The Memory Artists (34 page)

April 6. Mom in a great mood all day, Sam in a bad. JJ as joyful as ever. More later. Still madly tinkering.

April 9. My mind feeling viscous and slow, like mucilage. No, more like the motor of a car that’s been to Mexico and back—no stops, 24-hour ignition. So today took a break—for the first time in 2 months, Nor and I met for our matinée. While waiting for the film to start he made a strange confession. Indirectly. JJ, it seems, has been “pestering” him for a couple of Top Ten Lists (poetry—one in English, one in French, no particular order). He wouldn’t reveal his French list, but—astonishingly—he gave me his English:

Rochester, “Song” (“Love a woman? You’re an ass!”)

Larkin, “Aubade” and “The Old Fools”

Lord Byron, “Don Juan” and “Darkness”

Delmore Schwartz, “Calmly we walk through this April’s day”

Donne, “Go Catch a Falling Star” or “Woman’s Constancy”

MacNeice, “Sunlight on the Garden”

Dante Rossetti, “Without You”

Dowson, “Cynara”

Fair enough. Except for the fact they’re weren’t all Decadent or Symbolist, no real surprises—except for the last two or three. Laments for dead lovers.
⁴⁴
Which is what his novel is about, more or less. And there was a strange look on his face when he mentioned them, as if he were trying to confide in me. Must get to the bottom of this. But not now—have more important things to do.

April 10. Can’t focus. Completely blocked. So spent the day at the McLennan library memorising passages of Arabic literature and language. Why? Because last week at the lab Samira seemed dazzled by Norval’s “knowledge” of Arabic (which is three bloody phrases at most, two of them lewd). Pathetic, I know. But I had to get my head out of the dungeon anyway.

Dr. Vorta called after supper. He wants to do a “revolutionary” experiment on me, with a trans-magnetic stimulator of his own invention. It sounds a bit dangerous to me, but I trust him. He said it’s to study my synaesthesia, but when I told Norval about it over the phone, he said the experiment was designed to eliminate it! Which naturally I don’t want—I’m afraid my memory could go along with it.

April 15. Mom’s excited—next month Norval’s going to try to get on one of her favourite shows, Tip of Your Tongue. (I refused.) She can hardly wait. It’s a horrible show really—amateurish sets, fake applause, a Vegas emcee with a toupée and girdle, etc. The studio’s in Montreal North, in an industrial plaza. It’s considered camp by university students, maybe because it comes on Friday at midnight and has the odd “X-rated” question. The top prize, in any case, is fifty grand. But no one has gone all the way yet, which is unusual for a show that’s been on the air for two years. They’ve made the final rounds extraordinarily difficult, almost impossibly difficult. So most contestants quit while they’re ahead, take the money and run. In any case, it’s a bit of a longshot for Norval even to get selected as a candidate. We’re all going to cheer him on. JJ said Dr. Vorta is going to try to make it as well.

April 21. Still can’t focus in the lab. Totally zoned out. Had a good week in late March but the days since have been foggy and downhill.

April 23. With the hope of unblocking, met Norval again for the matinée. For Shakespeare’s birthday they were showing Brook’s King Lear. The last acts always hit me hard—too sad for words—but today they were simply crushing. I tried to stop the tears, tried to hide them from Norval, but couldn’t. It was these lines that got me going:

I fear I am not in my perfect mind.

Methinks I should know you, and know this man;

Yet I am doubtful; for I am mainly ignorant

What place this is; and all the skill I have

Remembers not these garments; nor I know not

Where I did lodge last night …

Be your tears wet? Yes, faith. I pray weep not.

If you have poison for me, I will drink it …

April 27. Finally got a kind of clarity, a view from another realm, for twenty-six hours straight. Where there were walls there are now doors. Decided not to give up on the NA-56, even if Vorta and the leagued universe are against me. Made one small addition and one small subtraction, epiphanically, like a sacred sculptor. Result: it began to take on the faintest of scents … of green apple.

Chapter 16

Samira’s Diary

February 4/02

Left Norval today. Or rather, left his loft for other accommodations … I was a roommate in January, nothing more. We barely saw each other.

