Griffin and Sabine (Book One: Abridged)

Griffin:

It’s good to get in touch with you at last.

Could I have one of your fish postcards?

I think you were right-the wine glass has

more impact than the cup.

Sabine

But Griffin had never met a woman

named Sabine. How did she know him?

How did she know his artwork?

Who is she?

Thus begins the strange and intriguing

Correspondence of Griffin and Sabine. It

is a story that is partly a romance, partly

a mystery, and completely a work of art.

each page contains a new card or letter,

rich with lush colors, brilliant drawing,

and wildly imaginative creatures and

landscapes. And, in this multi-media

novel, each letter must be pulled from

its own envelope, giving the reader that

delightful forbidden sensation of reading

someone else’s mail. The complete corre-

spondence tells an extraordinary story

in an extraordinary way.

Letter I

Griffin Moss

It’s good to get in touch

with you at last.

could I have one of your

fish postcards?

I think you were right-

the wine glass has more impact

than the cup

Sabine Strohem

Letter II

22 Feb

Sabine

Thank you for your exotic

postcard. Forgive me if

it’s a memory lapse on my

part, but should I know

you?

I can’t fathom out how you

were aware of my first,

broken cup, sketch for this

card. I don’t remember

showing it to anyone.

Please enlighten me.

Yours

Griffin Moss

Letter III

Griffin Moss

No; Griffin, you don’t know me, not

in the way you mean, though I’ve

been watching your art for many years.

Having finally established who and

where you are, I feel compelled to

reveal myself.

The phenomenon that links us has taught me much

about you, yet I am ignorant of your history.

Please tell me something of your life.

It is such a pleasure having your images in a

tangible form. I really like the kangaroo in the hat,

but I wonder whether you should have darkened

the sky? Sabine

Letter IV

Ms. Strohem 15 March

What’s going on? How in the world

could you know I darkened the sky

behind the kangaroo? It was only a

light cobalt for about half an hour.

And what do you mean by “Phenomenon”

and “Tangible”?

Ok. If getting me intrigued is what

you’re after, you’ve succeeded, but

you can hardly expect me to spill my

life story to a stranger.

Why are you being so ruddy

Mysterious?

Griffin Moss

Letter V

Griffin- you’re right. I am being mysterious, but I assure

you it’s for good reason. What I have to say will be

disturbing, and I wish you no distress.

I share your sight. When you draw and paint, I see what

you’re doing while you do it. I know you work almost

as well as I know my own. Of course I do not expect

you to believe this without proof:

Last wee while working on a head in

chalk, you paused and lightly sketched

a bird in the bottom corner of the

paper. You then erased it, and obliterated all trace with heavy black.

Don’t be alarmed-I wish you only well.

Sabine

Yes the pictures on the cards are mine.

Letter VI

Sabine 16 April

This is impossible, and yet it must be true.

There was no one in my studio all that week,

let alone when I scribbled the bird. I’ve

checked the drawing and there’s not the

slightest sign of the creature front or

back. God knows how, but you really can see me, can’t you?

Why doesn’t this alarm me as much as it

should? I suppose because I’ve always

sensed that I was being watched, but I’d put it

down to everyday paranoia.

I’ve a million questions. Am I

the only one you see? What form

does your sight take?

How come I can’t see you?

I want to hear everything.

Write in detail. Tell me all

about yourself. I demand

To know-please

Griffin

Letter VII

Griffin

Now that it comes to answering your questions and telling you about myself, I feel oddly shy. Not that this is a reason to hold back; in fact I deem it a sign to press on.

I know nothing of my real parents. I was abandoned to my father and mother by an old picker who’d found me on the slopes of Pillow Mountain, “bellowing among hot black metal and broken glass.” My father (who was at that time the only European on the island) went with the neighbors to search the area. But it was the rainy season, the mountain was deserted and one of the regular mud slides had obliterated everything. Later he tried in vain to find record of a plane crash-but I had, it would seem, appeared from nowhere. I must have been six months old when I arrived, hungry but otherwise unharmed. In this way, I became Sabine, daughter of Gust and Tahi Strohem, and by their kindness and caring have grown to my present age of 28 years.

During my early childhood, I spent most of my time with my mother, who is a native of Katin and Sicmon’s only midwife. She’s fun and wise, but by the age of 7, I’d grown bored with babies and birth. I decided to trade her company for that of my father, who’d once been a curator at the Natural History Museum in Paris and had a mind that retained information like flypaper. He and I would go wandering in search for specimens for his ‘Catalogue of the Island’s (a book that would document every species on the Sicmons). I’d skip along by the side of him, clutching his canvas bag and clinging to his every word. He loved to talk as much as I loved to listen. Sometimes it would be about Paris or Amsterdam or other cities he’d lived in, but mostly he spoke of the islands and the things we saw and heard. He encouraged me to draw those things, promising me the position of official illustrator to ‘The Catalogue’, when I grew up.

I remember one time when we’d just come up to the village from hunting shells on Polemy Beach and I dropped a monstrous conch on my foot. I howled with pain, and a tree ahead of us exploded with blue and yellow macaws. My father, who could see that I didn’t know whether to attend to my toe or the feathered fireworks, laughed and whispered, “Pain and beauty, our constant bedfellows.” Young as I was, I understood. On the dawn of my fifteenth year I was lying in that easy state between sleep and wake when the image of a half-drawn flower came into my head. I was entranced. Gradually, it grew and changed, lines appeared and disappeared-it was so real and clear. I could see the picture but no the hand that created it. Eventually, a noise from outside broke my concentration and the image evaporated. It was your drawing, Griffin-the first of hundreds of pictures I witness without knowing who made them. For 13 years I’ve waited for a clue, anything that would help me locate the artist. You seemed destined to be an enigma forever, when a few months ago, I came across an article in Grafica about a one-man postcard company. It said that the art was “all Moss’s own work,” and there was a photo of your fish card. It was the same piece I’d seen being drawn 3 years before. Finally, I knew who you were. I counselled myself to be cautious and find out what you were like before revealing myself fully. Please don’t feel invaded-it’s not like that I promise. But I am impatient to hear about you. Write soon. Yes I can only see you. Sabine

Letter VIII (cut)

Sabine

I am an honourable man (most of the time), and although…

Letter XVIII

Sabine Jan 1

Things have become so difficult.

I mustn’t write again.

This whole affair has gotten too intense.

Too real Sabine, you don’t exist.

I invented you. You, the cards, the stamps, the islands,

you’re a figment of my imagination.

I was lonely and I wanted a friend.

But I’m almost out of control.

I’ve started to think I’m in love with you.

Before it takes me over it has to stop.

Goodbye.

Griffin

Letter XIX

Griffin

Foolish man. You cannot turn me into a phantom because

you are frightened. You do not dismiss a muse at whim.

If you will not join me-

then I shall come to you.

Sabine

-End of Book One-