It is 22 November 1963. I am 12. I am in our West London bathroom, preparing a bath.
“Oh, my God!†my mother exclaims from the sitting room where she is watching the early evening TV news.
“What’s the matter?†I call.
“Kennedy’s been shot.â€
It is 22 November 2013. I am 62. I’m in a kitchen in Cheltenham in Gloucestershire, stirring kedgeree in a saucepan. Radio 5 Live is broadcasting the lunchtime news. Dr. Robert Grossman is recounting how at first he considered the call to the emergency room to be a hoax. He is describing the fracture, through which he can see the exposed brain under the President’s skull. Jacqueline is standing by; her dress spattered with brains and blood.
The little girl looks forward to her descendant not recognising who and what she sees; unaware of so much that is known by her older self.
Yet, somehow, mysteriously, both are occupying the same time and space, and are linked by knowledge.
Loved this Caroline, I was transported, much the way I was with the book ‘Cloud Atlas’, we move through time and space in fascinating ways… traveling spirits of time…
Caroline,
What a beautiful sonata to the dance of time, and how we ourselves are a family of beings who have one another’s backs. I hope that in five years time another will look back and say, “Well, done, my dear. Who would have known that five years could hold so much, like a camel’s hump enabling a long desert journey.” –Michael