The New Yorkers by Cathleen Schine

Author:Cathleen Schine
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Farrar, Straus and Giroux
Published: 2007-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

Simon was able to board a crowded bus. He stood, shaken, sweating, his briefcase between his feet. The air-conditioning was no match for the heat generated by the nervous, muttering crowd of bodies. By the time he reached home, over an hour later, his jacket was soaked, clinging to his body. He had wanted to remove it almost immediately, as soon as he got on the bus, but found himself too self-conscious to jostle his neighbors in order to do so. He held the rail above him and leaned his head on his arm and listened to the excited murmuring in the bus. He imagined Jody, who was giving private lessons over the summer, holding the hand of a frightened little child, leading it down dim brownstone stairwells to the chaotic street below. How worried its parents must be, their cell phones useless. He could not imagine the child as anything but a generic child, neither boy nor girl, just a small hand carrying a tiny violin case, the other small hand clutching Jody’s larger, reassuring hand. This was a poignant image: Jody leading the faceless innocent down the dark stairs, the frantic parents yelling impotently into their cell phones. The fabric of the East Coast of the United States was rent because no one had an old-fashioned phone that did not need to be plugged into an electrical outlet. No one but Simon, whose office, run by the city, was supplied with only the oldest and most out-of-date equipment. He had, for this reason, been able to call his parents in Portland, Oregon, and tell them not to worry, calming himself at the same time. He had called Jody, too, knowing that her phone would not function, knowing he would not be able to leave a heartening message on her voice mail.

He noticed the rising, musty odor of the body of the man in front of him, then realized it might be the rising, musty odor of his own body, slippery with sweat. He closed his eyes and felt the bus sway. Perhaps today he would talk to Jody about horses, about hunting, about the freedom and the demonic speed of it. Perhaps he would kiss her tonight, in the dark, dark city. He would lead her to his apartment and throw her on the bed and…the phrase “fuck her brains out” came to mind. Simon frowned at his own absurdity.

When the electricity went out, George was splayed on his bed staring at the ceiling. He might or might not have fallen asleep. He was not prepared to say. It was hot. The old air conditioner had been struggling. Then it was silent and the room was even hotter. George tried all the light switches. He opened the fuse box. He opened the window and looked down at the street. Five or six people gathered around a car with its windows down. The radio was so loud he could hear it.

A blackout. He thought of Polly on the twenty-fourth floor of her office building.

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