Heathcliff Redux. Lily Tuck

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      Heathcliff Redux

      A Novella and Stories

      Also by Lily Tuck

      Sisters

      The Double Life of Liliane

      The House at Belle Fontaine

      I Married You for Happiness

      Woman of Rome: A Life of Elsa Morante

      The News from Paraguay

      Limbo and Other Places I Have Lived

      Siam or the Woman Who Shot a Man

      The Woman Who Walked on Water

      Interviewing Matisse or the Woman Who Died Standing Up

      Heathcliff Redux

      A Novella and Stories

      Lily Tuck

      Atlantic Monthly Press

      New York

      Copyright © 2020 by Lily Tuck

      “Labyrinth Two” was originally published in the Kenyon Review; “The Dead Swan” was originally published in Conjunctions; and “Carl Schurz Park” was originally published in the Antioch Review.

      Lyric excerpts from “I Fall to Pieces” by Harlan Howard / Hank Cochran. Copyright © Good Ol’ Harland Songs, Legacy of Harland Perry Howard, LLC and Sony/ATV Tree Publishing. Reprinted by permission of Legacy of Harlan Perry Howard, LLC (BMI), Good Ol Harlan Songs (BMI), and Sony/ATV Tree Publishing (BMI).

      Jacket design Becca Fox Design

      Jacket photograph © Mac99/Getty Images

      All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, exceptby a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review. Scanning, uploading, and electronic distribution of this book or the facilitation of such without the permission of the publisher is prohibited. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated. Any member of educational institutions wishing to photocopy part or all of the work for classroom use, or anthology, should send inquiries to Grove Atlantic, 154 West 14th Street, New York, NY 10011, or [email protected].

      Published simultaneously in Canada

      Printed in the United States of America

      First Grove Atlantic hardcover edition: February 2020

      This book was designed by Norman E. Tuttle of Alpha Design & Composition.

      This book is set in 13.5-point Centaur MT by Alpha Design & Composition of Pittsfield, NH.

      Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication data is available for this title.

      ISBN 978-0-8021-4759-2

      eISBN 978-0-8021-4760-8

      Atlantic Monthly Press

      an imprint of Grove Atlantic

      154 West 14th Street

      New York, NY 10011

      Distributed by Publishers Group West

       groveatlantic.com

      Contents

       Heathcliff Redux

       Labyrinth Two

       The Dead Swan

       Carl Schurz Park

       A Natural State

       Acknowledgments

       Heathcliff Redux

      Whether it is right or advisable to create beings like Heathcliff, I do not know: I scarcely think it is. But this I know: the writer who possesses the creative gift owns something of which he is not always master—something that, at times, strangely wills and works for itself.

      —Charlotte Brontë

      Of course I had read Wuthering Heights. I read it years ago in high school, but, in my late twenties, I decided to read it again. I also had seen the movie version with Merle Oberon and Laurence Olivier, and I particularly remember the scene, early on in the film, that presages the characters’ tragic misconceptions: Catherine tells Heathcliff how she thinks he is a prince in disguise and that his father must have been the emperor of China and his mother an Indian queen.

      I first saw Cliff—everyone called him that—in April, at a steeplechase race. Charlie, my husband, and I and Meryl and Frank, our neighbors, had driven over there together. The back of our truck was loaded with hampers filled with food, wine, and bottles of bourbon. The race was a popular annual event, attended by people (mostly gentry) from all over the county. Originally a single race with gentlemen riders, the event had grown to include several races and the riders were no longer necessarily gentlemen. The course was four miles long and the fences were tall and timber. Charlie and I were both riders and we owned a couple of Thoroughbred hunters. We knew a lot of the horse people at the race—after all, we had been going there for several years—and before one of the races, Charlie and I walked over to the paddock where the horses and their riders were getting ready, tightening girths, adjusting stirrups, and mounting their horses, and it was there that I first saw—no, stared at—Cliff. My husband saw him, too, because he made some comment—I don’t remember exactly what he said. Something like “Jeez, look at how that guy gets on his horse.” That was it exactly. Instead of getting “a leg up” the way most of the riders did, Cliff just jumped into the saddle. Like he was a Cossack or something. A leap, I would call it. And his horse was at least sixteen hands tall. It was impressive. I remember how it looked to this day—to my dying day, probably.

      Charlie and I lived on a four-hundred-acre farm in Albemarle County, Virginia—one of the richest counties in the country. Charlie had grown up on the farm and now he managed it for his parents, who had retired to Florida. Besides the horses, he raised beef cattle. Black Angus. For a while he kept a bull, but then artificial insemination became popular and more convenient. It was also

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