I adore my own life, more and more I love being myself, but I love this work of totally changing personalities, of creating something radically different from myself. I want to go profoundly into my roles. If not, what’s the point?
Mam used to cry for the first year or two after Will went; she had said, holding Cecily to her, that the Shadowhunters would “take all the love out of him.” A cold people, she had told Cecily, a people who had forbidden her marriage to her husband. What could he want with them, her Will, her little one?
Guthrie: “When Richard was a little boy, there was a tomcat that lived out in the woods behind the house, and it would scratch at the windows at all hours of the night. And Richard, all of four years old, would go outside, still in his night-shirt, and feed it. My husband disapproved, he thought it a sign of weakness. Given that kindness is a condition rare in our family, I suppose it’s unsurprising that it went misdiagnosed. So Richard would feed the tomcat, and Joseph would flog him for disobeying, kick the tomcat for instigating. But the next night, the tomcat would return, and on, and on, and on it went.
See, none of them was capable of changing; the cat, a slave to his hunger, my son to… his decency, my husband to his rage. That would seem to be the history of Nassau too, wouldn’t it? A cycle of violence that benefits none and consumes all.
I suppose the question is, in Nassau’s story, which one of these roles do you play?”
But I held out hope… that a woman who reminded me of myself when I was younger would arrive in Boston and I’d walk the Charles with her and teach her the things a woman can do in this world. It’s the wrong river and the wrong woman but perhaps to get even this close to a fantasy is something.