|
|
|
|
Dawn Corrigan and that’s his day, except for now and then when someone from the college rings him (he’s unlisted, but they find him anyway) to ask for his story. Surprisingly— or perhaps not—he often obliges. When he does he says, “Wildflowers are the glory of Greece. The flowers there would be lovely anywhere, but they shine even more in that rocky country where wide meadows and fertile fields are so scarce. In that place I saw nothing to fear— not in the sky, not in the sea—all seemed reflection of my beauty. The whole earth and I engaged in a mutual leer! I didn’t even hear the nymph’s plea. But if I had—if eyes longed, hands reached for me— it seemed no more than what I should expect. But my bones would still lie beside that stream if the sky had not turned overcast. I walked away, took a flat in this city. Don’t pity me; if you must pity, pity Persephone, who stretched out her hand and opened a chasm in the earth. From it sprung a chariot, a handsome man, a coal-black horse. Soon they’ll come for me. We’ll cross the river in his hearse; I won’t lean over for one last glance.” Then he hangs up, and in the dial tone most listeners suspect, for a moment, they can hear a faint moan, but no one knows why or what it means, so in a minute they shake their heads and they too disconnect. **Parts of Narcissus’s speech are adapted from the chapter on the flower myths in Edith Hamilton’s Mythology. Also, I stole the title from Linda Pastan.
|
