@@@@@I can't remember who wrote it, but it
@@@@@I can't remember who
wrote it, but it begins, 'Speak, memory, that I
may not forget the taste of roses nor the sound of
ashes in the wind; That I may once more taste the
green cup of the sea' Does it move you? Yes, I
see it does
The hand with the cigarette holder in it opened
Then it reached out and caressed my hairThe idea
occurred to me (and has since recurred) that all
my struggle to live and regain a semblance of
myself may have been paid back by no more than the
touch of that old woman's handThe eroded
719
smoothness of the palmThe bent strength of those
fingers
"Art is memory, EdgarThere is no simpler way to
say itThe clearer the memory, the better the artThese paintings - they break my heart
and then make it new againHow glad I am to know
they were done at Salmon Point
She lifted the hand she'd caressed my head with
"Tell me what you call that one
"Sunset with Sophorawhat? Sunset with Conch, Numbers
1 through 4?"
I smiled"Well, there were sixteen of them,
actually, starting with colored pencil-sketches
Some of those are out frontI picked the best
oils for in hereThey're surreal, I know, but-"
"They're not surreal, they're classicalAny fool
can see thatThey contain all the elements:
earth
I saw Wireman mouth: Don't tire her out!
"Why don't I give you a quick tour of the rest and
then get you a cold drink?" I asked her, and now
Wireman was nodding and giving me a thumb-and720
forefinger circle"It's hot in here, even with
the air conditioningBut
Edgar?"
"Yes?"
"Save the ship paintings for the last