The Magician's Assistant

by Ann Patchett

Suddenly to have the privilege of wearing your own skin, the headlong rush of love, the loss of the knifepoint of loneliness. That was the true life, the one you would admit to. Why even mention the past? It was not his past. He was a changeling, separated at birth from his own identity.

She closed her eyes and tried to picture the state. She told herself there were cows, it was cold, they grew corn. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t make the words into landscapes. It was a country she couldn’t imagine.

She felt a rush of that privacy that comes not from being alone but from being with the one person you are completely comfortable with.

It was the thing that Sabine believed in, more than passion, more than tradition. Find a man you love who is good to you.

“My father had good qualities,” Kitty said, “but I can’t remember them anymore. I know there were moments that I loved him but I can’t remember when they were. With him, you could do something nine times in a row and it was fine, and then the tenth time it wasn’t fine. The tenth time he’d kill you for it.

In her loneliness she felt herself drifting towards home.