talk of ravens?
"I was still standing there, hot, gazing into my new lady’s radiant sleepy eyes, waiting for talk of ravens".
This passage isn't taken from a fantasy (and\or erotic) novel. The protagonist (a female house cleaner) meets her new employer, a truly unique 80-old lady. The setting is Oakland, California, in the early 1970s. The protagonist is 30-something at this time, I think.
So how you would interpret this "talk of ravens"? (There are no real live ravens in the flat or nearby, it's the only phrase when ravens are mentioned, see under the cut for a longer quote). Thanks in advance!
In the foyer, before I even took off my coat, she explained to me the event of her life.
Her husband, John, died six months ago. She had found it hard, most of all, to sleep. She started putting together picture puzzles. (She gestured toward the card table in the living room, where Jefferson’s Monticello was almost finished, a gaping protozoan hole, top right.)
One night she got so stuck with her puzzle she didn’t go to sleep at all. She forgot, actually forgot to sleep! Or eat to boot, matter of fact. She had supper at eight in the morning. She took a nap then, woke up at two, had breakfast at two in the afternoon and went out and bought another puzzle.
When John was alive it was Breakfast 6, Lunch 12, Dinner 6. I’ll tell the cockeyed world times have changed.
“No, dear, you’re not too early,” she said. “I might just pop off to bed at any moment.”
I was still standing there, hot, gazing into my new lady’s radiant sleepy eyes, waiting for talk of ravens.
This passage isn't taken from a fantasy (and\or erotic) novel. The protagonist (a female house cleaner) meets her new employer, a truly unique 80-old lady. The setting is Oakland, California, in the early 1970s. The protagonist is 30-something at this time, I think.
So how you would interpret this "talk of ravens"? (There are no real live ravens in the flat or nearby, it's the only phrase when ravens are mentioned, see under the cut for a longer quote). Thanks in advance!
In the foyer, before I even took off my coat, she explained to me the event of her life.
Her husband, John, died six months ago. She had found it hard, most of all, to sleep. She started putting together picture puzzles. (She gestured toward the card table in the living room, where Jefferson’s Monticello was almost finished, a gaping protozoan hole, top right.)
One night she got so stuck with her puzzle she didn’t go to sleep at all. She forgot, actually forgot to sleep! Or eat to boot, matter of fact. She had supper at eight in the morning. She took a nap then, woke up at two, had breakfast at two in the afternoon and went out and bought another puzzle.
When John was alive it was Breakfast 6, Lunch 12, Dinner 6. I’ll tell the cockeyed world times have changed.
“No, dear, you’re not too early,” she said. “I might just pop off to bed at any moment.”
I was still standing there, hot, gazing into my new lady’s radiant sleepy eyes, waiting for talk of ravens.