Second Hand Smoke by Thane Rosenbaum

Author:Thane Rosenbaum
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group
Published: 1999-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

CHILDREN WITHOUT SIBLINGS learn to live a certain way. They don’t have to take others into account. Sharing is not an important part of their household experiences. The cookies and toys are all theirs—provided there are cookies and toys. But what happens later in life when they find out they are not alone? That there was a brother or sister all the time, living somewhere else, with other people?

That said, Duncan still saw no reason to change simply because he had been spooked by the news of a phantom brother. If anything, now was the time to carry on as usual.

Duncan had spent five days a week for more than half a lifetime pushing weights up and down. With the trip only a few days away, he feared what Poland would do to his body. For one thing, he couldn’t imagine the country having a decent health club. What could Poland offer him physically, other than perhaps street fights and property repossessions?

Although it was still winter in Manhattan, the day was warm and pleasant. The western light of the afternoon gave a golden cast to those endless rows of brownstones. Duncan and Orlando decided to walk down Columbus Avenue on their way to the gym. Their sunglasses were drawn over their eyes, their unbuttoned coats flapped in the wind. Duncan remained quiet throughout most of the walk. Orlando assumed that his friend, and training partner, was preparing himself mentally for either the workout or the trip, and didn’t want to be disturbed. They walked without exchanging a word.

“I usually don’t like to go outside on weekends,” Duncan said.

“Why not?”

“That’s when the families come out, like little parades up and down Columbus and Broadway. Mothers, fathers, kids—too painful to watch.”

Near Lincoln Square, parked on a side street beside the Sony Theater, was a large, late-model black Mercedes with a “For Sale” sign posted on the windshield.

“You don’t see that very often in New York,” Orlando commented. “A new Mercedes parked at a meter like that.”

Duncan didn’t respond, but nodded in agreement.

“Sweet and shiny,” Orlando said. “Ah, the Germans. They made the best philosophers, and they still make the best automobiles.”

When they reached the car, Orlando peered into the driver’s side, admiring the dashboard and the leather appointments. Duncan cupped his hand around the outside rearview mirror, and with one powerful yank, tore off the contraption as if it were a piece of fruit.

“Duncan, what the fuck are you doing?” Orlando straightened himself quickly.

But Duncan wasn’t through. He stepped back from the car, and obviously recalling some episode from his childhood mastery of martial arts, wheeled his leg around like a whip and thrust it into the driver’s door, crushing the steel as if it were no more durable than papier-mâché.

“We’re not working legs today,” Orlando said.

Duncan leaped onto the front hood, then raised himself up into the air one more time, crashing down on the front end with all the buoyancy of a wrecking ball.

“You planning on buying this car?” Orlando asked.

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