Miss MacIntosh, My Darling by Marguerite Young

Author:Marguerite Young [Young, Marguerite]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 50

Everything seemed off key and out of course, how often Mr. Spitzer had lamented as the wind whirred around his cape, this universe tacking like the wild white snow bird away from central fires of jewels gleaming through clouds and relationships which were never to be found, never to be found by the snow bird or if found were never to be proved and codified and made certain as a map to the traveller who was yet to come, for they were forever shifting, veering in that wind which came from no known source, sleeping upon the wing or drifting like a slow curve of zodiacs where the snowflakes whirled big as cartwheels through which the moon shone or drifting like the long-looping sail of the boat which was never anchored to unanchored earth, and if he would orient himself as he approached the final chaos of oblivion or as it approached him upon silent footsteps moving through the fogs and cloud-lines like the surf upon some other star, he must find his way by present disorientations through vanished multiplicities of mirrors which had never lost their image as they drifted through the fog and vanished moons in all their phases from nymph to full moon and phases between their phases like the moons where no moons were and phases never noticed before and never quite asserting themselves and locked moons with tangled horns and vanished stars who had followed an old bellwether to his grave in this abyss of tinsel stars and those which were the trembling mirages piling up like mountainous waves of the sea or like snow-crowned pinnacles under low clouds or like castles upon the rocks with their light pricking through clouds, castles disappearing when the clouds disappeared, it seemed to Mr. Spitzer with all images doubling before his eyes so that when he entered clouded rooms, one room so like the other that they might be always the same room with only those discrepancies which might be noted, perhaps the fact that he was not himself, that he had changed imperceptibly from point to point, perhaps the fact that he had not changed and was ever the same man, the same in his end as in his beginning, perhaps that a candle flame had gone out or had been lighted in his absence, perhaps that there was a rose withering in a vase where there had been no rose before or a chair out of place or one door more than there had ever been or prisms breaking mirrors which should have looked upon eternity if they had not looked on time, he was often at a loss when he saw two golden chairs in the clouds to know in which chair to sit, for one chair might be only the dream, and one might be real, and one might collapse if he touched it. One might suddenly fly away with many tinkling bells. One might disappear like the Water Carrier or Cassiopeia’s Golden Chair or the Crib or the Virgin or the Hair of Berenice in the clouds at dawn.

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