The premise of this second story in Margaret Atwood’s new collection Old Babes in the Wood is that Nell is telling a story about two friends, John and François.

“They’re dead now. A thing that happens increasingly: people die. This radiator incident took place in the early 1990s, when the two of them must have been—what?”

Nell and Tig were renting a house in France in a “Provençal proto-village: a few houses scattered around a crossroad, most of them on working farms.”

Idyllic? Perhaps. But there was a murder once. Snail theft and truffle poaching are serious matters.

The radiator incident is rooted in the ‘90s but the story itself is rooted in Nell. It’s all in the past, really, but it’s lingered in the way that a kitchen’s smell infuses an entire home.

This is familiar territory, geographically and emotionally:

“François lived in a town that was an hour’s walk from John’s village. Tig did that walk every day. In later years he would say that he could remember every detail of it, and often walked it with his eyes shut before falling asleep. Though I went less frequently—it was an effort to keep up with Tig, he was a marcher—it’s the same with me: I know each twist and slope.”

But it’s the very familiarity that’s results in a sense of disorder, in this story which feels both directed and shapeless.

MARM 2023 PLANS

Each week I’ll share links to some online sources, so that anyone with a few minutes can join in the celebrations. Some poetry and flash fiction, some interviews and reviews, some fresh reads and rereads: mostly reading with a little viewing and, in particular, short stories.

Launch (November 1)
Dancing Girls, “Rape Fantasies” (November 3)
Week Two: Update and Check-In (November 8)
Dancing Girls, “Hair Jewellery” (November 10)
Old Babes in the Wood, “First Aid” (November 12)
Week Three: Update and Check-In (November 15)
Dancing Girls, “A Travel Piece” (November 17)
Margaret Atwood’s 84th Birthday (November 18)
Old Babes in the Wood, “Two Scorched Men” (November 19)
Dancing Girls, “The Resplendent Quetzel” (November 24)
Old Babes in the Wood, “Morte de Smudgie” (November 26)
Wrap-Up (November 29-30)

Recalling that route, so often walked, brings a woman to Nell’s mind, a figure that provokes reflection on what’s lost and what’s preserved.

“Recalling this old woman who must be long dead, I’m close to tears. But why? I’d barely registered her at the time, but now I can call her up exactly, as if she were a feature of the landscape. She’s part of what’s gone, of everything that’s been swept away. I might be the only person left who remembers her. I used to believe that having a good memory was a blessing, but I’m no longer sure. Maybe forgetting is the blessing.”

What to make of this digression: is the story disordered, or is it buffered with forgetfulness? Nell is caught on the hook of what’s naturally lost and what’s swept away. There’s a cost for remembrance, she observes.

But there’s also a sense of possibility in being the only one who remembers. There’s the capacity to recreate, to rewrite. As she travels that road, she adjusts the scenery and, finally, she alters the destination itself.

It is before or after the radiator: never mind, it’s before François and John have died. And, like an afterthought that’s transformed into a beforethought, it’s before Tig died too.

“But this is a sad ending. Since I can—since I am the only one left who can—let me dial time backwards so we can spend a happier moment together. The four of us: John and François, and Tig and me. Already we’re looking younger, as you can see. Let’s say it’s spring.”

What’s been swept away? Not only that old woman. “What colour was her shawl? Did she even have one?”

Yes, she most certainly did. It’s springtime now and her shawl is a verdant green. And the story belongs to her—her, alone.

Next week, the last of the trio of Nell and Tig stories that open Old Babes in the Wood.