Let The Great World Spin: A Novel - By Colum McCann Page 0,54
Did she say it aloud? That he was vulgar somehow? Something about ashes? Or fashion? Or wires?
—What is it, Claire?
—I’m just thinking about that poor man, she says.
She wants to kick herself for saying it, for bringing him up again. Just when she felt that they could be getting away, that the morning could get back on track again, that she could tell them about Joshua and how he used to come home from school and eat tomato sandwiches, his favorite, or how he never squeezed the toothpaste properly, or how he always put two socks into one shoe, or a playground story, or a piano riff, anything, just to give the morning its balance, but, no, she has shunted it sideways again and brought it back around.
—What man? says Gloria.
—Oh, the man who came here, she says suddenly.
—Who’s that?
She picks a bagel from the sunflower bowl. Looks up at the women. She pauses a moment, slices through the thick bread, pulls the rest of the bagel apart with her fingers.
—You mean the tightrope man was here?
—No, no.
—What man, Claire?
She reaches across and pours tea. The steam rises. She forgot to put out the slices of lemon. Another failure.
—The man who told me.
—What man?
—The man who told you what, Claire?
—You know. That man.
And then a sort of deep understanding. She sees it in their faces. Quieter than rain. Quieter than leaves.
—Uh huhn, says Gloria.
And then a loosening over the faces of the others.
—Mine was Thursday.
—Mike Junior’s was Monday.
—My Clarence was Monday as well. Jason was Saturday. And Brandon was a Tuesday.
—I got a lousy telegram. Thirteen minutes past six. July twelfth. For Pete.
For Pete. For Pete’s sake.
They all fall in line and it feels right, it’s what she wants to say; she holds the bagel at her mouth but she will not eat; she has brought them back on track, they are returning to old mornings, together, they will not move from this, this is what she wants, and yes, they are comfortable, and even Gloria reaches out now for one of the doughtnuts, glazed and white, and takes a small, polite nibble and nods at Claire, as if to say: Go ahead, tell us.
—We got the call from downstairs. Solomon and I. We were sitting having dinner. All the lights were off. He’s Jewish, you see …
Glad to get that one out of the way.
—… and he had candles everywhere. He’s not strict, but sometimes he likes little rituals. He calls me his little honeybee sometimes. It started from an argument when he called me a WASP. Can you believe that?
All of it coming out from her, like grateful air from her lungs. Smiles all around, befuddled, yet silence all the same.
—And I opened the door. It was a sergeant. He was very deferent. I mean, nice to me. I knew right away, just from the look on his face. Like one of those novelty masks. One of those cheap plastic ones. His face frozen inside it. Hard brown eyes and a broad mustache. I said, Come in. And he took off his hat. One of those hairstyles, short, parted down the middle. A little shock of white along his scalp. He sat right there.
She nods over at Gloria and wishes she hadn’t said that, but there’s no taking it back.
Gloria wipes at the seat as if trying to get the stain of the man off. A little sliver of doughnut icing remains.
—Everything was so pure I thought I was standing in a painting.
—Yes, yes.
—He kept playing with his hat on his knee.
—Mine did too.
—Shh.
—And then he just said, Your son is passed, ma’am. And I was thinking, Passed? Passed where? What do you mean, Sergeant, he’s passed? He didn’t tell me of any exam.
—Mercy.
—I was smiling at him. I couldn’t make my face do anything else.
—Well, I just flat-out wept, says Janet.
—Shh, says Jacqueline.
—I felt like there was rushing steam going up inside me, right up my spine. I could feel it hissing in my brain.
—Exactly.
—And then I just said, Yes. That’s all I said. Smiling still. The steam hissing and burning. I said, Yes, Sergeant. And thank you.
—Mercy.
—He finished his tea.
All of them looking at their cups.
—And I brought him to the door. And that was it.
—Yes.
—And Solomon took him down in the elevator. And I’ve never told anyone that story. Afterward my face hurt, I smiled so much. Isn’t that terrible?
—No, no.
—Of course not.
—It feels like I’ve waited my whole life to tell that story.