Page 53, “The Persuasion”
Janos was standing in the room that would be my study when I arrived, a large sheet of paper spread on the floor, paint samples spread along the windowsills, and a toolbox by his feet. Even if I was not ready, the project was underway. In any case, I had to be reasonable. There was no evident harm in having a room in Tonin’s apartment. It didn’t mean anything. It was just a room. With my stuff in it. Not a binding legal contract.
“If, and I emphasize the if, if I could have what I really wanted, it would be a very big desk, really big, so I could really lay out many pages of writing at once,” I said.
“That’s good and I emphasize good,” he replied. “Shelves for your books?”
“Yes, shelves, lots of books, and you know, Janos, now that I’m focusing on this, I’d like to have my mother’s sewing table and do something with my father’s trumpet.”
When looking to display meaningful objects, engage an artist. By St. Patrick’s Day, I was standing by the double windows in “my” new study, a four-by-six cherry table with a wide drawer in front of me.
To my right was my father’s trumpet hanging from the ceiling on a copper hook, suspended over a marble stand into which was set my mother’s sewing machine.
Along the wall to the right was an oak trundle daybed that could be pulled up-and-out into a double. Babi had upholstered it with purple and orange striped canvas, my favorite colors; scattered across the top were orange and yellow Indian cotton throw pillows.
To the left the original bookcases, now extended to the ceiling, more than large enough for my collection, and the bureau that had been in my bedroom when I was a little girl.
The antique pine blanket chest, which I opened to find the linens from my mother’s apartment, doubled as a footstool in front of the daybed. They had wallpapered the room in pale yellow linen.
It was beautiful.
But nothing permanent.
