Elizabeth's Daughter Read Free Page B

sketches. She wouldn’t have to ask anyone’s permission to stay all day. And so, smiling, she hurried to catch up to Martha.
      In the museum Elizabeth trotted alongside Martha, nodding in agreement to her intermittent, “oh, pretty, look at that.”
      The exhibit, primarily nineteenth century American hooked and woven rugs, also had a few remarkable Persian, Turkish, and Indian carpets, displayed in showcases on frames allowing their backs to show as well as their fronts. If Elizabeth had her way, she would study each one to the extent of counting knots. And she would , she told herself, when she returned on her own.
      “Where’s your running commentary, Elizabeth?” Martha suddenly asked.
      “Running commentary? I don’t want to bore you....”
      “I’ll let you know if you’re boring me. You must know more than these terse little notes: ‘probable construction between 18-something and 18-something.’ “
      “Well, yes, I do,” Elizabeth agreed. “For instance, did you know that the Persians make a small copy of the carpet for the weavers to follow, while the Chinese draw a full-sized replica of the rug design on paper and put it beside the loom for the weavers to copy?
      “But the east Indians have a very interesting system called ta’lem . The ta’lem writer records the color of every knot, row by row and then a ta’lem reader reads this list to a roomful of weavers. Wouldn’t that be a remarkable thing to see? A room full of artisans, hands flying, creating one of these magnificent works of art to the mantra of a list of colors being recited. I can see the sun slanting in on piles of colored wool...” Elizabeth gestured to show the angle of the sunlight, “and the carpet frames and the people sitting side by side, but each in their own sort of transfixed, meditative space, listening to the incantation, obeying it, trusting that every tiny knot will produce a complete and beautiful image.”
      Elizabeth caught Martha’s study of her. “I did it, didn’t I? I bored you.”
      “No, Elizabeth, you... you amaze me. I never knew you had so much... poetry. I really see your room of weavers. This display is like a spiritual experience for you, isn’t it?” Martha asked.
      “What an uncanny word choice. Whenever I go into an oriental carpet store, or even into my own rug-making room, I’ve always thought the carpets are like church stained glass windows, only opaque.”
      “So they are!”” Martha exclaimed.
      After that they took a more leisurely, attentive stroll through the exhibit. Elizabeth was amazed to see that Martha listened carefully to every bit of information she shared. Whenever she and Martha had been together before, Martha talked and Elizabeth listened.
      In fact, Elizabeth thought with life-changing insight, everyone has always talked and I have always listened. And now, I begin to talk, as well as listen.
      Afterwards they went to Chez Cafe for a late lunch.
      “Are you losing weight?” Martha asked Elizabeth when they were seated.
      “I think so. This dress used to fit better, anyway. I haven’t had much interest in food lately. I’m home alone, no one to cook for, so I don’t cook, no one to eat with, so I don’t often eat.”
      “I see,” Martha said. “I thought you were on a diet.”
      “No. Why would I go on a diet? I’m not fat.”
      “That’s what I was about to say. But there’s something else different about you too... what is it?”
      “Well, I, I bought some mascara a couple days ago.”
      “Ah, yes,” Martha said. “I guess that, and the weight you’ve lost, accounts for your huge, waif-like eyes.”
      “Waif-like?”
      “I mean that as a compliment. The wise-yet-innocent look.”
      “Wise-yet-innocent. But... plain.”
      “Are you nuts? You’re darling. I wish to goodness I looked half as pretty as you do with so little make-up.”
      “You’re just saying that.”
      “I am not . I’ve