Friday from the Archives: “The Last Sleep” a story by Jill McCorkle inspired by The Last Sleep by George Cochran Lambdin in NCLR 1997
Happy belated Birthday to Jill McCorkle who celebrated earlier this month! We are grateful to have featured her work many times in our pages, including an interview in 2016 with close friend Lee Smith, scholarly essays about her work in ‘93 and ‘06, and, of course, her recitation of “Your Husband is Cheating On Us” on our 2008 “North Carolina Humor” CD!
This short story was part of our 1997 “Writers and Artists” feature, when authors picked a piece from the North Carolina Museum of Art (who generously allowed us to then reproduce the pieces in the issue) to create a work about.
McCorkle’s story centers around the female figure lying on the bed in the front of the picture. McCorkle surmises what the woman is thinking as she lies there:
“Margaret knew when she opened her eyes and looked about that she was looking on the world for the last time. It was the heaviness she felt, heavy of eyelid and arms. The very air was heavy with dampness and the smell of roses, velvet petals and thorny wood. Someone had placed one in her hand but she let it fall to the side.
Her hands were numb with sleep, dark with sleep she heard someone whisper in passing. The shadow is passing, one said, the time has come. There were whispers throughout the days and nights, how much time had passed she did not know; it seemed an eternity and all the while, everyone she had ever known came and passed through the room like ghosts, like shadows. They talked of her illness as if it were human, a form to lie waiting, watching and waiting to strike the right soul.”
The painting was created circa 1858. A master of her craft, McCorkle’s story uses details (fox fur jacket, childhood death) and sentiment from the time period to create a portrait both ephemeral and enduring:
“She liked to sit on the porch with the churn at her feet and work the handle up and down while watching the road or the edge of the woods for a sign. If a redwing blackbird came and landed, for example, she might up and leave. It would be so easy to steal off across the yard, Charles busy out in the field, his body hidden by the mule and plow. Even if he glanced her way, she would head eastward and the sun would be so bright in his eyes that he would have to look away.”
Read the rest Gale Literature. Add the 1997 issue to your collection today!
