The Emerald Light in the Air by Donald Antrim

Author:Donald Antrim
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780374712402
Publisher: Farrar, Straus and Giroux

HE KNEW

When he felt good, or even vaguely a little bit good, and sometimes even when he was not, by psychiatric standards, well at all, but nonetheless had a notion that he might soon be coming out of the Dread, as he called it, he insisted on taking Alice to Bergdorf Goodman, and afterward for a walk along Fifty-seventh Street, to Madison, where they would turn—this had become a tradition—and work their way north through the East Sixties and Seventies, into the low Eighties, touring the expensive shops. He was an occasional clotheshorse himself, of course, at times when he was not housebound in a bathrobe.

And it was one or the other, increasingly. The apartment or the square! He should have bought a place when he could have—he and Alice rented in the Village—back when he worked all the time instead of only rarely. But no, that wasn’t the right attitude. Keep moving, he said to himself.

She was half a block ahead, across the street already, carrying her bags, which held the simple white blouse and the French lotions they’d bought for her. She was waiting for him to catch up. The light changed, and he crossed the street. He had a young wife. She didn’t yet know what life had in store for her. Or did she?

He’d long ago been a competitive runner, and he sometimes thought about resuming his sport at the veteran level. He’d been worrying about his heart, and it would do him good. But he’d never do it. Or maybe he would.

She called out, “How do you get to stay so handsome?,” and he was in love again. He trotted up the sidewalk and said, “Ha, that’s nice of you, but I’m overweight.”

“Who cares? So am I,” she proclaimed. “Look at my ass! I need to get exercise.”

“I love your ass,” he said. “What do you see?” They were standing in front of a boutique. She laughed. “We already have enough Italian sheets!” There it was, the volume rising on the last word, her shrill crescendo.

It was about the time of day when they should be choking down a few pills. “We’ll need to find some fluids before too long,” he said.

He put his arm around her shoulders and gently hugged her. She arranged her shopping bags in one hand and wrapped her other, free arm too tightly around his waist, steering him up the block. They didn’t fit well, walking so close—she swung her butt, and their hips collided—and eventually they drew apart and held hands. She had long dark hair and round brown eyes, which, when he looked into them, seemed to have other eyes behind them. What did he mean by that? It was a feeling, hard to shape into words.

Thank God the money was holding out. He wasn’t too worried about their shopping. It had been his idea, to begin with; it couldn’t be laid at her feet, and, in fact, he wasn’t always spending on her. To do so, as

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