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In 1945 our parents went away and left us in the care of two men who may have been criminals.
The first sentence immediately captivated me.
In any case, I am now at an age where I can talk about it, of how we grew up protected by the arms of strangers. And it is like clarifying a fable, about our parents, about Rachel and myself, and The Moth, as well as the others who joined us later. I suppose there are traditions and tropes in stories like this. Someone is given a test to carry out. No one knows who the truth bearer is. People are not who or where we think they are. And there is someone who watches from an unknown location. I remember how my mother loved to speak of those ambivalent tasks given to loyal knights in Arthurian
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It was clear she knew him before he had come to live with us,
both of them had worked as “fire watchers” in what they called the Bird’s Nest, located on the roof of the Grosvenor House Hotel.
She was more than a year older.
I wonder whether Rachel’s later theatrical life was formed by those half-lit evenings.
Everyone has their own marriages,
