Craig Davidson - Cataract City

Drinkwater looked like the world’s oldest scarecrow in his orange jumper. His hair was shaved down to a half-inch. He walked down the fence, then turned his eyes fearfully to the sky as if he thought something would plummet down on him.

He hooked his fingers into the chain-link. His lips were moving but I couldn’t make out the words. I wondered if he’d gone soft. Then his eyes locked with mine across the fifty yards separating us. I saw that old calculating clarity, the gears still winding true, and was relieved.

Some places you just can’t leave, y’know? The specific gravity’s too strong, keeps you locked in orbit. You’ve got to be launched out, like a circus performer from a cannon. If you manage to find that separation, it’s all care free horizons. And if you never find the separation … well, maybe it was nothing you really wanted.

I’m glad Dunk’s gone. Not happy , but glad. It’s a big world out there. And I think Duncan Diggs was always meant to gobble it up in great big bites.

Drinkwater spread his arms wide, a crucifixion pose, and gave me a smile as big as the sky. This time, I could make out the words he spoke just fine.

“I’m still here, baby.”

Spreading my own arms, I gave him that smile right back.

So am I, baby. So am I.

I figured I’d ladle out my thanks in the simplest order: the order of those who read the manuscript as it slowly turned itself into a book, offering their help and guidance.

So first, thanks to my father — always my first reader — for consuming and commenting on each part of Cataract City as I wrote them. For a retired banker, he makes a great first reader. “Well, son of mine,” he said, “this is something different out of you. The same in some ways, sure, but different. In a good way, in case you were wondering.”

Thanks to Neil Paris and Erin Tigchchelaar, who read an early draft of Part One, “Dogs in Space,” and offered keen suggestions.

A huge thanks to my agent, Kirby Kim, who picked me up off the scrapheap in many ways, tuned me up, and got me back into the race. He worked the manuscript over, proposing changes that put the book in its best possible shape before sending it out for submission. Thanks to Ian Dalrymple for his comments as well.

An equally huge thanks to Lynn Henry, my editor. A more sensitive, writer-friendly editor you will not find. Under her guidance I molded the book into something different, and better, than what it was originally. You have to trust someone pretty deeply to embark on such a process, and I trusted Lynn completely. That trust was well-placed. Thanks as well to Kiara Kent, who made some very wise and helpful edits. Also to Francis Geffard, Ravi Mirchandani and Steve Woodward for their suggestions for improvement.

Thanks, finally, to the love of my life (corny, sure; but true), Colleen. She read the book at its final stage, fine-tooth-combing it for the tiny, maddening mistakes that can plague any first-edition book. I’m not saying they’re all gone, but it’s not for her lack of scrupulousness. Love you, baby.

Finally, thanks — and perhaps an apology — to Niagara Falls. Lest anyone get the impression it’s exactly as I describe, I fully acknowledge it’s not. The geography of the book doesn’t always follow reality. And sure, it’s got its share of demons and ghosts, but that’s the same for any place. Any Cataract City residents who read this and feel a little sore, or believe that I’ve done their city a disservice, please understand that I hold a spot of profound affection for your hometown.