Crackpot by Wiseman Adele

Author:Wiseman, Adele [Wiseman, Adele]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: New Canadian Library
Published: 2007-12-31T16:00:00+00:00

SEVEN

It would be unfair to suggest that during the years that followed, Hoda tried to erase all memory of her black night and of the existence of a living issue. True, other pains and other pleasures dulled the intensity of recall; gradually a shadow formed over the area in her memory, a shadow that gained in opacity with time, so that, like the craters of the moon, from a distance the dark spot seemed more like a smudge on an unbroken surface than like the pit into which she knew she could fall if she allowed herself to venture too close. But she could not pretend the smudge wasn’t there. What had happened had happened, and Hoda was not capable of forgetting entirely. But she allowed herself to temporize with memory, promising herself, as time passed, that one day, as soon as she had a chance, tomorrow, maybe, or the day after, she would sit down and try to figure out what meaning that distant night and the living souvenir which it was sometimes so difficult to believe really existed, had in her life. She still walked blocks out of her way when the occasion arose, rather than pass anywhere near the Orphanage, which was for her the geographic incarnation of the shadow pit in her mind which she dared not approach too closely. With time, the shadowed area did appear to shrink, for Hoda had many other things to think about. Those few forbidden blocks around the Orphanage also shrank, as Hoda grew more familiar with the wide expanse of the city which existed beyond the bounds which had had meaning for her in childhood. But she could not simply forget, and though she now had a proper contempt for silly, impractical, childish fantasies, Hoda still believed that in the endless folds of time that were yet to unwrinkle before her, were hidden all the correct solutions to all her problems, and she promised herself that she would make good all her errors, the minute the proper shape of her destiny was revealed to her.

Meanwhile she continued to do her best, and became, in time, well enough known for it in the district to have earned for herself a fairly regular flow of clientele and a certain degree of notoriety among decent folk. Of the latter Hoda was to some extent aware, and when it was, occasionally, underlined for her attention, she expressed a large, contemptuous willingness to be tolerant of public opinion if the public would, on its side, keep its opinion to itself and not bother her and her daddy with it. Among themselves, if people wanted to talk about her, let them. Her touchy spot was, of course, her daddy. For herself Hoda didn’t give a damn what any bunch of old busybodies thought. What did they know about her life? And what did they care, either, about the important things? But close to the surface of her defiance was always the fear that someday, someone would bludgeon his or her way through her father’s innocence.

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