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EPILOGUE

“In that part of our book of memory, before which little can be read, we find, under the heading The New Life Begins, the words I have transcribed here, in this little, this libelous book.
Incipit vita nova
.” So says Dante.

That part before which little can be read
—you know that part of my book better than anyone. The part before the beginning, when even you believed in new life.

Through events remarkable and unexpected, I have learned something of that story. I offer it to you here—the beginning, as I understand it; the middle, as I’ve lived it. The ending remains to be seen—I hope we can write it together.

•

Ahmad went to Pakistan, as promised. When the uncles didn’t allow him into their house, he shouted his sons’ names—their names, his name, the name of his hotel, the fact that he loved them and would always love them, shouted until an uncle, mortified, punched him in the jaw. One of his sons, Amir, the second oldest, came to his hotel. Afraid, but not afraid enough. Too early to know what will come of this, but Ahmad is different now, he’s softer.

He tried to find Shamseh, the girl with the Internet portal, discovered she didn’t exist.

The millennium is with us and the world did not end. Millions of pilgrims will go to Rome this year, millions of
romei
seeking
indulgence. I owe Romei a great deal—you now know how much. Maybe he deserves indulgence, for his tremendous act of love.

What will the millennium bring? No apocalypse, but change, as they say, is afoot. Benny and I have agreed not to discuss marriage until spring. Don’t tell anyone, but when he asks again, I think I’ll say yes. No guarantee that he’s changed, or that I’ve changed, no guarantee that we’ll be safe with each other, but I want to be near him, I want to be seen forever by those kind hazel eyes. In the meantime, I’m working at the bookstore—I manage it, actually, as Benny works on
Gilgul
. There’s been great interest in the translation Benny published last month, as you probably know.

We’re still in the Den. Andi’s settled into her new life, more resilient than we knew. Hopeful about Amir, Ahmad has made an offer on a house. He plans to bring Andi there on weekends; she’s aware she might meet a brother there. I can join them, if I want—there’s room, there will always be room. It’s going to work out, I truly believe this: our new life.

So what is this new life?

Romei helped me understand. Celan’s chasm cannot be crossed, there is no true translation, no absolute fidelity. I still think this. And yet, miraculously, it can be, there is, and there is. We experience the new life in glimmers, I think, in moments when we apprehend the
possibility
of new life. When we choose to love through our innocent selves, and not just our damaged parts. When we love through what hurts us, when we step willingly into
shalhevetyah
, love’s great flame, knowing we won’t be alone. Or leap into the void, knowing that despite the emptiness that lies between us, we can sometimes find our way, all the way, to each other. Then change, real change, becomes possible.

If you’ve read this far, you know all there is to know about me, I’ve opened my heart to you like a flower, I am your flying girl. Your silence mystifies me, I can’t pretend it does not. It makes me realize what Romei knew all along, that forgiveness is in the eye of the beholder. Nice if the offender can account for herself—confess, be contrite, make reparations, change. Nice if we can put ourselves in the offender’s shoes, as if she were a character in fiction: recognize her
humanity, identify with her, empathically imagine our way to forgiveness. But ultimately, forgiveness begins not in the intentions of the offender, but the heart of the offended.

Benny tried to teach me this, but I had to learn it for myself. Some offenses are unforgivable, others will not be confessed: we can’t always wait for penance. Sometimes we have no choice but to step into the flame. We know this, you and I, because we know how it is to close our heart around a hurt. I remember you, Mother, I remember that you once loved my father, I remember that once you loved me.

I’ve opened my heart to you, you know all there is to know about me. This is my offering, you have me, I am yours. It’s not the same as forgiveness, but I have leapt into the chasm, I have walked into the flame; I hope to meet you halfway.

Our flight, Alitalia 515, arrives on Thursday, 7 a.m.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Translations from the Italian are my own; in translating
La Vita Nuova
, I occasionally referred to Mark Musa’s translation (Oxford University Press, 1992) and, more often, to that of Barbara Reynolds (Penguin Books, 1969). My reading of
La Vita Nuova
was shaped by those translations as well as by Robert Pogue Harrison’s
The Body of Beatrice
(The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1988). Dorothy Sayers’ introduction to
Purgatory
(Penguin Books, 1955) is responsible for my understanding of Dante’s three-part ‘technology’ for repentance (which is itself derived, Sayers tells us, from St. Thomas Aquinas’
Summa
).

