Last Resort
“was moving toward its end. On stage, at a long table under bright overhead lights, the four speakers (including Wilkie Walker and Gerry Grass) were more or less patiently listening and responding to questions from the floor. Gerry had opened the session with his new poem, “White Crane Woman,” which made a dramatic and moving, but fortunately obscure, comparison between his love for and loss of Jenny Walker, and the decline of various equally picturesque Florida bird species. Though it did not r...hyme or scan, the poem was given shape and form by the alternation of two refrains: It is going, it is gone.
and She is going, she is gone.
Wilkie, like most of the people present, had not made the connection. He had spoken with polite appreciation of Gerry’s work, and gone on to recommend the conservation not only of Florida’s birds, but of its aquatic mammals—thus, he hoped, paying his debt to Barbie Mumpson for once and all. Not that he owed her a great deal: true, she had driven him to the hospital at the time of his gallstone attack, but she had also flung herself on him in public in a way that had caused his wife days of suspicion and misery.MoreLess
and She is going, she is gone.
Wilkie, like most of the people present, had not made the connection. He had spoken with polite appreciation of Gerry’s work, and gone on to recommend the conservation not only of Florida’s birds, but of its aquatic mammals—thus, he hoped, paying his debt to Barbie Mumpson for once and all. Not that he owed her a great deal: true, she had driven him to the hospital at the time of his gallstone attack, but she had also flung herself on him in public in a way that had caused his wife days of suspicion and misery.MoreLess
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