office, but they’ll all report to you. Triple salary. Double bonus every six months.” The proud smile on his face turned to a grimace, like he was tasting something sour. “What the hell did you give me, Rebecca?”
She couldn’t contain her relief. She hugged him.
“Vitamin C, Max!”
“Goddam it, Rebecca, you trying to poison me? All I asked for was a goddam aspirin.”
10
It was dark when Paul was discharged from the emergency room. He flagged a taxi, was driven back to Central Park. His taxi was still there. He climbed behind the wheel, his head still whirling, bandaged face aching, bruised eye smarting. Paul drove slowly through the streets. No bones were broken. He was trying to fit the pieces together. He’d had an attack when the man was shot. Why didn’t he have one when the bomb went off? When the people rioted?
Had it all even really happened? Was it all in his head? A mirage…
…they were sitting in faded blue canvas folding chairs…he and his mother…outside the shack…and the sky was muddy… she was reading
Robinson Crusoe
aloud…word by word and spelling the words…and she saw him pointing at the sky…
“Ship.” He forced the word out. He was seven. He had learned some words.
His mother looked up at the skyscrapers.
“There’s no ship. It’s a mirage, Paul. Mirage. Say mirage.”
“Mirage.”
“M-i-r-a-g-e. M-i-r-a-g-e.” She printed it out on the pad. “M-i-r-a-g-e. Spell it out with me, Paul.” He did again and again and kept repeating the word.
She hugged him.
“Good. Write it, Paul.”
He printed it slowly.
“Good, Paul. Mirage is something you see that is not really there. Do you understand?”
His face was blank.
“The ship in the sky is not real, Paul. On the water people see an island that is not there and they see ships that are not there and in the desert they see trees that are not there…they are not real. This book is real. I am real. Our home is real. The ship in the sky is not real. It is called a mirage, what you saw, not a ship, but a mirage. Now you tell me, Paul, what is a mirage?”
“Not real.”
Ivory Face was real. What happened this morning was real. His bruises were real. The aching was real.
Why hadn’t he spoken to Ivory Face before? Why did he lack the courage? His father once told him that he had courage. Paul remembered very clearly. It was after he put the pillow on his mother’s face.
He didn’t know that his father had been watching him. He didn’t understand why his father didn’t speak to him for weeks after that. And one day Barney asked him, “Did Ma ask you to cover her face with the pillow?” And Paul had nodded. “Why did she ask you, Paul?” said Barney. “To stop her pain, Pa.” His father hugged him and cried and said Paul had more courage than anybody in the world.
Where was that courage? What happened to it? Once, Barney had told him he had the wisdom of Solomon and the strength of Samson. He didn’t know who they were, but it all had something to do with courage.
All he had to do was to say, “Hello, I am Paul. I would like to talk to you.” That was all.
He had meant to ask his father many times what kind of courage he meant. The day he was picking up bets for him and told him he wanted to be a poet…that was the day he should have asked him, but that night his father died in his arms and the phone kept ringing and a woman asked for Barney and things happened so fast. The man who took care of the funeral told him it was all paid for. And Paul alone at the cemetery. Soaked. The grave was covered with canvas to keep the rain out and a voice said, “Your father fixed a spot for you to be a mailman.” It was Hoppie. He offered Paul $50 a week to learn how to be a mailman and Paul nodded.
His taxi was halfway to Pegasus. What was he going to tell the Boss about not keeping the appointment with Dr. Adson? The appointment was for him, not the Boss. He never lied to her. But now… He would tell her
She couldn’t contain her relief. She hugged him.
“Vitamin C, Max!”
“Goddam it, Rebecca, you trying to poison me? All I asked for was a goddam aspirin.”
10
It was dark when Paul was discharged from the emergency room. He flagged a taxi, was driven back to Central Park. His taxi was still there. He climbed behind the wheel, his head still whirling, bandaged face aching, bruised eye smarting. Paul drove slowly through the streets. No bones were broken. He was trying to fit the pieces together. He’d had an attack when the man was shot. Why didn’t he have one when the bomb went off? When the people rioted?
Had it all even really happened? Was it all in his head? A mirage…
…they were sitting in faded blue canvas folding chairs…he and his mother…outside the shack…and the sky was muddy… she was reading
Robinson Crusoe
aloud…word by word and spelling the words…and she saw him pointing at the sky…
“Ship.” He forced the word out. He was seven. He had learned some words.
His mother looked up at the skyscrapers.
“There’s no ship. It’s a mirage, Paul. Mirage. Say mirage.”
“Mirage.”
“M-i-r-a-g-e. M-i-r-a-g-e.” She printed it out on the pad. “M-i-r-a-g-e. Spell it out with me, Paul.” He did again and again and kept repeating the word.
She hugged him.
“Good. Write it, Paul.”
He printed it slowly.
“Good, Paul. Mirage is something you see that is not really there. Do you understand?”
His face was blank.
“The ship in the sky is not real, Paul. On the water people see an island that is not there and they see ships that are not there and in the desert they see trees that are not there…they are not real. This book is real. I am real. Our home is real. The ship in the sky is not real. It is called a mirage, what you saw, not a ship, but a mirage. Now you tell me, Paul, what is a mirage?”
“Not real.”
Ivory Face was real. What happened this morning was real. His bruises were real. The aching was real.
Why hadn’t he spoken to Ivory Face before? Why did he lack the courage? His father once told him that he had courage. Paul remembered very clearly. It was after he put the pillow on his mother’s face.
He didn’t know that his father had been watching him. He didn’t understand why his father didn’t speak to him for weeks after that. And one day Barney asked him, “Did Ma ask you to cover her face with the pillow?” And Paul had nodded. “Why did she ask you, Paul?” said Barney. “To stop her pain, Pa.” His father hugged him and cried and said Paul had more courage than anybody in the world.
Where was that courage? What happened to it? Once, Barney had told him he had the wisdom of Solomon and the strength of Samson. He didn’t know who they were, but it all had something to do with courage.
All he had to do was to say, “Hello, I am Paul. I would like to talk to you.” That was all.
He had meant to ask his father many times what kind of courage he meant. The day he was picking up bets for him and told him he wanted to be a poet…that was the day he should have asked him, but that night his father died in his arms and the phone kept ringing and a woman asked for Barney and things happened so fast. The man who took care of the funeral told him it was all paid for. And Paul alone at the cemetery. Soaked. The grave was covered with canvas to keep the rain out and a voice said, “Your father fixed a spot for you to be a mailman.” It was Hoppie. He offered Paul $50 a week to learn how to be a mailman and Paul nodded.
His taxi was halfway to Pegasus. What was he going to tell the Boss about not keeping the appointment with Dr. Adson? The appointment was for him, not the Boss. He never lied to her. But now… He would tell her
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