Breath and Bones (64 page)

Thus each person who was intimate witness to the spectacle of Famke Ursula Summerfield Goodhouse's life, who felt its beauty and its dangers firsthand, would spin out the remainder of his or her days. From time to time, they would all cough and suffer exaggerated fevers; but these were slight prices to pay for more than the usual measure of happiness.

While those four looked at the painting in its cracked wooden shell, the ash-white corpse slowly settled into stillness in the dark room next door. In repose, she no longer seemed boneless; her hair and her lips even lost their unnatural flame, and she looked like a normal girl—one with broken pearls for eyes and a deep streak of gold in her veins. The widow glanced back at her as she and Viggo, Edouard Versailles and the blind Albert Castle closed the door on the painting that had at last found its home.

Birgit let out a deep breath. “It is terrible, what happens to the body.”

“That is true,” Albert agreed, “but is it not just as wonderful what art can do?”

I am grateful for the historical and/or medical expertise, sagacious critical opinions, and inventive support of a number of people: Maarj and Buster Darraugh, Robert Alter, John Vernon, Lynne Landwehr, Frederick Aldama, Josh Russell, Jennifer Beachey, Julie Anderson, Sadie Iovino, Paul Keats, Josephine Park, Kathryn Rummell, Mary Armstrong, Joanne Ruggles and her models Doña and Susan, Siouxie Lee, Stanley Walens, Salaam Quintanilla, Brian and Cynthia Donnelly, Lael Gold, Karin Sanders, C. Puff, Grant Mudge, Miriam Cokal, the great spirit of Grendel, my former colleagues at California Polytechnic University, and my new ones at Virginia Commonwealth University. I am especially indebted to my dear friends Leslie Hayes, who read the earliest version, and Tom Fahy, who read the latest (several times); both gave me exactly what I needed, and I would be reduced to graphite smudges without them. I would be even worse, of course, without the good offices of my agent, Liv Blumer, and her partner, Bill; or of Fred Ramey, Greg Michalson, Caitlin Hamilton Summie, and the rest of Unbridled Books. I thank you all very much.

I extend my gratitude, also, to every reader; and for those who may wonder at my choice of subject matter, I quote again here the words on the title page of Lydia E. Pinkham's pamphlet on female complaints and ailments:

This little book treats of delicate subjects, and has been sent to you only by request. It is not intended for indiscriminate reading, but for your own private information
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