Tomorrow
in a house populated by
memories
whispers, things in mirrors and
images in corridors that
vanish
when looked straight upon,
A new century begins.
The New York house has been sold.
Uncle Joshua has added this money
to my trust.
I would rather he had left the house
for my use.
When I am grown, I shall
buy it, or another,
and leave this place
forever.
(Why did we come
and
Why did we stay?)
There is no leaving this place for you,
sister Millicent.
The flowers I left at your grave
the time before last
were dried and scattered by the wind
the last time I visited
that crowded graveyard.
The snow has since come
to bury you all.
(i'm afraid i'm afraid i'm-)
Alone.
Better to be alone.
They always go away.
Break promises that they make
and remake
and forget -
(She - died. Vicki - died? Sarah - Naomi
- Josette – Jeremiah - Barnabas-)
They always go away.
I hear the clock tick-ticking out
these last minutes,
destroying
this last year.
(I will forget.
I will leave this place.
I will. )
I promised all that before.
I was a child then.
I am sixteen now.
A man.
But he does not recognize this.
He leaves full brandy bottles around.
Testing himself, I know. Testing his manhood.
(I wouId like to laugh. But
lt sticks in my throat, and anyway,
it is not funny .
Nothing is.)
There's a cold wind blowing outside.
(They say that in some places the sun shines
all year round, and it is so hot
they speak longingly of
cool sea breezes, ice water and snow.
That place the duPres's came from...
-did they bring the trouble with them?
or Millicent and I with us? It
was not Victoria. I know.
Dead. Dying. Dead.
(I must leave this place.
I will -)
Three strokes away from midnight.
Brandy glints amber in cut-glass bottles. See
Joshua's eyes taking them in as he enters.
A temptation he has again not succumbed to.
I hope he isn't going to try to be
fatherly and understanding
because
he doesn't know how and it's
better
when he just ignores me, or tells me
about ships & slaves, cotton & rum &
profit & loss, wages & forfeits &
keeps it all distant,
like a game,
a consuming, passionate game,
so we can forget there was ever
anything else
forget to pretend there can ever be
anything else
(Let me leave please let me leave - let
it be like it was before
I ever saw this place.)
The clock chimes.
Do not the sounds of
church bells tolling
for the dead echo
like this?
Midnight.
And past.
I am still here. In this house.
and when I am grown and can
do as I please will I
even want what I want this night?
to leave?
Or
will the whispering, the
voices in the halls and the
faces in mirrors that reflect
back images of
those I knew and many
I did not
persuade me
(as they try each night)
that I will never leave;
that I will someday
die
and join them?)
The brandy bottle goes untouched. Again.
He stands alone by the window
watching the glitter of the snow.
And I stand alone by the fire
watching the snow as it glitters
silent and cold and unforgiving in his
ice eyes.