisardquo

He had two young children at home he said Christ what aresponsibility although he loved the little bastards One of themwas quite quite gifted well they both were in their separateways But the work of raising kids Never enough time to read thebooks he had to review books all over the house with little mark-ers in them books he would never finish So much was expectedand of course like all journalists he was underpaid

Oh shut upThey also expected him to do a feature on the weekendUh-huhAnd last week hersquod actually broken the MacBunna storyReally Macumba MarimbaCongratulations said Mrs Reta Winters from OrangetownThanks

I should be getting on my way I said My parking meter Alunch date A long drive home

I understand you and your family live in a lovely old housenear Orangetown

And then slyly I understand one of your daughters now livesin Toronto and

Irsquove been here before There is something about having anestablished family a long-lasting spousal arrangement threedaughters in their teens a house in the country a suggestion ofimpermeability that draws the curiosity of others so that theycan as Tom says probe with probity

But no this man across the table will not be feeding on myflesh nor will his colleaguesmdashthough one can tell that he has nocolleagues there is no possibility of colleagues He has no contextfor friends or co-workers though there are the kids and therersquosthe wife hersquos referred to her three times now Nicola She has herprofessional life too he tells me as though the matter were indispute

I canrsquot resist ldquoDoes Nicolamdashis she a journalist toordquoldquoJournalistrdquoldquoLike you I meanrdquoHis hand jumps and for a moment I think hersquos going to turn

the tape recorder on again But no hersquos reaching into his pocketand now hersquos releasing two coins onto the table The tip They liethere moist from his hand Two dimes I focus on them withwhat I hope is a cool censorious gaze

But hersquos not looking at me Hersquos looking across the roomwhere a silver-haired man is seating himself gracefully at a tableldquoIrsquom not sure but I think thatrsquos Gore Vidalrdquo my interviewer whis-pers in a hungry voice ldquoHersquos here for the writersrsquo festival youknowrdquo

I rise and exit as though led by a brass quintetThe charming Mrs Winters slips on her comfortable beige rain-

coat

I would like to thank a number of others who in one way or another encouraged me in the writing of Unless SharonAllan Marjorie Anderson the late Joan Austen-Leigh JoanBarfoot Clare Boylan Marg Edmond Brown Joan ClarkAnne Collins Cynthia Coop Patrick Crowe Maggie DwyerDarlene Hammell Blanche Howard Isabel Huggan CarlLenthe Madeline Li Elinor Lipman Anna and Sylvie MatasMargaret Shaw-Mackinnon Don McCarthy Peter ParkerBella Pomer Christopher Potter Linda Rogers CaroleSabiston Floyd St Clair Eleanor Wachtel Cindi WarnerMindy Werner the John Simon Guggenheim Foundationand as always my family John Audrey Anne CatherineMeg Sara and especially Don

About the Author

Carol Shields is the author of eight novels and two collections of short stories

The Stone Diaries won the Pulitzer Prize and was shortlisted for the Booker

Prize Larryrsquos Party won the Orange Prize Born and brought up in Chicago

Carol Shields has lived in Canada since 1957

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 1

Others

Intersect

Coming to Canada

Larryrsquos Party

The Stone Diaries

The Republic of Love

A Celibate Season (with Blanche Howard)Swann

A Fairly Conventional Woman

Happenstance

The Box Garden

Small Ceremonies

Various Miracles

The Orange Fish

Dressing Up for the Carnival

Departures and Arrivals

Thirteen Hands

Fashion Power Guilt and the Charity of Families

(with Catherine Shields)Anniversary (with David Williamson)

Susanna Moodie Voice and Vision

Jane Austen

Dropped Threads What We Arenrsquot Told

(Edited with Marjorie Anderson)

Credits

Design by Julian HumphriesPhotographer by Michael CrouserDesigned by Dinah Drazin

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 2

If you enjoyed reading this excerpt please visitHarperCollins Publishers to find out where to buy thisand other PerfectBound e-books

