When I took the wounded Peugeot to Howards of Dortchester, I headed straight for Rustix Antiques - Anne had first led me into this cave of dusty wonders -
A charming buffer had greeted us - a ledger lay on a writing desk, flanked by two diving helmets - he invited us to wander around the marble nymphs, stilled 18th Century longcase clocks, burnished wind up gramaphones, 1920's cocktail dresses -
We'd spent an hour or so, losing ourselves in the labyrinths of dark furniture -
This time, I stared at the piles of suitcases upstairs - they were heaped up in waiting pyramids -
I remembered an exhibition I'd gone to in Valencia - it was held in a Gothic chapel - there was an installation made up entirely of children's little suitcases - the contents spilled out, upon the stone slabs of the chapel floor - teddy bears, pyjamas, toy horses - I realised that this was an evocation of Canada - my eyes filled with tears -
I felt, again, the anguish of that moment - then, suddenly, wonderfully, my heart was eased -
I saw a large brown trunk, plastered with 1930's pin ups - glimpsing those buxom American beauties was a shameless delight -
You could think too deeply about things, I reasoned - you could not carry the sadness of the world -
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