The few times we were together he ignored me, either reading or maniacally playing bow & arrows, or should I say “practising his archery.” With his Turkish & Mongol bows—made by some Hungarian “master bowyer” … Phoom, thwack, phoom, thwack … Usually in the bull’s eye, like Robin Hood. Or through an apple, like William Tell.
⁴⁵

The whole time I was in a period of chastity, and lust. Norval has this force field, this presence—like some being who’s visited heaven & hell & brought back the best of both. Worst of both? It was so frustrating being around him, listening but not being listened to, at the altar of his ego. He has a knack for making anything I say sound stupid far in advance of my saying it. I felt like a bug, something that could be stepped on without notice. I was an S, for God’s sake, nothing more! When I told him I wouldn’t be part of his vile game, wouldn’t be another name flamed, placed in the kill files, that was it. He never came on to me again. After that he just looked at me with subwayish blankness, listened to me as though he wouldn’t care if I hanged myself from his candelabra.

February 5

Now living with Ted, an old (Platonic) friend from high school. He’s a tech-crash victim who used to have money to burn. Already, after one day together, I think there could be problems. Among other things, he talks about mutual funds, endlessly.

I would’ve made love with Norval—if he’d cancelled the Bet. Because of what he said about killing himself after Z. I mean, if he’s remotely serious, then I can hardly help him on his way to Z, can I …

But maybe he’s simply out of my class—too much intelligence, too much beauty (his body would’ve satisfied the standards of Michelangelo himself). And what is my class? “Almost average” in his words.

February 6

Ted beginning to stare at me, continuously. In some cultures breasts are considered something for babies to be interested in, not grown men.

February 7

I know it’s stupid, self-destructive, but I just can’t stop thinking about Norval, hoping—for what? Love, affection? A phone call? Why am I so bloody duncical? Isn’t it only men who fall for physical beauty & are blind to everything else?

Stirling looked great, but in conversation seldom rose above the sound-bites expected of celebrities. After him I swore that actors & artists were out—they don’t know who the hell they are, and make those around them feel the same way. It’s all vanity & ego, they’re walking & talking pathological disorders, usually in codependent relationships with a therapist or mother or ex-girlfriend. And now I’m being sucked back into all that …Am I one of those who get as much excitement from looming disasters as others from looming success?

Does Norval have anything else besides beauty? Yes. He can be shockingly funny, sharp-witted. (But so much thought & so little feeling ! Wit is the salt of conversation, as they say, not the food.) And although he hates humans, he loves animals. His dream, he said, is to go on an African safari and shoot elephant poachers.

February 13

Things getting to the up-to-here point with Ted. And especially with his bubblehead girlfriend “Galaxy.” But don’t know where else to go. Almost no money left. Thank God for Dr. Vorta.

February 20

JJ’s magic “palindrome” day. Everyone seems to have forgotten about it— & about the club’s second meeting—& I didn’t do any reminding. Norval wouldn’t have come anyway—plus our clubhouse is out of commission. I miss those guys, I really do, but doubt I’ll ever see them again, socially at least.

February 21

When Ted isn’t talking about pork futures or telling mind-numbing golf stories, he’s coming on to me. Plus his girlfriend & I don’t exactly see eye to eye. She’s giving me little hints that she wants me out—like last night, when she screamed at me to leave her boyfriend alone (?!), and this morning when she suggested I’d be “much happier” somewhere else.

February 22

Ran into JJ in the Ex-Psych elevator! Really happy to see him. He was bringing Vorta a coffee & doughnut. (I thought JJ was a research assistant, but it looks like he’s a gopher, a gruntworker) Anyway, he set the tray down on the floor, gave me a huge hug & then asked me something very strange—to “help out” Noel & his mother, who has some sort of memory problem. He couldn’t remember Noel’s phone number but he wrote down his address for me. I didn’t know what to say as I took it, just said I’d think about it. I mean, what can I do to help? I know almost nothing about these things.

March 3

Galaxy went ballistic last night—she thinks I’m sleeping with Ted. Because she counted condoms & didn’t get the figure she was expecting . (I didn’t tell her that Ted’s sleeping with someone else.) Anyway, she ended up throwing all my stuff onto the street—some of it, anyway. At one in the morning! Into a bloody snowbank!! I managed, by some miracle, to flag a cab & was on my way to my mom’s, rooting around for loose change in my purse, when I came across Noel’s address. Destiny? Unlikely, but I decided to go to his place anyway, then & there, unannounced— ridiculously late at night, in a snowstorm! Plus it was a cheaper cab ride. If I see a light on, I said to myself, I’ll stop. I saw a light on.