Australiahttpwwwharpercollinscomau

Canadahttpwwwharpercanadacom

New Zealandhttpwwwharpercollinsconz

United Kingdomhttpwwwfireandwatercom

United Stateshttpwwwperfectboundcom

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 3

The Pajama Game Words and Music by Richard Adler Music

and Jerry Ross copy Richard Adler Music and J amp J Ross Co USA

WarnerChappell Music Ltd London w6 8bs

Reproduced by permission of International Music Publications

Ltd All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction Names characters places and incidents

either are the products of the authorrsquos imagination or are used

fictitiously Any resemblance to actual events locales organiza-

tions or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and

beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher

UNLESS Copyright copy 2002 by Carol Shields All rights

reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright

Conventions By payment of the required fees you have been

granted the non-exclusive non-transferable right to access and

read the text of this e-book on-screen No part of this text may

be reproduced transmitted down-loaded decompiled reverse

engineered or stored in or introduced into any information stor-

age and retrieval system in any form or by any means whether

electronic or mechanical now known or hereinafter invented

without the express written permission of PerfectBoundtrade

PerfectBound trade and the PerfectBoundtrade logo are trademarks

of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

Adobe Acrobat E-Book Reader edition v 1 May 2002

ISBN 0-06-052370-0

Print edition first published in 2002

by Forth Estate a division of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 4

I should be getting on my way I said My parking meter Alunch date A long drive home

I understand you and your family live in a lovely old housenear Orangetown

And then slyly I understand one of your daughters now livesin Toronto and

Irsquove been here before There is something about having anestablished family a long-lasting spousal arrangement threedaughters in their teens a house in the country a suggestion ofimpermeability that draws the curiosity of others so that theycan as Tom says probe with probity

But no this man across the table will not be feeding on myflesh nor will his colleaguesmdashthough one can tell that he has nocolleagues there is no possibility of colleagues He has no contextfor friends or co-workers though there are the kids and therersquosthe wife hersquos referred to her three times now Nicola She has herprofessional life too he tells me as though the matter were indispute

I canrsquot resist ldquoDoes Nicolamdashis she a journalist toordquoldquoJournalistrdquoldquoLike you I meanrdquoHis hand jumps and for a moment I think hersquos going to turn

the tape recorder on again But no hersquos reaching into his pocketand now hersquos releasing two coins onto the table The tip They liethere moist from his hand Two dimes I focus on them withwhat I hope is a cool censorious gaze

But hersquos not looking at me Hersquos looking across the roomwhere a silver-haired man is seating himself gracefully at a tableldquoIrsquom not sure but I think thatrsquos Gore Vidalrdquo my interviewer whis-pers in a hungry voice ldquoHersquos here for the writersrsquo festival youknowrdquo

I rise and exit as though led by a brass quintetThe charming Mrs Winters slips on her comfortable beige rain-

coat

I would like to thank a number of others who in one way or another encouraged me in the writing of Unless SharonAllan Marjorie Anderson the late Joan Austen-Leigh JoanBarfoot Clare Boylan Marg Edmond Brown Joan ClarkAnne Collins Cynthia Coop Patrick Crowe Maggie DwyerDarlene Hammell Blanche Howard Isabel Huggan CarlLenthe Madeline Li Elinor Lipman Anna and Sylvie MatasMargaret Shaw-Mackinnon Don McCarthy Peter ParkerBella Pomer Christopher Potter Linda Rogers CaroleSabiston Floyd St Clair Eleanor Wachtel Cindi WarnerMindy Werner the John Simon Guggenheim Foundationand as always my family John Audrey Anne CatherineMeg Sara and especially Don

About the Author

Carol Shields is the author of eight novels and two collections of short stories

The Stone Diaries won the Pulitzer Prize and was shortlisted for the Booker

Prize Larryrsquos Party won the Orange Prize Born and brought up in Chicago

Carol Shields has lived in Canada since 1957

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 1

Others

Intersect

Coming to Canada

Larryrsquos Party

The Stone Diaries

The Republic of Love

A Celibate Season (with Blanche Howard)Swann

A Fairly Conventional Woman

Happenstance

The Box Garden

Small Ceremonies

Various Miracles

The Orange Fish

Dressing Up for the Carnival

Departures and Arrivals

Thirteen Hands

Fashion Power Guilt and the Charity of Families

(with Catherine Shields)Anniversary (with David Williamson)

Susanna Moodie Voice and Vision

Jane Austen

Dropped Threads What We Arenrsquot Told

(Edited with Marjorie Anderson)

Credits

Design by Julian HumphriesPhotographer by Michael CrouserDesigned by Dinah Drazin

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 2

If you enjoyed reading this excerpt please visitHarperCollins Publishers to find out where to buy thisand other PerfectBound e-books

