One hotel maid said her screeching resembled the sound of a peacock. Far more alarming was Mrs. Lincoln’s silence. Late at night she would dress and roam the shoe-lined corridors of the hotel as if she were searching for something in all those hallways that looked identical to everyone but her. It was those shoes. All those shoes waiting to be shined like the ghosts of so many feet.
And the corridors themselves seemed to change every time she wandered down them. There were nights, early mornings, when she couldn’t find her way back to her room. Even she changed—moment by moment—and this is why there are no safe harbors anywhere. Even our own bodies betray us, every moment of every day. Even you people who understand nothing must understand this. Don’t you see? Motion is where the loss is. If we could only be still. But then how to search? How to find?