“I loved the colours of its fruit, their turquoise enamels shining through the fall. Those heartbreaking falls. The berries were like the Navajo jewellery I saw a man selling in the street, where West End joined Eleventh. The earrings and bracelets were pinned to a blanket. Long ways from Flagstaff, he said to me. I looked around. Are we? I asked. I was at Iwo Jima, he said. My brother too. Left him there. I used to help him with his English. The man’s face was dark. Skin like ea...rth. All he cared about was horses, the Navajo man said. So why do I remember that? Why do I remember anything? And now they tell me the porcelainberry is banned in New York. It’s apparently a pest. They root it out, use poison spray. Ah well, I think. Ah well. Our housekeeper would tell us that Mr Rachmaninov used to stay at 502, West End Avenue.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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