The Blind Assassin   ::   Atwood Margaret

You'll stand on the porch, in a haze of damp light; your glossy dark hair will be sodden, your black outfit will be soaked, the drops of rain will glitter on your face and clothes like sequins.

You'll knock. I'll hear you, I'll shuffle down the hallway, I'll open the door. My heart will jump and flutter; I'll peer at you, then recognise you: my cherished, my last remaining wish. I'll think to myself that I've never seen anyone so beautiful, but I won't say so; I wouldn't want you to think I've gone scatty. Then I'll welcome you, I'll hold out my arms to you, I'll kiss you on the cheek, sparsely, because it would be unseemly to let myself go. I'll cry a few tears, but only a few, because the eyes of the elderly are arid.

I'll invite you in. You'll enter. I wouldn't recommend it to a young girl, crossing the threshold of a place like mine, with a person like me inside it-an old woman, an older woman, living alone in a fossilised cottage, with hair like burning spiderwebs and a weedy garden full of God knows what. There's a whiff of brimstone about such creatures: you may even be a little frightened of me. But you'll also be a little reckless, like all the women in our family, and so you will come in anyway. Grandmother, you will say; and through that one word I will no longer be disowned.

I'll sit you down at my table, among the wooden spoons and the twig wreaths, and the candle which is never lit. You'll be shivering, I'll give you a towel, I'll wrap you in a blanket, I'll make you some cocoa.

Then I'll tell you a story. I'll tell you this story: the story of how you came to be here, sitting in my kitchen, listening to the story I've been telling you. If by some miracle that were to happen, there would be no need for this jumbled mound of paper.

What is it that I'll want from you? Not love: that would be too much to ask. Not forgiveness, which isn't yours to bestow. Only a listener, perhaps; only someone who will see me. Don't prettify me though, whatever else you do: I have no wish to be a decorated skull.

But I leave myself in your hands. What choice do I have? By the time you read this last page, that-if anywhere-is the only place I will be.



Acknowledgments

I would like to express my gratitude to the following: my invaluable assistant, Sarah Cooper; my other researchers, A. S. Hall and Sarah Webster; Professor Tim Stanley; Sharon Maxwell, archivist, Cunard Line Ltd., St. James Library, London; Dorothy Duncan, executive director, Ontario Historical Society; Hudson's Bay/Simpsons Archives, Winnipeg; Fiona Lucas, Spadina House, Heritage Toronto; Fred Kerner; Terrance Cox; Katherine Ashenburg; Jonathan F. Vance; Mary Sims; Joan Gale; Don Hutchison; Ron Bernstein; Lorna Toolis and her staff at the Toronto Public Library's Merril Collection of Science Fiction, Speculation and Fantasy, and to Janet Inksetter of Annex Books. Also to early readers Eleanor Cook, Ramsay Cook, Xandra Bingley, Jess A. Gibson, and Rosalie Abella. Also to my agents, Phoebe Larmore, Vivienne Schuster, and Diana Mackay; and to my editors, Ellen Seligman, Heather Sangster, Nan A. Talese, and Liz Calder. Also to Arthur Gelgoot, Michael Bradley, Bob Clark, Gene Goldberg, and Rose Tornato. And to Graeme Gibson and my family, as always.

Grateful acknowledgment is made to the following for permission to reprint already published material: Epigraphs: Ryszard Kapuscinski, Shah of Shahs: © 1982, Ryszard Kapuscinski, translated by William R. Brand and Katarzyna Mroczowska-Brand. Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1985. Reprinted by permission of the author.

The Carthaginian urn inscription attributed to Zashtar, a minor noble-woman (c.210-185 B. C. E.), is cited by Dr. Emil F. Swardsward in "Carthaginian Shard Epitaphs,"Cryptic: The Journal of Ancient Inscriptions, vol. VII, no.9, 1963.

Sheila Watson: from Deep Hollow Creek © 1992, Sheila Watson. Reprinted with permission from Mc Clelland Stewart Inc.

The vernacular renditions of songs are based on: "The Smoke Goes Up the Chimney Just the Same." Traditional.

"Smokey Moon." Lyric by G. Damorda. Music by Crad Shelley. Copyright © 1934 Sticks Inc./Skylark Music. Copyright renewed 1968 by Chaggas Music Corporation on behalf of author and composer. Used by permission.

"Stormy Weather. " Lyric by Ted Koehler. Music by Harold Arlen. Copyright © 1933 Mills Music Inc. / S. A. Music Co. /Ted Koehler Music/EMI Mills Music Inc. /Redwood Music. Copyright renewed 1961 by Arko Music Corp. U. S. rights for the extended term in the United States administered by Fred Ahlert Music Corporation on behalf of Ted Koehler Music. U. S. rights administered by S. A. Music on behalf of Harold Arlen Music. Rights outside the U. S. administered by EMI Mills Music Inc. All rights relating to the interest of Ted Koehler in Canada and the reversionary territories are controlled by Bienstock Publishing Company on behalf of Redwood Music. International Copyright Secured. All Rights Reserved. Used by permission.

The account of the Queen Mary's maiden voyage is excerpted from: "In Search of an Adjective" by J. Herbert Hodgins. Mayfair, July 1936. (Maclean Hunter, Montreal). Exact ownership of copyright unknown. Reprinted by permission of Rogers Media and Southam Inc.