The Natural Disorder of Things

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THE FIRST TIME IT WAS HER VOICE, THAT FAULTY AND UNSTEADY RHYTHM — IT hypnotized me. If it hadn’t been for that voice I wouldn’t have paid her any attention. She used the formulaic phrases that clients always do: she had heard a lot about me, she’d seen and visited this and that, she was interested, even enthusiastic. They’re always enthusiastic on the phone. Then I see that they’re taken aback when they actually meet me. I guess they’re thinking they have wasted their breath; maybe they ask themselves why I look nothing like my gardens, where I hide all that intelligence and elegance.

I had promised to call her back, to set a date to inspect the site, but I kept putting it off. A week later it was she who called me again, at the same time, apologizing for calling so late; it was as if the ghost of her garden, the naked and abandoned garden, appeared to her in a dream, at the same time of night each week, demanding retribution, and her sense of shame and guilt drove her to seek some remedy.

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