In writing about Romei’s
penna
, I relied on Osip Mandelstam’s “Conversation about Dante” (reprinted in
The Poets’ Dante: Twentieth-Century Responses
, Peter S. Hawkins and Rachel Jacoff, eds. [Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2001]), which speaks of Dante’s bird/flying imagery, the feather, and the feather pen, as well as John Freccero’s Introduction to Robert Pinsky’s translation of the
Inferno
(Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1994), which associates
penne
, wings, and birds with both poetic inspiration and carnal love. Shira’s Nabokov quotation concludes his essay “ ‘Onegin’ in English,” which can be found in
The Translation Studies Reader
(Lawrence Venuti, ed. [Routledge, 2000]); her understanding of the translative act (as bringing the translator back to the original moments of a poet’s creation) is derived in part from that of Paul Valéry, as presented in his essay “Variations on the
Eclogues
,” as well as that of Yves Bonnefoy, as discussed in his essay “Translating Poetry” (both reprinted in
Theories of Translation
, Rainer Schulte and John Biguenet, eds. [University of Chicago Press, 1992]).

All translations from the Latin are taken from Reynolds. The translation of the Celan line (from “Soviel Gestirne,” from the collection
Die Niemandsrose
) is mine, though I referred to Michael Hamburger’s translation in
Paul Celan: Poems
(Persea Books, 1980). I relied on several translations of the
Song of Songs
when translating various lines and when imagining Esther and Benny’s co-translation. Among these are the King James Version but also those of Marvin H. Pope (Doubleday, 1977), Marcia Falk (HarperCollins, 1993), and most notably, Ariel Bloch and Chana Bloch (University of California Press, 1995). The sources of Romei’s English translations of the charming chiasmus and the Shulamite epigraph from the
Song of Songs
are noted in the text. My reading of the
Song
was strongly influenced by the Bloch Introduction and Commentary and the beautiful Robert Alter Afterword to that edition, as well as Marcia Falk’s Translator’s Note.

In writing this book, I was the recipient of extraordinary generosity. I give thanks, in alphabetical order, to the following residencies, conferences, and grant-giving institutions, which allowed me blessed time and space in which to write: Atlantic Center for the Arts, Bread Loaf Writers’ Conference, Hawthornden International Retreat for Writers, the Leeway Foundation, the MacDowell Colony (where this book was born), Millay Colony for the Arts, Ragdale Foundation, Sewanee Writers’ Conference, Ucross Foundation, Fundación Valparaíso, the Vermont Studio Center, Virginia Center for the Creative Arts, and the Corporation of Yaddo. Many friends read portions of the book; special thanks to Philip McFarland, Robin Black, Patricia Chao, and Elizabeth Cantor for reading the whole and offering definitive assistance. Thanks also to Jim Crace for helping me understand just who Shira was and to Lynn Freed, Margot Livesey, and Erin McGraw, who offered terrific advice about the book’s first chapters. Shira herself was born as a result of a seminar on the
Song of Songs
led by Reb Zalman Schachter-Shalomi, z”l; thanks to the former Elat Chayyim Jewish Retreat Center for making such learning possible.

Many of Shira’s stories about her own life and her friends can be found in the world. I refer the reader to these fine publications, and thank their editors, whose support to emerging writers is so appreciated: “Love Drugstore,”
Kenyon Review
(Vol. 33, No. 3, 2011);
“Confessions of a Cerebral Lover,”
Fence
(Vol. 12, No. 2, 2009–10); “Tibet, New York,”
New England Review
(Vol. 29, No. 4, 2008); “Zanzibar, Bereft,”
Ninth Letter
(Vol. 3, No. 1, Fall/Winter 2006); and “Picnic After the Flood,”
One Story
(No. 80, 2006). For Shira’s stories about Elena, Mabel, Cora, Janey, and Rosaria, see “Priscilla Learns a Lesson,”
Redivider
(Vol. 5, No. 2, 2008); “Slave for a Day,”
New England Review
(Vol. 24, No. 4, 2004); “Hello, I’m Cora,”
New England Review
(Vol. 23, No. 3, Summer 2002); “I Know Who You Are,”
Greensboro Review
(No. 71, Spring 2002); “Rosaria 1988,”
New England Review
(Vol. 20, No. 4, Fall 1999). And, finally, for her Celan story, see “Rose No One,”
Chelsea
(No. 72, 2002).

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

RACHEL CANTOR
was raised in Rome and Connecticut. She is the author of the acclaimed novel
A Highly Unlikely Scenario
, and her short stories have appeared in
The Paris Review, One Story, Ninth Letter
, and
The Kenyon Review
, among other publications. She lives in Brooklyn, New York.