February 23, 2012 § 3 Comments
She-of-the-umber-eyes was lying under a heap of antique photos with grey embossed cardboard frames. Most of the photos were portraits of sepia dowagers, sickly infants and young men with preposterous hairdos. They were all carefully posed, with fanciful backdrops that suggested Cairo, Athens, or Mount Olympus. But when I came to her portrait, I could see that she sat in front of a simple lace curtain and a chest of drawers with the drawers ajar. She could not have been more than ten or eleven years old. Her face, seen in profile, had an expression of suppressed incredulity, as if she were trying to hold her pose for the camera just as someone told her a whopper of a lie. She was staring in the direction of the right side of the cardboard frame, looking as if the liar was standing just offstage, where only she could see him.