Stone Mattress: Nine Tales(82)

“There,” says Tobias. “The first flames. They have torches. No doubt they have explosives as well.”

“But the others …” says Wilma.

“There is nothing I can do for the others,” says Tobias.

“But Noreen. But Jo-Anne. They’re still inside. They’ll be …” She’s clutching – she notices – her own hands. They feel like somebody else’s.

“It was always that way,” he says mournfully. Or is it coldly? She can’t tell.

The rumbling from the crowd is swelling. “They’ve come inside the walls now,” says Tobias. “They’re piling objects against the door of the building. The side door too, I suppose.

To prevent exit, or entrance as well. And the back door; they will be thorough. They are rolling the oil drums inside the gate, and they have driven a car up onto the front steps, to block any attempt.”

“I don’t like this,” says Wilma.

There’s a sudden bang. If only it were fireworks.

“It’s burning,” says Tobias. “The Manor.” There’s a thin, shrill screaming. Wilma puts her hands over her ears, but she can still hear. It goes on and on, loud at first, then dwindling.

When will the fire trucks come! There are no sirens.

“I can’t bear this,” she says. Tobias pats her knee.

“Perhaps they will jump out of the windows,” he says.

“No,” says Wilma. “They won’t.” She wouldn’t, if it was her. She would just give up. Anyway the smoke will get them first.

The flames have taken over now. They’re so bright. Even gazing directly, she can see them. Blended with them, flickering and soaring, are the little people, their red garments glowing from within, scarlet, orange, yellow, gold. They’re swirling upward, they’re so joyful! They meet and embrace, they part; it’s an airy dance.

Look. Look! They’re singing!





ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS


These nine tales owe a debt to tales through the ages. Calling a piece of short fiction a “tale” removes it at least slightly from the realm of mundane works and days, as it evokes the world of the folk tale, the wonder tale, and the long-ago teller of tales. We may safely assume that all tales are fiction, whereas a “story” might well be a true story about what we usually agree to call “real life,” as well as a short story that keeps within the boundaries of social realism. The Ancient Mariner tells a tale. “Give me a copper coin and I will tell you a golden tale,” the late Robertson Davies was fond of saying.

Several of these tales are tales about tales; I leave it to you to discover which ones. Three of them have appeared in print:

The title story, “Stone Mattress,” was begun in the Canadian Arctic during an Adventure Canada trip as a way of entertaining my fellow adventurers. Graeme Gibson made a material contribution, as he seemed to have a plan in his head detailing how a person might go about murdering another person on such a trip without getting caught. Since the passengers all wanted to hear how the tale would come out (the numerous Bobs onboard were especially interested), I finished it. It was published in The New Yorker (December 19 and 26, 2011), for which thanks to its editor, Deborah Triesman.

“Lusus Naturae” was written for Michael Chabon, who was putting together a collection of strange tales: McSweeney’s Enchanted Chamber of Astonishing Stories. Ed. Michael Chabon. Vintage Books (2004).

“I Dream of Zenia with the Bright Red Teeth” was written for The Walrus (Summer issue, 2012). Writers were challenged to revisit a character from an earlier work of fiction by them, and I chose Zenia, and her friends or dupes, Ros, Charis, and Tony, from The Robber Bride.

My gratitude, as always, to my editors: Ellen Seligman of McClelland & Stewart, Random House (Canada); Nan Talese of Doubleday, Random House (U.S.A.); and Alexandra Pringle of Bloomsbury (U.K.). And to copyeditor Heather Sangster of Strongfinish.ca.

Thanks also to my first readers: Jess Atwood Gibson, and Phoebe Larmore, my North American agent, and my U.K. agents Vivienne Schuster and Karolina Sutton of Curtis Brown.

Also to Betsy Robbins and Sophie Baker of Curtis Brown, who handle foreign rights. Thanks also to Ron Bernstein of ICM. Also to Louise Dennys of Vintage, LuAnn Walther of Anchor, and Lennie Goodings of Virago, and to my many agents and publishers around the world. And to Alison Rich, Ashley Dunn, and Madeleine Feeny, and also to Judy Jacobs.

Thanks to my office staff, Suzanna Porter; also to Sarah Webster and Laura Stenberg; and to Penny Kavanaugh; and to VJ Bauer, and to Joel Rubinovich and Sheldon Shoib. And to Michael Bradley and Sarah Cooper, and to Coleen Quinn and Xiaolan Zhao. And to the University of East Anglia – especially to Andrew Cowan and the Writers’ Centre of Norwich – especially Chris Gribble – where I spent part of a term as a UNESCO City of Literature Visiting Professor and where two of these tales were completed.

Finally, my special thanks to Graeme Gibson, who has always had a devious mind.





A NOTE ABOUT THE AUTHOR


Margaret Atwood, whose work has been published in over thirty-five countries, is the author of more than forty books of fiction, poetry, and critical essays. In addition to The Handmaid’s Tale, her novels include Cat’s Eye, shortlisted for the Booker Prize; Alias Grace, which won the Giller Prize in Canada and the Premio Mondello in Italy; The Blind Assassin, winner of the 2000 Booker Prize; Oryx and Crake, shortlisted for the 2003 Booker Prize; The Year of the Flood; and MaddAddam. She lives in Toronto with writer Graeme Gibson.