My embarrassment needle was off the scale at first, but I calmed down and Noel & I ended up talking for hours. Really for the first time. He’s a very strange man—and fascinating. I can see why Norval likes him so much. He’s gentlemanly & courteous in an old-fashioned way & a really kind soul, very warm & gentle, the kind of man I adore but am not attracted to—it’s a disease, I think, a genetic impairment that will probably ruin my life.

Noel’s life seems to be on hold while he looks after his mother. Although he’s got a great memory, he seems to have forgotten about himself.

It was so weird talking to Noel about everything—about my “former life.” But I had to, because he dropped a bombshell! He guessed my secret!! From my “voice colours.” But I asked him not to tell anyone & for some reason I know he won’t.

What I didn’t tell him about was the abortion. Which may have been the real reason Stirling lost his mind. And for my mother to hate me. It’s a black zone that’s off limits to everyone. Maybe because it brings on this awful gut feeling, this nightmarish warning from a crystal ball:THAT I’ll NEVER GET PREGNANT AGAIN.

Sterling once told me I wasn’t good for men. That I was like a contagion, a retrovirus that gets into them & makes them sick …

March 5

While Noel was at the library, I spent all day with JJ, shopping & cleaning up the house & making adjustments that will make it easier for Stella to function—some of the things I’ve learned in class and from Dr. Vorta. Anyway, we laughed all day, about totally silly things. JJ’s like joy medicine. Despite having a few … idiosyncrasies, shall we say. For example, he’s a compulsive butt-clencher—clench-release-clench-release, hundreds of times a day— walking down the hall, making lunch, talking to Mrs. Burun. It’s hard to look at anything else. You find yourself counting, tapping your toes and, if you’re not careful, squeezing right along with him.

March 7

Got to see Noel interact with his mom today. From a distance, kind of eavesdropping. I could learn a few things from him—he’s patient, attentive, warm … Every night, according to JJ, he reads to her, every night he fills in gaps in her forgotten life. Last night, at her request, he & JJ made these incredible fireworks & set them off in the back yard. His mother watched them like a little girl, totally spellbound. (JJ was like a little boy, literally jumping up & down.) It’s so nice seeing Noel & his mom together, the way they smile, touch, communicate without words. Wouldn’t mind having that kind of relationship with my mother. With anyone.

Better stop here, starting to sound like Pollyanna.

March 8

Things are working out well. School is good, living here is good. Haven’t seen much of Mrs. Burun because I’ve been at school or the library—making up for missed classes! Haven’t seen Noel either, who’s down in the cellar most of the time. My only regret is that I’m not helping his mother very much, as I promised to do …

March 10

I suspect—no, I know—that Noel has feelings for me. And I hardly needed my woman’s intuition to figure that one out. I better be careful—he’s the last person I want to hurt.

Would that be remotely possible? A relationship with Noel? No, simply not in the cards, ever. (1) I’m besotted by his best friend. (2) He’s “unmanageably weird,” as Nor says, with too many problems—I have more than enough of my own, thank you very much. (3) I don’t need any more men in co-dependent relationships with their mothers. (4) I’m not attracted to “nice guys,” unfortunately, never have been & never will be. (5) I’m not good enough for him—I’m hardly the saint he thinks I am.

March 11

I think JJ’s good for Noel, seeing things that Noel is sometimes blind to—like the guy who sees all the engineers futzing with a broken machine and realizes that no one has thought to plug it in. Today they were down in the lab all day, so I ended up spending the entire time with Noel’s mom. She’s a wonderful woman, very elegant & refined & beautiful—especially after I did her hair & helped her select some things to wear! Diane Von Furstenberg & Kate Spade classics. She looked fabulous! Fifty-six going on thirty-six. I learned quite a bit about her from going through her albums & books. She’s an historian—or was—and even wrote bios on Hypatia of Alexandria & Ada Byron, Countess Lovelace (which I’ve borrowed, because I hadn’t heard of either one).

March 12

Haven’t seen Noel in a while. It’s like he’s avoiding me, or angry with me. For not doing enough around the house? Maybe he’s just not interested in me, in the way I thought he was. Or maybe he’s just too busy, too obsessed with his work downstairs. Or maybe he’s got a new girlfriend. Or maybe I’m paranoid …