Let The Great World Spin: A Novel - By Colum McCann Page 0,153
up,” he said.
“No, tell us, tell us now.” She stood. “Please.”
He flicked a look in my direction. I could tell he resented me, just being there, that he thought I was some housekeeper, or some Jehovah’s Witness who had somehow come into his house, disturbed the rhythm, the celebration he wanted to give himself. He opened another button on his shirt. It was like he was opening a door at his chest and trying to push me out.
“The D.A. wanted some good publicity,” he said. “Everyone in the city’s talking about this guy. So we’re not going to lock him up or anything. Besides the Port Authority wants to fill the towers. They’re half empty. Any publicity is good publicity. But we have to charge him, you know? Come up with something creative.”
“Yes,” said Claire.
“So he pleaded guilty and I charged him a penny per floor.”
“I see.”
“Penny per floor, Claire. I charged him a dollar ten. One hundred and ten stories! Get it? The D.A. was ecstatic. Wait ’Til you see. New York Times tomorrow.”
He went to the liquor cabinet, his shirt a full three-quarters open. I could see the protrusion of his flabby chest. He poured himself a deep glass of amber liquid, sniffed it deeply, and exhaled.
“I also sentenced him to another performance.”
“Another walk?” said Claire.
“Yes, yes. We’ll get front-row tickets. In Central Park. For kids. Wait until you see this character, Claire. He’s something else.”
“He’ll go again?”
“Yes, yes, but somewhere safe this time.”
Claire’s eyes skittered around the room, as if she was looking at different paintings and trying to hold them together.
“Not bad, huh? Penny per floor.”
Solomon clapped his hands together: he was enjoying himself now. Claire looked at the ground, like she could see all the way through to the molten iron, the core of everything.
“And guess how he got the wire across?” said Solomon. He put his hand to his mouth and coughed.
“Oh, I don’t know, Sol.”
“Go on, guess.”
“I don’t really care.”
“Guess.”
“He threw it?”
“Thing weighs two hundred pounds, Claire. He was telling me all about it. In court. It’ll be in all the papers tomorrow. Come on!”
“Used a crane or something?”
“He did it illegally, Claire. Stealth of night.”
“I don’t really know, Solomon. We had a meeting today. There were four of us, and me, and …”
“He used a bow and arrow!”
“… we sat around talking,” she said.
“This guy should’ve been a Green Beret,” he said. “He was telling me all this! His buddy shot a fishing line across first. Bow and arrow. Into the wind. Judged the angle just right. Hit the edge of the building. And then they fed the lines across until it could take the weight. Amazing, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” said Claire.
He put his bell-shaped glass on the coffee table with a sharp snap, then sniffed at his shirtsleeve. “I really must have a shower.”
He walked over towards me. He became aware of his shirt and pulled it across without buttoning it. A waft of whiskey rolled from him.
“Well,” he said. “Gosh, I’m sorry. I didn’t really catch your name.”
“Gloria.”
“Good night, Gloria.”
I swallowed hard. What he really meant was “good-bye.” I had no idea what sort of reply he expected. I simply shook his hand. He turned his back and walked out along the corridor.
“Pleasure to meet you,” he called over his shoulder.
He was humming a tune to himself. Sooner or later they all turn their backs. They all leave. That’s gospel. I’ve been there. I’ve seen it. They all do.
Claire smiled and shrugged her shoulders. I could tell she wanted him to be someone better than what he was, that she must have married him for some good reason, and she wanted that reason to be on display, but it wasn’t, and he had dismissed me, and it was the last thing she wanted from him. Her cheeks were red.
“Give me a moment,” she said.
She went down the corridor. A mumble of voices from her bedroom. The faint sound of a bath running. Their voices raised and dipped. I was surprised when he emerged with her, just moments later. His face had softened: as if just being a moment with her had relaxed him, allowed him to be someone different. I guess this is what marriage is, or was, or could be. You drop the mask. You allow the fatigue in. You lean across and kiss the years because they’re the things that matter.