the wreck of the "anselm"
TRANSCRIPT
University of Northern Iowa
The Wreck of the "Anselm"Author(s): Anselm HolloSource: The North American Review, Vol. 253, No. 5 (Sep. - Oct., 1968), p. 36Published by: University of Northern IowaStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/25116852 .
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THE WRECK OF THE "ANSELM
"it became clear to him
that
it got very dark and the cartridge stuck in the
flare gun the instruction manual lay soaking in the bilge
the pages stuck together
what to do now
anyway he knew it wouldn't have said
what to do when stuck in a barrel
becalmed at sea
stuck it became clear to him
that was the word
in his throat
Anselm Hollo
ANSELM HOLLO, born in "Finland, now makes his home
on the Isle of Wight off England. SHe is currently teaching in the "Writers Workshop at The "University of Iowa. Tie is
widely-published both as poet and translator.
around her and the other on her knee?and it was as
though David were eavesdropping or peeping through a keyhole at total strangers who did not know and
did not care that he existed. David wanted to intrude, to ask about the pain and apologize of his own free
will before she demanded it, but something about the
jerky uneveness of the ride caused him to turn toward
Dessie. Her right leg looked stiff, and her foot was
twitching on the accelerator. David reached toward
the dashboard; his hand struck the glove compartment button, and the door dropped, striking his knee. He
shut the door without looking at it; Dessie was begin
ning to twitch in the shouders, and her fingers were
becoming rigid. "You have a spell, and Grandmother'll fire you, sure
as shootin," he whispered. She did not answer, did not seem to hear as her
foot pressed heavier on the pedal, and her eyes grew
large and set on some distant object. "Dessie? Dessie,
Dessie," he said, his voice getting a little louder each
time. He looked back to see if the strange driving had
bothered them, wondering if he should tell them of
Dessie's erratic behavior and have the Judge stop the
car until Dessie recovered. Grandmother Brooks was
smiling into the Judge's face, her lips out for a kiss; David closed his eyes and turned, sniffing, thinking disgustedly: I'll just let them find it out for themselves.
"David," Grandmother Brooks called softly, as if she were far away. "David, we're going to adopt you. Carl
has never had a son, and you're going to be our son."
Of course, he could not upset them now with tattling on Dessie. He looked ahead, then up; fireflies were
lighting up the sky, and there was one star, with long points, like the one that shone on Bethlehem. Son,
they really mean it, he thought; and his heart was like Ma Steven's old clock, tock-tocking, and then sudden
ly it was buzzing like the alarm before dawn. Dessie was slumped at the wheel, and a truck with blazing headlights was turning the curve, its lights reeling drunkenly, its horn blasting holes into the gray earth.
David was never certain whether he clutched the door handle to brace himself or whether he struck it acci
dentally. He was catapulted into a dark, wet space, a
far, unknown region that closed around him almost before the words THANK YOU could become un
frozen.
5(5 The North American Review
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