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wear the black and the silver. Then I chuckled, as I realized what I was wearing, what I had purchased in
the little clothing store of that little town I had stopped in after my departure from Greenwood.
I had on black slacks, and all three of the shirts I had purchased had been of a grayish, silvery color.
And my jacket, too, was black.
I returned to the cards, and there was Flora in a gown green as the sea, just as I'd remembered her the
previous evening; and then there was a black-haired girl with the same blue eyes, and her hair hung long
and she was dressed all in black, with a girdle of silver about her waist. My eyes filled with tears, why I
don't know. Her name was Deirdre. Then there was Fiona, with hair like Bleys or Brand, my eyes, and a
complexion like mother of pearl. I hated her the second I turned over the card. Next was Llewella,
whose hair matched her jade-colored eyes, dressed in shimmering gray and green with a lavender belt,
and looking moist and sad. For some reason, I knew she was not like the rest of us. But she, too, was
my sister.
I felt a terrible sense of distance and removal from all these people. Yet somehow they seemed
physically close.
The cards were so very cold on my fingertips that I put them down again, though with a certain sense
of reluctance at having to relinquish their touch.
There were no more, though. All the rest were minor cards. And I knew, somehow, that somehow,
again--ah, somehow!-that several were missing.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
For the life of me, however, I did not know what the missing Trumps represented.
I was strangely saddened by this, and I picked up my cigarette and mused.
Why did all these things rush back so easily when I viewed the cards--rush back without dragging their
contexts along with them? I knew more now than I'd known before, in the way of names and faces. But
that was about all.
I couldn't figure the significance of the fact that we were all done up in cards this way. I had a terribly
strong desire to own a pack of them, however. If I picked up Flora's. though, I knew she'd spot in a
hurry that they were missing, and I'd be in trouble. Therefore, I put them back in the little drawer behind
the big drawer and locked them in again. Then, God, how I racked my brains! But to little avail.
Until I recalled a magical word.
Amber.
I had been greatly upset by the word on the previous evening. I had been sufficiently upset so that I
had avoided thinking of it since then. But now I courted it. Now I rolled it around my mind and examined
all the associations that sprang up when it struck.
The word was charged with a mighty longing and a massive nostalgia. It had, wrapped up inside it, a
sense of forsaken beauty, grand achievement. and a feeling of power that was terrible and almost
ultimate. Somehow, the word belonged in my vocabulary. Somehow, I was part of it and it was a part of
me. It was a place name, I knew then. It was the name of a place I once had known. There came no
pictures, though, only emotions.
How long I sat so, I do not know. Time had somehow divorced itself from my reveries.
I realized then, from the center of my thoughts, that there had come a gentle rapping upon the door.
Then the handle slowly turned and the maid, whose name was Carmella, entered and asked me if I was
interested in lunch.
It seemed like a good idea, so I followed her back to the kitchen and ate half a chicken and drank a
quart of milk.
I took a pot of coffee back to the llbrary with me, avoiding the dogs as I went. I was into the second
cup when the telephone rang.
I longed to pick it up, but I figured there must be extensions all over the house and Carmella would
probably get it from somewhere.
I was wrong. It kept ringing.
Finally, I couldn't resist it any longer.
"Hello," I said, "this is the Flaumel residence."
"May I speak with Mrs. Flaumel please?"
It was a man's voice, rapid and slightly nervous. He sounded out of breath and his words were [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]