Maggie Gee - Virginia Woolf in Manhattan

On the other hand: Woolf in my modern room — modern to her — small, slightly seedy, the radiator humming, my shabby 1970s Waddington Hotel?

Her voice became more imperious. ‘I’m so sorry, I don’t know your name, but I really must telephone my husband.’

And then I was overwhelmed with pity. She did not know that he was dead! But I said — that temptation to show my knowledge — ‘Leonard.’ There must have been something in my tone, for she looked back at me, alarmed. ‘Are you an acquaintance of my husband’s?’

‘I’ve heard of him. Everyone has.’

And her long, almost equine face relaxed. Those mournful, haunted eyes sparkled, her full lips lifted in a sweet, shy smile. Yes, a chalice of happiness. ‘Do you think so? Mr Woolf will be amused to know that.’

You love him still , I thought with pain, pain for her and then for me — Edward said he loved me, but he still walked out. Had I ever been loved as Virginia was?

‘You’ll have to come with me,’ I said, almost brusque (people were starting to stare at her). And then, as kindly as I could, ‘Come with me, I’ll look after you.’

And yes, that’s what I tried to do.

GERDA

My mum picked up this weird old woman. That’s what I thought till I googled her. For a bit, Mum thought about nothing else. She claimed this person was ‘very famous’. Mum didn’t bother to explain to me. I just thought, ‘Yeah, she’s got a loony in tow.’

She should have told me. I would have believed her. And in the end — but that’s much later.

ANGELA

Virginia smelled. Of mud, and roots. People were pausing and sniffing the air as they pressed through those great library doors. I wasn’t able to be objective. I thought, it’s a dream, of course it’s a dream, but please don’t make me wake up until –

I needed to learn what she had to teach me. Maybe everything. About life, and writing. She had the secrets. She’d reached the end. The hard truth people can never tell us. At least, that’s something I’ve always thought. Not till the end is the pattern complete. But then they slip away through the gate. They can’t come back, we can’t ask questions.

Yet here she was. Virginia.

VIRGINIA

Have I slipped my leash?

I think that’s it.

I’ve made it through to the other side, the place I never

believed could be.

At first I thought, banally, I was dreaming.

Now, all round me, this dream has flesh

bars bricks towers trees tall silver-grey trees

beside the library crows yes flown out of my past

friendly crows ‘ Kaar, Virginia ’

& now I have to find the others.

(I don’t think everyone is here. No matter, so long as Leonard is.)

He must be here. He wouldn’t leave me.

‘This is Fifth Avenue,’ Angela says, as Woolf steps tremulously along the pavement. ‘Incredibly famous street, Virginia.’

Yes. The greatest, straightest avenue in one of the greatest cities in the world. Shining street surfaces, traffic lights, pavements without cracks or pot-holes. City of dreams: city of films.

‘Yes,’ Woolf says, ‘I’m not a bumpkin.’ She looks to her left: streaming ribbons of cars, and windows as far as her eye can see. Rare yellow-green trees wave messages; there’s a faint green fingerprint, Central Park.

And back to her right: more towers, more cars, the blinding glass of skyscraper windows. She turns, like a horse fretting in its collar, to the left again, irritable, hoping against hope for something different. How can buildings have grown so tall?

Her great eyes search for that slim glimpse of green. There, yes. Still yellow with spring.

I could go there and be happy .

A half-thought forming: Alive again .

But they’re both hemmed in with right-angles.

Two lost ants. Tiny nets of nerves. Glittering scraps of spider’s web.

ANGELA

She was like a trapped animal.

Of course, they have built over the past. Once Manhattan must have had fields.

And then — oh shit — she launched herself forward.

VIRGINIA

It was the noise, roaring, blasting. And sun on a thousand surfaces. Shards of sky, elbows of trees, clouds leaping out at me from strange tall buildings. The sky and the city had been smashed together, with jagged pieces thrown everywhere. I thrust the books deep into my pockets, I would need my hands to protect myself, my head spun, I walked forward, blind –

‘What in hell are you DOING! Madness! Beyakoof !’

A yellow car had almost hit me. The wind knocked me sideways, and I saw the furious face of the driver. He had small wire glasses under his turban. Where was this place & who were these people? I stood quite still in the middle of the road & cars screamed past me & I wasn’t afraid.

I had been changed, because I wasn’t afraid. Perhaps the darkness had finally left me. Wherever I had been — for however many years — I had left my fear behind like a parcel, & something began in the midst of my confusion, although I was dazed, something started — a jolt of joy, which could not be stifled, small as a child set free in a hayfield, stunned for a second then gathering pace, dancing across, the yellow dust flying –

‘ Kaar, Virginia .’ A crow welcomed me back to the pavement where it pecked at a crack, pecked at the gap between the worlds.

ANGELA

She almost died before her new life started!

VIRGINIA

She dragged me — pulled me hard by the arm, I nearly struck her for her impudence — into a place that smelled of fried meat. I have always hated restaurants. Music I had never heard before — loud drumming & someone shouting — I placed my hands over my ears & said, ‘Where is the telephone?’

ANGELA

‘Please sit here, where you are safe. There are things I must explain to you, but first I will get some coffee — I don’t remember if you drank coffee?’

VIRGINIA

The woman spoke as if she knew me!

ANGELA

I mean, there’s been coffee since the eighteenth century, but God knows which modern kind she’d like, latte, cappuccino, Americano … Expresso seemed like the safest choice. Was there anything about it in the Diaries ?

VIRGINIA

‘Yes, of course. I adore coffee.’

ANGELA

I came back from the counter balancing my tray and saw her, for the first time, clearly, from a distance.

First, though old, she was beautiful. Very pale, drawn like a bow. Thin and tall. Her eyes, avid.

Second, she was extremely odd. Two small children were staring at her, American children with little round bellies. She was like a great mayfly, long neck poking forward. Straggling limbs, her knees jutting out. Then two long feet like heavy boats that might float away from her altogether. Greasy grey hair pulled back in a knot at the nape of her long column of neck. She wore a long woollen suit that might have been tailored, but didn’t fit, as if she’d tried to shrug it off but then given up in embarrassment. Yet her long white hands and blue-white wrists had escaped, and couldn’t wriggle back in again. She didn’t look unhappy, but intensely self-conscious. At the same time, she was curious. Her eyes flicked up, her eyes flicked down. Her eyes went swooping round the room, hungry to see everything. I thought, what will she think of us? — Plastic surfaces, harsh colours, half-dressed people celebrating New York’s unnatural spring heat-wave.

I brought back an expresso for her, and my normal creamy half-shot latte, which came in a rather attractive tall glass. Without hesitation, her starved bony hand reached across the table and closed on my latte.