The Geographer's Library

The Geographer’ s Library
“This is her cousin Brett,” I said, to Art’s silent giggles. “I’m calling
because I’m going to be coming through Lincoln tonight and wanted to stop
in and say hello. The thing is, I left her number back in Philly, and I can’t get
through to my wife. Any chance you could connect me to her somehow?”
“Oh. Well, we don’t usually . . . But I guess . . . oh, I guess you’re family.
Here it is: 555-0791. Tell her I hope she feels better.”
“Thanks so much, Mrs. Turley. I sure will.”
i did not believe then in fate, destiny, predestination, or any of the
other “signs of divine action here on earth” that Hannah saw. Before meeting
Hannah, I looked on such beliefs bemusedly, as the harmless imposition of
narrative order on a fundamentally random world. Now I hold them in active
contempt; they are dangerous if not delusional, and I know that people
believe them out of vanity. I cannot hold her in contempt without thinking
the same—less, even—of myself, who found her so enthralling for such a
short time.
I also can’t help thinking of that phone conversation as something
extraordinary; I preserved it in a journal, which I began keeping that evening,
but in fact her words remain clear, carved from ice and frozen, in my memory.
I am telling this story not as a memorial but as a means of covering emotion in
a blanket of words, and so defeating it. I will ruin her memory by preserving
it. So:
On the third ring after dialing the number Mrs. Turley gave me: “Hello?”
“Is this Hannah Rowe?”
“Yes, it is.”
“My name is Paul Tomm, and I’m a reporter for the Lincoln Carrier.”
Her voice warmed; she had an audible smile that still catches me like a
blow to the gut when I think about it. “Oh, I love the Carrier. I know your
name; you wrote that article about the reconstruction of the Old Mill.”
“That’s right. You know how to flatter a reporter.”
“It’s not flattery. Mr. Relaford and I—he teaches visual arts—took our students
to the mill after reading that article. They drew while I played for them
in that huge stone room. It was like playing in a church. Such amazing
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