Emma Richler Quotes
“Marry me, Rachel.'
'Tomorrow, Rachel. Marry me.'
'There is no common blood between us. Say it,' pleads Zachariah.
'There is no common blood between us,' murmurs Rachel.
'I am not your brother.'
He traces her face with his swollen fingers, across the brow bones and down the zygomatics, and along the jaw from earlobe to chin, sweeping away the brine as he goes.
'I am your Wolff,' he says.
'And I am your Wolff,' she replies.
Let the day begin.”
“A fighter, muses Rachel, is a fighter through and through, consistently irregular, a fighting man on every scale. Fractal, fractious, with a rough complexity! Nothing she can do. A fractal, Papa once told her, is a way of seeing infinity.
In Zachariah, she sees infinity.
Mandelbrot famously wrote a paper called 'How Long Is the Coast of Britain?,' the answer to which, of course, is that it depends how you look at it. The closer one looks, the larger it is. And more and more intricate, on an infinite scale.
There is a template for all things.”
“Away from Lev, she craves his need for her. When with him, it enervates. Why is that? She cannot help it. Nothing to be done. Only with her sister is she unfettered. Tasha never makes her think about it, the terrible stature of love. Its shape, size, weight, the long shadows it casts. With Tasha she never goes cold as stones in a river, as Lev will accuse. You are suddenly so cold! Cold as stones in a river! What have I done wrong? he complains. Nothing. Nothing, my darling.”
“Zach's eyes flash with light, caught by the peculiar greenness of early summer grass and the strobe effect of sun through wrought-iron fencing and trees. He kicks at dust and gravel with his unlaced desert boots, cricket spikes slung around his neck by the laces, his tread lazy and ostentatious, full of close-of-play sensuality.”
“He wonders aloud at the origins of valentining.
'You're right,' Rachel says. 'It is a verb. Can be. And birds valentine each other, make mating calls. And usually mate in mid-February. You see?'
'But why Valentine?' asks Zach. 'Why valentining?'
'There were many Saint Valentines,' offers Tasha. 'I don't know what the link is between their martyrdom and love letters.'
Zach is not very interested in the old tradition or the archaic verb. He is not bothered by the mating calls of passerines or the saints named Valentine and their associated symbols—he is merely fishing. Does Rachel think the tradition silly? If he were to send her a valentine, how strange would that be?”
“What I was really thinking,' resumes Rachel, 'is—well, that there's fate, you see. I don't dismiss it, I don't think it's idiotic. It's quite scientific, actually. What we become. Who we—meet, end up with,' she continues, flames in her cheeks.
'You think we would have met, no matter what? Even if I were some lushy? Some loon? Street kid?'
'You're laughing at me.'
'Just asking,' he says.
'Everyone has one person, I think. For life. That's all.”