PERSIMMON PARK A Thesis Presented to The Faculty of Graduate Studies of The University of Guelph by KATHARINA HUSLER In partial fulfilment of requirements for the degree of Master of Fine Arts July, 2009 © Katharina Hiisler, 2009 Library and Archives Bibliotheque et 1*1 Canada Archives Canada Published Heritage Direction du Branch Patrimoine de I'edition 395 Wellington Street 395, rue Wellington Ottawa ON K1A 0N4 Ottawa ON K1A 0N4 Canada Canada Your We Votre reference ISBN: 978-0-494-56734-0 Our file Notre reference ISBN: 978-0-494-56734-0 NOTICE: AVIS: The author has granted a non­ L'auteur a accorde une licence non exclusive exclusive license allowing Library and permettant a la Bibliotheque et Archives Archives Canada to reproduce, Canada de reproduire, publier, archiver, publish, archive, preserve, conserve, sauvegarder, conserver, transmettre au public communicate to the public by par telecommunication ou par Plnternet, prefer, telecommunication or on the Internet, distribuer et vendre des theses partout dans le loan, distribute and sell theses monde, a des fins commerciales ou autres, sur worldwide, for commercial or non­ support microforme, papier, electronique et/ou commercial purposes, in microform, autres formats. paper, electronic and/or any other formats. The author retains copyright L'auteur conserve la propriete du droit d'auteur ownership and moral rights in this et des droits moraux qui protege cette these. Ni thesis. Neither the thesis nor la these ni des extraits substantiels de celle-ci substantial extracts from it may be ne doivent etre imprimes ou autrement printed or otherwise reproduced reproduits sans son autorisation. without the author's permission. In compliance with the Canadian Conformement a la loi canadienne sur la Privacy Act some supporting forms protection de la vie privee, quelques may have been removed from this formulaires secondaires ont ete enleves de thesis. cette these. While these forms may be included Bien que ces formulaires aient inclus dans in the document page count, their la pagination, il n'y aura aucun contenu removal does not represent any loss manquant. of content from the thesis. 1*1 Canada ACKNOWLEDGMENTS I would like to thank Russell Smith for his extensive and constructive feedback that has taught me so much about the novel form. It was fantastic to have an advisor whose judgment I could fully trust. Both San Francisco and Toronto are packed with dedicated writing teachers, and I was lucky to attend many of their classes. Thank you Nona Caspers, Barbara Tomash, Catherine Bush, just to mention a few. I'm indebted to my classmates and my friend Melanie Mah for all the nerdy discussions. Thanks guys. Dankeschon to my family in Switzerland. When the deadline came closer, I stopped changing my clothes. One night, I squeezed ketchup on the table next to my plate. I thank Marley for laughing. Every writer should be married to someone with a sense of humor. l TABLE OF CONTENTS Departure 1 Chapter 1: Ernesto Pedrini 14 Chapter 2: Taylor M. Amatah 24 Chapter 3: Manuel Santos 36 Chapter 4: Cal O'Connor 45 Chapter 5: Taylor M. Amatah 57 Chapter 6: Ernesto Pedrini 69 Chapter 7: Taylor M. Amatah 81 Chapter 8: Cal O'Connor 92 Chapter 9: Taylor M. Amatah 96 Chapter 10: Manuel Santos 97 Chapter 11: Cal O'Connor 105 Chapter 12: Manuel Santos 106 Chapter 13: Cal O'Connor 109 Chapter 14: Taylor M. Amatah 113 Chapter 15: Ernesto Pedrini 124 Chapter 16: Manuel Santos 140 Chapter 17: Cal O'Connor 154 n Departure The chariot was dashing forward, flames bursting out from under two train wheels. No, not flames. These were giant angel wings, flapping violently on both sides of the axle and propelling the vehicle towards the overcast sky. A naked man was kneeling on the chariot. Like most Europeans, he was more toned than buff. He had the wiry muscles of labor and not the pumped up kind Americans grow at the gym. His skin was greenish-blue, duller than the clouds. His eyes were round and his mouth was pulled back in terror. He held up his hand as if the humid air could stop his momentum. Cal's neck was getting stiff from staring up the archway in the middle of the station plaza. The statue on top was the Zeitgeist. Sculpted by the famous Swiss artist Richard something; his last name starting with K. Cal had read the paragraph in the guidebook to Maria after breakfast. The statue and the archway were the only leftovers of Lucerne's old train station that had burned down in 1971. Maria had glanced at a picture of the