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Imagine. I was living entirely in the moment, with no formal assurance beyond tomorrow morning’s telephone call, and I found myself interested; not sad tearful frightened or resentful, only interested. Here, I reasoned, is a circumstance where you clearly cannot make terms. The truth is, one never …

‘What about his wife,’ my mother said. ‘What about you,’ my friends said. I ran into an acquaintance on the street. She wore silver earrings and curly grey hair, her eyes danced with interest, her smile was warm and knowing. ‘You’ll need a lot of stamina and a lot of self-control,’ she said. This w…

One day, when we had been together six or eight months, we went for a walk and met a school friend of mine. She suggested a cup of coffee. Joe, thinking to be socially responsible and to charm my friend, took over the conversation. That is, he did not allow conversation to develop. If one of us sai…

Two years after I left Davey Levinson sitting in the restaurant on East Broadway I interviewed Joe Durbin for a story I was writing on a rent strike. He was a labour organiser on the left, and a throwback to the romantic figures of my earliest life. The union movement was Joe’s passion. He had been…

We lived together five years. Then one day Stefan left the house and he didn’t come back. Our marriage was ended. And indeed, why not? We had each wearied of the struggle between us. We each wanted to take a breath in rooms free of that oppressive tension. We wanted that more than we wanted to be t…