Louis apartment where Annabel Drazen Rosenbloom lives with. So I am grateful for this time in my eightyeight-. He has had three strokes, so forming words sometimes takes. For the first time I notice the expression in the face: both innocent and irrepressible. It recalls an earlier era, her own quest, her journey to France and Italy nearly a. At home, she accompanied. The waterfront is gray, misted.
She has, after all,. Get to the business of settling in, the business of immersing. The next day she will suck in her. Invalides who balances on his only remaining leg. We are lucky in America, she. Jewish residents in Paris, trying to resettle their families. Many of these immigrants. The boucherie is still. The tabac has become a bistro, and the boxy Model. A little. Peinture et de Sculpture , number I stretch my neck to glimpse the window.
The first exposition. Deported artists. My pulse surges when I. One or two. I flash back to the exhibit, to the photograph. The pencil strokes and. Along the curves in the design are inscribed the French words for courage. The note underneath the picture. A woman in the border town of Ventimiglia. Using the tools of my art, I try to reconstruct her life for her,.
Her borrowed alligator suitcase sits on the shelf above her seat, squared. She is prim in her skirt and white. As she takes in the sweep of the Italian countryside,. Her gaze catches on his finely pressed trousers, his shirt, and all that black.
He takes the seat next to her, the only one left. She keeps her arms at her sides. Yes, the countryside is pretty today, she is eyeing his black shirt and his tasseled.
