360
L.
WOIWODE
had been disposed of after his death. Owen had a vivid memory of
his mother gathering these all together (in grief or fury, he wasn't
sure which, but in definite haste), and giving them to the garbage
man.
So
it was with great surprise that Owen, sorting through me–
mentos, photographs, spelling certificates and report cards from
his
own grammar school days, came across the passport. The man star–
ing up at him from the passport was open-faced, with shy, wide
eyes and a small chin, and his delicate features made him appear
frail and childlike. The only strong feature was the dark line of the
eyebrows. His height was listed as five feet six inches, three inches
less than Owen's, and this was
his
father. The passport was issued
in 1953, the year of his death. Owen's hands started trembling. He
slipped the passport into his pocket and took it with him when he
returned to New York.
He spent many of his spare hours lying on the studio couch in
his apartment, studying the face of the man. The square picture be–
came an opening through which Owen could return to regions of
the past that had been sealed off to him, and as he traveled down
old corridors -listening to voices, experiencing forgotten sensations,
watching scenes replay themselves - he felt he was beginning to learn
the identity of his father, and this seemed to bring
him
closer to a
knowledge of himself.
In the earliest scene the face took him to, Owen was sitting on
the grass. It was twilight. The grass was wet and the moist air was
filled with a sweet smell. In front of Owen was a flowerbed. Its
blossoms stood at eye level, showing up bright against the dark bars
of an iron fence. Corning from behind, flowing over him in a steady,
reassuring stream, was the sound of adult voices, many voices
J
carry–
ing on a spirited conversation. Owen was pulling up flowers and
putting them in his lap. Suddenly there was a shrill cry and the
conversation stopped. Then his mother's face was in front of him,
her lips moving in anger. She took the flowers from Owen and
started slapping his hands. With another shrill cry, she disappeared.
First Owen heard a burst of laughter from behind and then sounds
of movement in the flowerbed. His mother rose out of the flowers,
straightened her dress, shook back her hair and walked past Owen
toward the laughter. Had she fallen? Then the stems in front of
Owen parted and his father's face appeared. There was a flower
between his teeth.
