WHAT ENDURES
Pauline Holdstock • $0.99
Collected in FPQ Fall 2011
What Endures is a story of powerful love. It is a story that will break your heart. Inspired by true events, it tells of the incredible bond between a mother and daughter, and with gut-wrenching poignancy reminds us of the little things that make life worth living.
Praise for Pauline Holdstock
“Holdstock’s writing manages to be both heartbreakingly poetic and densely detailed . . . sad passages, ghostlike recollections, written almost from the vantage point of the present, establish the book as a great work of fiction.”
— The Globe and Mail on Into the Heart of the Country, longlisted for the 2011 Scotiabank Giller Prize
“Holdstock, with a few deft strokes, pulls the reader into the tumultuous life of an alluring rabble of characters: painters, sculptors, patrons, fools, and slaves . . . In Beyond Measure, she proves herself a master of pacing. Her lively, macabre plot trips lightly along in spite of its dark elements.”
— The Globe and Mail on Beyond Measure, finalist for the 2004 Giller Prize and the 2004 Commonwealth Writers' Prize (Canadian and Caribbean Region)
Preview
The things you remember. Coming in waves, and these, too, like birth pangs.
You were lying in the crook of my arm. Two hours old. Your bruised face filling my heart to breaking. I breathed you in and your smell was like no other. A new thing in this world. Like beeswax, like honey. Like neither. The scent of flesh before any cell decays. Some power in it, stronger than the urge to make love. Stronger than the urge to eat. Uniting me to you, and the two of us to all the animals in the world. I bent my face to yours and I licked you. Furtively, in case a nurse came in.
I watch her snatch up the pants by the waistband and shake them until the socks fall out. But still she doesn’t turn round. She plunks herself down on the rug and begins to pull them on, talking to herself all the time, for all the world as if there was someone else there.
—There you are, you sillies. Silly billies . . .
The lightness of her voice. Hanging there like a kite. Carrying no baggage.
—There. All dressed. Breakfast, sillies.
Oh, please not yet.
It is only a matter of minutes—I’m guessing minutes—but when she comes out of her room and crosses the hall, she stands in the doorway and she knows. She knows but she isn’t afraid.
And who shall there be now to tell you that you have a brave and loving heart?
Collected in
Other stories from Fall 2011