Fault Lines by Nancy Huston

Author:Nancy Huston
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780802198686
Publisher: Grove Atlantic

III

Kristina, 1944-45

A scattering of ecstasies.

Amaze me, I say to the world.

Whirl me, thrill me, stun me, never stop.

Grandma’s jewellery box: the key is on the bottom, you have to be careful to keep the lid closed when you turn the box upside down and wind it up and then when you set it back down and open the lid, tinkling music starts to play and an exquisite gold and white ballerina twirls round and round in front of a tiny mirror, one arm raised in a curve and the other held out in a curve in front of her. The ballerina isn’t alive but she moves. ‘Real ballerinas can spin as much as fifty times on tiptoe,’ says Grandma, ‘they keep their balance by looking straight in front of them every time they spin back to face the audience, try it Kristina’ so I try it, though not on tiptoe, whirling and whirling with my arms stretched out till I’m gorgeously dizzy and fall to the floor, loving it, and Grandma laughs and says ‘I guess you need a few lessons, sweetheart.’

The ballerina watches over Grandma’s jewellery, it’s all perfectly arranged in drawers lined with red velvet, sparkling necklaces and bracelets in the bottom drawer, glittering rings and earrings in the top. Grandma teaches me how to tell the difference between diamonds and rhinestones, diamonds have more colours in them when you hold them up to the light. Sometimes she lets me put on her diamond tiara and look at myself in the mirror, I blur my vision by lowering my eyelashes and for a moment I look as beautiful as a princess.

Grandpa brings home two little windmills, one for Greta one for me, their vanes all different colours, when you run with them they spin and the faster you run the faster they spin and if you run into the wind they spin so fast the colours blur, sometimes I think so fast my brain blurs, too.

The merry-go-round in the schoolyard is covered with snow in the wintertime but in the summer I can sit on it and Greta will push me, running along with it at first until she can’t keep up, then standing still and shoving the bars as they go by to give them extra impetus, I’m hanging on to the centre pole for dear life and to keep from getting dizzy I look at Greta every time I come around, just as ballerinas look at the audience. Greta pushes me on the swings, too—higher and higher until I’m kicking the clouds and the wind is whistling in my ears, I put my head way back and watch the world whoosh at me upside down and my nose almost grazes the ground. Then I learn to gain impetus all by myself, sitting down, standing up, but it’s better when Greta does it because I don’t have to make an effort, I can just sit back and let it happen.

The schoolyard is the same thing as the

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