Australiahttpwwwharpercollinscomau

Canadahttpwwwharpercanadacom

New Zealandhttpwwwharpercollinsconz

United Kingdomhttpwwwfireandwatercom

United Stateshttpwwwperfectboundcom

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 3

The Pajama Game Words and Music by Richard Adler Music

and Jerry Ross copy Richard Adler Music and J amp J Ross Co USA

WarnerChappell Music Ltd London w6 8bs

Reproduced by permission of International Music Publications

Ltd All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction Names characters places and incidents

either are the products of the authorrsquos imagination or are used

fictitiously Any resemblance to actual events locales organiza-

tions or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and

beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher

UNLESS Copyright copy 2002 by Carol Shields All rights

reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright

Conventions By payment of the required fees you have been

granted the non-exclusive non-transferable right to access and

read the text of this e-book on-screen No part of this text may

be reproduced transmitted down-loaded decompiled reverse

engineered or stored in or introduced into any information stor-

age and retrieval system in any form or by any means whether

electronic or mechanical now known or hereinafter invented

without the express written permission of PerfectBoundtrade

PerfectBound trade and the PerfectBoundtrade logo are trademarks

of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

Adobe Acrobat E-Book Reader edition v 1 May 2002

ISBN 0-06-052370-0

Print edition first published in 2002

by Forth Estate a division of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 4

I would like to thank a number of others who in one way or another encouraged me in the writing of Unless SharonAllan Marjorie Anderson the late Joan Austen-Leigh JoanBarfoot Clare Boylan Marg Edmond Brown Joan ClarkAnne Collins Cynthia Coop Patrick Crowe Maggie DwyerDarlene Hammell Blanche Howard Isabel Huggan CarlLenthe Madeline Li Elinor Lipman Anna and Sylvie MatasMargaret Shaw-Mackinnon Don McCarthy Peter ParkerBella Pomer Christopher Potter Linda Rogers CaroleSabiston Floyd St Clair Eleanor Wachtel Cindi WarnerMindy Werner the John Simon Guggenheim Foundationand as always my family John Audrey Anne CatherineMeg Sara and especially Don

About the Author

Carol Shields is the author of eight novels and two collections of short stories

The Stone Diaries won the Pulitzer Prize and was shortlisted for the Booker

Prize Larryrsquos Party won the Orange Prize Born and brought up in Chicago

Carol Shields has lived in Canada since 1957

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 1

Others

Intersect

Coming to Canada

Larryrsquos Party

The Stone Diaries

The Republic of Love

A Celibate Season (with Blanche Howard)Swann

A Fairly Conventional Woman

Happenstance

The Box Garden

Small Ceremonies

Various Miracles

The Orange Fish

Dressing Up for the Carnival

Departures and Arrivals

Thirteen Hands

Fashion Power Guilt and the Charity of Families

(with Catherine Shields)Anniversary (with David Williamson)

Susanna Moodie Voice and Vision

Jane Austen

Dropped Threads What We Arenrsquot Told

(Edited with Marjorie Anderson)

Credits

Design by Julian HumphriesPhotographer by Michael CrouserDesigned by Dinah Drazin

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 2

If you enjoyed reading this excerpt please visitHarperCollins Publishers to find out where to buy thisand other PerfectBound e-books

Australiahttpwwwharpercollinscomau

Canadahttpwwwharpercanadacom

New Zealandhttpwwwharpercollinsconz

United Kingdomhttpwwwfireandwatercom

United Stateshttpwwwperfectboundcom

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 3

The Pajama Game Words and Music by Richard Adler Music

and Jerry Ross copy Richard Adler Music and J amp J Ross Co USA

WarnerChappell Music Ltd London w6 8bs

Reproduced by permission of International Music Publications

Ltd All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction Names characters places and incidents

either are the products of the authorrsquos imagination or are used

fictitiously Any resemblance to actual events locales organiza-

tions or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and

beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher

UNLESS Copyright copy 2002 by Carol Shields All rights

reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright

Conventions By payment of the required fees you have been

granted the non-exclusive non-transferable right to access and

read the text of this e-book on-screen No part of this text may

be reproduced transmitted down-loaded decompiled reverse

engineered or stored in or introduced into any information stor-

age and retrieval system in any form or by any means whether

electronic or mechanical now known or hereinafter invented

without the express written permission of PerfectBoundtrade

PerfectBound trade and the PerfectBoundtrade logo are trademarks

of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

Adobe Acrobat E-Book Reader edition v 1 May 2002

ISBN 0-06-052370-0

Print edition first published in 2002

by Forth Estate a division of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 4

