A drama about a deformed child. It tells the story of a girl born into a wealthy Devonshire family in the 1960's with the condition of Polydactyly and who is given up for adoption. It tells of her fostering, her cruel upbringing, the friendships she makes and of her eventual success as she finds that rarest flower; love. Set amongst a world of poetry and astronomy it ends at the climax of one of nature's most memorable events. Here is the prologue;
We can blame Venus squaring Jupiter or Uranus in opposition to Chiron can we not? Yes we can. We can rap the blame on the numerology of her name; even incriminate the spirit of Monday for bestowing its ill-tidings. Fair of face she was at least. Though if she had clung on inside her mother for two more days, she would have fitted Mother Goose's rhyme perfectly. Woe indeed. But then I would not be left searching for an explanation as to the circumstances of her life would I?
Why did 11 August figure so completely with her? The events, consequences, moments and import described here point perhaps to a pre-determined existence but there was nothing bias about her. And I am not just choosing to point out that particular date to make her story interesting. She hardly needed me to do that. Like herself, the date is a mystery I will probably never solve.
However, certainly we can call to fault the mother's health, some bad blood of the fathers, a displaced gene surely, her father's ancient linage, perhaps mixed by way of rape and incest. Was she Goddamned? Who can I accuse? Who can I reproach? Who can I ascribe my feelings to? Now that I've lost my sister?
It is not a mystery that she lived. Her accomplishments still in operation, are proof of her haecceity. I cannot say how she came to be though, how she came to influence me so profoundly. It wasn't love. Not the sort I wished for anyway. Of course she came from the stars and was constructed from poet's words because that is what I wish to believe. She had starlight for eyes and neutrinos for thoughts.
But I have lost her and I demand an explanation. I am certainly not satisfied with the earthly concern of her passing although it mystified me that is true. And so bound up are we all, equally pulling the physical with the spiritual that I'm sure we forget who we are. I do not, hence my search for the unanswerable and the unknowable. Queer, I did not think like this before I met her.
We met almost in a time of innocence. A time when, in English, Pizza described a square market place, being 'hot' was better than 'cool', a computer was a fancy name for a slide rule and I fell in love for the first and, I think, the only time in my life.
I wish I had been there at her birth. One look, even in my ignorance would have told me how special she was, would have told me her entire future history. I can say she saved my life. I can say she saved many people's lives. The nub of her was the voice of the sage; be kind. I anticipate meeting her once more. What a joining that will be! What an encounter. Then we will thank the stars and forgive.