Blaze

The Told Secret

73 THE TOLD SECRET A young woman tells a secret which she has promised never to reveal. But slyly, so no one might accuse her of telling, and no one can be sure it was she who told. So now she has two secrets—the one she has betrayed, and the fact of her treason. Over the years, the weights of these intimacies settle in her knees, which groan and creak and remind her with a whole repertoire of pains the depths of her duplicity. Because she cannot move, she gains a reputation for stability. Troubled people seek her out, people with unspeakable difficulties. They confide in her relentlessly, each secret adding its own specific weight to her body until even her eyelids can no longer support themselves. When she has absolutely room for no more, she hands back an old confidence in exchange for each new one, a trading of guilt across generations. The old people’s grievous embarrassments the young take home as party favors. Early on, this secret woman discovers that Truth in fact is the greatest lie, so she always and immediately tells what she sees. Everyone finds her insanely amusing. In her later years she is much in demand at dinner parties. One evening a young woman does not laugh, though everyone else in the room leans for balance on the slim arms of potted palms. The old woman draws the girl away, into the tiled kitchen. Listen, I have something to tell you. ...