About the Author

Carol Shields is the author of eight novels and two collections of short stories

The Stone Diaries won the Pulitzer Prize and was shortlisted for the Booker

Prize Larryrsquos Party won the Orange Prize Born and brought up in Chicago

Carol Shields has lived in Canada since 1957

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 1

Others

Intersect

Coming to Canada

Larryrsquos Party

The Stone Diaries

The Republic of Love

A Celibate Season (with Blanche Howard)Swann

A Fairly Conventional Woman

Happenstance

The Box Garden

Small Ceremonies

Various Miracles

The Orange Fish

Dressing Up for the Carnival

Departures and Arrivals

Thirteen Hands

Fashion Power Guilt and the Charity of Families

(with Catherine Shields)Anniversary (with David Williamson)

Susanna Moodie Voice and Vision

Jane Austen

Dropped Threads What We Arenrsquot Told

(Edited with Marjorie Anderson)

Credits

Design by Julian HumphriesPhotographer by Michael CrouserDesigned by Dinah Drazin

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 2

If you enjoyed reading this excerpt please visitHarperCollins Publishers to find out where to buy thisand other PerfectBound e-books

Australiahttpwwwharpercollinscomau

Canadahttpwwwharpercanadacom

New Zealandhttpwwwharpercollinsconz

United Kingdomhttpwwwfireandwatercom

United Stateshttpwwwperfectboundcom

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 3

The Pajama Game Words and Music by Richard Adler Music

and Jerry Ross copy Richard Adler Music and J amp J Ross Co USA

WarnerChappell Music Ltd London w6 8bs

Reproduced by permission of International Music Publications

Ltd All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction Names characters places and incidents

either are the products of the authorrsquos imagination or are used

fictitiously Any resemblance to actual events locales organiza-

tions or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and

beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher

UNLESS Copyright copy 2002 by Carol Shields All rights

reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright

Conventions By payment of the required fees you have been

granted the non-exclusive non-transferable right to access and

read the text of this e-book on-screen No part of this text may

be reproduced transmitted down-loaded decompiled reverse

engineered or stored in or introduced into any information stor-

age and retrieval system in any form or by any means whether

electronic or mechanical now known or hereinafter invented

without the express written permission of PerfectBoundtrade

PerfectBound trade and the PerfectBoundtrade logo are trademarks

of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

Adobe Acrobat E-Book Reader edition v 1 May 2002

ISBN 0-06-052370-0

Print edition first published in 2002

by Forth Estate a division of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 4

Others

Intersect

Coming to Canada

Larryrsquos Party

The Stone Diaries

The Republic of Love

A Celibate Season (with Blanche Howard)Swann

A Fairly Conventional Woman

Happenstance

The Box Garden

Small Ceremonies

Various Miracles

The Orange Fish

Dressing Up for the Carnival

Departures and Arrivals

Thirteen Hands

Fashion Power Guilt and the Charity of Families

(with Catherine Shields)Anniversary (with David Williamson)

Susanna Moodie Voice and Vision

Jane Austen

Dropped Threads What We Arenrsquot Told

(Edited with Marjorie Anderson)

Credits

Design by Julian HumphriesPhotographer by Michael CrouserDesigned by Dinah Drazin

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 2

If you enjoyed reading this excerpt please visitHarperCollins Publishers to find out where to buy thisand other PerfectBound e-books

Australiahttpwwwharpercollinscomau

Canadahttpwwwharpercanadacom

New Zealandhttpwwwharpercollinsconz

United Kingdomhttpwwwfireandwatercom

United Stateshttpwwwperfectboundcom

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 3

The Pajama Game Words and Music by Richard Adler Music

and Jerry Ross copy Richard Adler Music and J amp J Ross Co USA

WarnerChappell Music Ltd London w6 8bs

Reproduced by permission of International Music Publications

Ltd All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction Names characters places and incidents

either are the products of the authorrsquos imagination or are used

fictitiously Any resemblance to actual events locales organiza-

tions or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and

beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher

UNLESS Copyright copy 2002 by Carol Shields All rights

reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright

Conventions By payment of the required fees you have been

granted the non-exclusive non-transferable right to access and

read the text of this e-book on-screen No part of this text may

be reproduced transmitted down-loaded decompiled reverse

engineered or stored in or introduced into any information stor-

age and retrieval system in any form or by any means whether

electronic or mechanical now known or hereinafter invented

without the express written permission of PerfectBoundtrade

PerfectBound trade and the PerfectBoundtrade logo are trademarks

of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

Adobe Acrobat E-Book Reader edition v 1 May 2002

ISBN 0-06-052370-0

Print edition first published in 2002

by Forth Estate a division of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 4

