When I
graduated from high school, I got a passport so that I could leave the country
at a moment’s notice. To me, that was
freedom. To the narrator of this story, “The
Courter,” he speaks as if he sees freedom in the same way, but there is certain
gravity to his opinion of freedom. Because London
was not his first home, he felt tethered there. The passport allowed him to break away from
his old home, his new home, and his family at a moment’s notice.
But the
ropes around his neck, the ropes that are pulling him east and west are
something that people may not be able to understand if they have not left their
homeland. People have roots and ties wherever
they have loved. I, for instance, have
lived coast to coast, from California to New York. I understand what the narrator is saying
because I am never fully settled because I cannot always have everyone I love
around me.
The image
of the ropes pulling him east and west implies that he is grounded in one
place, but that one place is not his homeland. His homeland is a roving island or a few
islands that are outside of him. The
ropes are not just in London and Bombay—they are in his
father, his sisters, Certainly-Mary, Rozalia, and Mecir. The ropes are not tied around his neck, but
they are anchored right in his heart.
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