man on the chariot. "I don't get why these statues always have to be naked. I'm getting cold just looking at them." "You don't want to see it?" Cal had asked. "We'll go. I know you like your old things." A silver-encased station clock with a white face and black lines instead of numbers hung up in the arch. Nine past three. Maria was forty minutes late. Cal tried to flatten the cowlick at the back of his head. Why glue a generic timepiece onto massive stone architecture from the nineteenth century? He didn't mind contrast, but in this case, it emphasized the ugliness of the clock. A brightly veiled mother and her young daughter were strolling along the plaza. At the crosswalk, they were waiting for the lights to turn green even though there was no traffic. Where the hell was Maria? The woman and her daughter crossed the street and disappeared in the new 1 glass and concrete station. Another clock above the sliding doors. It looked like the one up in the arch, except that it had a red second hand that was about to hit the full hour. A raindrop knocked against Cal's temple. The minute hand jumped and wavered for a moment. Eleven past three. It began to rain. Cal found shelter under the archway. Beside him, a boy in his early teens was sleeping against the stone base. The rain evaporated on the ground and rose with the smell of asphalt. Cal sneezed. The boy scratched his faded purple mohawk and blinked. "Gesundheit," he said. In his lap, something moved. A dog with floppy ears. Cal didn't want to talk to the boy. He scrambled for a handkerchief in the pockets of his pants. There was only his grandfather's gold-rimmed watch. He squinted past the rain at the clock above the entrance of the new station. His watch was on time. He hoped to get the broken wristband replaced in Italy. His friend Teddy had said that Italian leather was inexpensive and of good quality. Cal didn't want to disgrace his inheritance with a wristband from Priceless Discounts. His grandfather had been a respectable man before he'd succumbed to excessive Catholicism and joined a monastery in Ireland. They had shared a passion for architecture. "Sind sie ein Tourist?" the boy asked. The dog was licking his thumb. "Tourist, yes," Cal said. "You speak English?" Cal pushed the watch down his pocket. "I'm American." "Cool." The boy drummed his thumb on the dog's head. His nails were clean. "My father lives in America." Cal didn't say anything. "I see always the films and search my father. I want to go to America. My mother says I can't see him. But I will find him. You know somebody in America who looks like me?" "No." 2 "What you do in the rain?" "I'm waiting for my wife. She's supposed to meet me here." The drops were violent. Cal had to move back because they splashed on his shoes. "Maybe she take the train somewhere." "No. My wife wouldn't do that." "How long are you married?" "One week. This is our honeymoon." The boy didn't respond. He didn't seem to understand honeymoon. "We're traveling across Europe. Last week, we were in Prague, Amsterdam, Luxembourg and some other places. Tomorrow we'll go to Paris. Oh, and we were in Interlaken." "I went to Prague with my schoolclass." The boy tugged a jean bag from under his back and took out a beer. GOLDPAUSE, it said on the yellow label. "You shouldn't drink," Cal said. This kid wasn't older than fourteen. "You want a beer?" The pavement looked swept. Cal sat down and pulled at the legs of his trousers. The kid twisted the beer cap off and put it on the dog's head. He gave the bottle to Cal. "What you do if you don't find your wife?" "I don't know," Cal said. The boy took another GOLDPAUSE out of his bag and opened it. "Cheers." The beer was lukewarm and bitter. An hour later, Cal went back to the Lakeview Hotel. A girl with a high ponytail sat at a computer behind the reception. He asked her for the keys. The girl jumped up. "The storm surprised you!" Her ponytail was so tight that it slanted her eyes. She sped out from behind the reception and pushed the button for the elevator. "Your wife is upstairs." Cal stepped into the elevator. Fifth floor. He noticed the mirror to his left. In the glaring overhead light, he looked as if an orange paintball had burst on his head. The cowlick stuck off his crown. His suit was ruined. He entered room 516. The air smelled of the strawberry shower gel that his wife had bought in Luxembourg. Maria looked up. She was relaxing with a towel around her head in one of the pink plush seats at the window.