October Born Girl Quotes

Twirling on the sand, she quotes Emma Goldman to him in a song. “If I can’t dance, I don’t want to be in your revolution.” He steps up. Come on, Gia, he says, be in my revolution. She is barefoot on the sand. Where are her stockings? She hasn’t taken them off; they’re not lying in a heap nearby. When his open palm goes around her waist, he can’t feel her corset, he feels velvet and under it the curve of her natural waist and lower back. Suddenly he has three left feet and, usually such a capable dancer, can’t move backward or forward. She steps on his awkward toes a few times, laughs, and they trip and fall to their knees on the sand. What’s gotten into you, Harry, she says. I can’t imagine, he says, his eyes roaming wildly over her flushed and eager face. Both his hands are entwining the narrow space from which her hips begin. It’s late afternoon on the wide Hampton beach; it’s gray and foggy when he kisses her. He’s never kissed Sicilian lips before, only Bostonian. There is a boiling ocean of contrast between the two. Boston girls were born and raised on soil that was frozen from October to April and breathed through perfectly colored mouths that took in chill winds and fog from the stormy harbor. But his Sicilian queen has roamed the Mediterranean meadows and her abundant lips breathed in fearsome fire from Typhonic volcanoes. He kisses her as if they are alone at night—as if she is already his. His arms wrap around her back and press her to him. They become suspended, he floats like a phantom around her in the moist air. He won’t let her go, he can’t.

She talked to Sidelnikov, and all the material on the serf composer is here. His name was Maxim Sasontovich Beriozovsky, and he was born on 16 October 1745 in Glukhov. In 1765 he was sent to the Musical Academy of Bologna, where he studied under Padre Tartini the Elder, who was a pupil of Mozart. He became an honorary member of the Bologna Academy, as well as being a member of other musical academies. He wrote the opera Demophones, based on texts by Metastasio, for the Livorno Opera. He composed a great deal of superb music and became very well known in Italy In 1774 he returned to Russia at the wish of Potyomkin, who proposed that he found a musical academy in Kremenschug. He fell in love with a serf actress belonging to Count Razoumovsky. When the Count heard of it he raped the girl and dispatched her to Siberia. Beriozovsky went to St. Petersburg where he started to drink heavily and in 1777 took his own life. In Bologna there lives someone called Napoleone Fonti, aged seventy, who knows a lot about Beriozovsky and what happened to him. His scores are in Bologna and Livorno

with her son, looking beside herself with fear and worry. ‘Would you look after Friedrich, please?’ ‘Of course!’ Anna bent down to the boy and took his hand. ‘You remember Tante Anna, don’t you, darling?’ Martha said to him encouragingly. ‘You can play with Rita and Erich while your mama is busy,’ Anna said. The boy nodded and cautiously let go of his mother. Anna couldn’t believe how small and skinny he was. The loaf of bread! she suddenly remembered. She hadn’t given it to Martha yet and the woman was far too timid to ask. ‘Take the children,’ she said to Maria. ‘I’ll be back in a moment.’ Then she turned back to Martha. ‘Come with me,’ she said, pulling Friedrich along too. ‘Here.’ She opened the rucksack with their provisions and handed her the loaf of bread. ‘You’d already gone to sleep yesterday and we didn’t want to wake you.’ ‘Thank you.’ Carefully Martha broke off a piece. ‘Please give the rest to Friedrich, OK?’ ‘Don’t worry, we won’t let him starve,’ Anna interrupted her. She broke off another chunk of bread and put it in Martha’s bag. ‘You’ll need all the strength you can get.’ The woman nodded bravely and joined the nearly fully assembled work gang. The middle aisle was empty, everyone was where they were supposed to be, and Anna hurried to her children. With a sinking heart she watched the work gang set off. Apart from the men, there were two boys who could be no older than sixteen or seventeen, as well as four women and a young girl holding on to her mother’s hand. Most of them weren’t dressed appropriately and Anna hoped very much that they would be given coats and boots before they were forced to work in the woods. The door was slammed behind them then and the Commander turned towards the women and children. Their names were called and they were asked to state their abilities and say how old their children were. ‘Anna Scholz,’ she said by way of introduction when it was her turn, ‘and these are my children, Erich and Yvonne.’ ‘Date of birth?’ ‘The 17th of September 1902,’ she said. ‘Erich was born on the 10th of January 1922, Yvo on the 5th of October