The Sculpture
One of the most significant images in the entire book is that of the sculpture of her father which Ka has carved from mahogany and which he proceeds to water. The pose which she has chosen to portray her father in becomes a point of contention that dramatizes a relationship built entirely upon illusion:
“a three-foot mahogany figure of my father naked, kneeling on a half-foot-square base, his back arched like the curve of a crescent moon, his downcast eyes fixed on his very long fingers and the large palms of his hands…It was the way I had imagined him in prison.”
Seven
Imagery related to the number of seven is pervasive throughout the entire book. In particular, of course, is the chapter titled “Seven” and its opening paragraph excerpted below. In addition, the chapter “Water Child” portrays Nadine seven months after her abortion living in isolation with the seven tapes containing messages from Eric that she had never returned. The radio show of the preacher airs as 7:00 PM every Sunday night. After reuniting with his wife, Eric makes love to her seven times:
“Seven—a number he despised but had discovered was a useful marker. There were seven days between paychecks, seven hours, not counting lunch, spent each day at his day job, seven at his night job. Seven was the last number in his age—thirty-seven. And now there were seven hours left before his wife was due to arrive.”
Lynch Land
Imagery is used for the purpose of juxtaposition in a way that might be appropriate for a David Lynch movie. A frustrated reporter is assigned a puff piece about a retiring seamstress only to discover she has dark secrets that have either made her paranoid or, worse, not made her paranoid. The description of the street on which she lives is an excellent example of imagery as irony:
“It was a sunny, yet breezy afternoon. There were birds and squirrels skipping on the branches of the tall green ash in front of Beatrice’s house. Aside from the child-care center at the end of the block, all the houses looked the same, with red-brick facades, gabled roofs, bow windows on the first floors and sash ones on the top. There were steps leading up from the street to the doorways and a patch of land up front that some fenced in and made into a garden and others cemented into an open driveway.”
The Murder
Everything changes for the dew breaker the night of the abduction of the preacher. It is supposed to be merely and arrest and not an execution. The nuance is unclear and the gap makes all the difference in the world. The preacher’s final hours of torture become the linchpin of a life serving the goal of redemption:
“He was probably in a cell now, for he heard the rattling of bars and a lock being turned. He heard some breathing, some of it labored, and loud, moaning men. The smell of rotting flesh made him want to sneeze. There were some shadows circling him, sniffing like rats following the scent of blood. His head was spinning like a child’s top. The shadows were spinning too and then faded all together.”