Credits

Design by Julian HumphriesPhotographer by Michael CrouserDesigned by Dinah Drazin

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The Pajama Game Words and Music by Richard Adler Music

and Jerry Ross copy Richard Adler Music and J amp J Ross Co USA

WarnerChappell Music Ltd London w6 8bs

Reproduced by permission of International Music Publications

Ltd All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction Names characters places and incidents

either are the products of the authorrsquos imagination or are used

fictitiously Any resemblance to actual events locales organiza-

tions or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and

beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher

UNLESS Copyright copy 2002 by Carol Shields All rights

reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright

Conventions By payment of the required fees you have been

granted the non-exclusive non-transferable right to access and

read the text of this e-book on-screen No part of this text may

be reproduced transmitted down-loaded decompiled reverse

engineered or stored in or introduced into any information stor-

age and retrieval system in any form or by any means whether

electronic or mechanical now known or hereinafter invented

without the express written permission of PerfectBoundtrade

PerfectBound trade and the PerfectBoundtrade logo are trademarks

of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

Adobe Acrobat E-Book Reader edition v 1 May 2002

ISBN 0-06-052370-0

Print edition first published in 2002

by Forth Estate a division of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 4

If you enjoyed reading this excerpt please visitHarperCollins Publishers to find out where to buy thisand other PerfectBound e-books

Australiahttpwwwharpercollinscomau

Canadahttpwwwharpercanadacom

New Zealandhttpwwwharpercollinsconz

United Kingdomhttpwwwfireandwatercom

United Stateshttpwwwperfectboundcom

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 3

The Pajama Game Words and Music by Richard Adler Music

and Jerry Ross copy Richard Adler Music and J amp J Ross Co USA

WarnerChappell Music Ltd London w6 8bs

Reproduced by permission of International Music Publications

Ltd All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction Names characters places and incidents

either are the products of the authorrsquos imagination or are used

fictitiously Any resemblance to actual events locales organiza-

tions or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and

beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher

UNLESS Copyright copy 2002 by Carol Shields All rights

reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright

Conventions By payment of the required fees you have been

granted the non-exclusive non-transferable right to access and

read the text of this e-book on-screen No part of this text may

be reproduced transmitted down-loaded decompiled reverse

engineered or stored in or introduced into any information stor-

age and retrieval system in any form or by any means whether

electronic or mechanical now known or hereinafter invented

without the express written permission of PerfectBoundtrade

PerfectBound trade and the PerfectBoundtrade logo are trademarks

of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

Adobe Acrobat E-Book Reader edition v 1 May 2002

ISBN 0-06-052370-0

Print edition first published in 2002

by Forth Estate a division of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 4

The Pajama Game Words and Music by Richard Adler Music

and Jerry Ross copy Richard Adler Music and J amp J Ross Co USA

WarnerChappell Music Ltd London w6 8bs

Reproduced by permission of International Music Publications

Ltd All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction Names characters places and incidents

either are the products of the authorrsquos imagination or are used

fictitiously Any resemblance to actual events locales organiza-

tions or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and

beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher

UNLESS Copyright copy 2002 by Carol Shields All rights

reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright

Conventions By payment of the required fees you have been

granted the non-exclusive non-transferable right to access and

read the text of this e-book on-screen No part of this text may

be reproduced transmitted down-loaded decompiled reverse

engineered or stored in or introduced into any information stor-

age and retrieval system in any form or by any means whether

electronic or mechanical now known or hereinafter invented

without the express written permission of PerfectBoundtrade

PerfectBound trade and the PerfectBoundtrade logo are trademarks

of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

Adobe Acrobat E-Book Reader edition v 1 May 2002

ISBN 0-06-052370-0

Print edition first published in 2002

by Forth Estate a division of HarperCollins Publishers Inc

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

PerfectboundPage_E 43002 1044 AM Page 4