look lost to me – and I just saw one lying on your desk when I left the bathroom.’
‘I bought a big supply before I moved back to New York. Unfortunately, the one you saw is the last one I have, and I’ve almost filled it up. I didn’t know you could get them in America. I was thinking of writing to the manufacturer and ordering some more.’
‘The man in the shop told me that the company’s gone out of business.’
‘Just my luck. But I’m not surprised. Apparently there wasn’t much of a demand for them.’
‘I can pick one up for you on Monday, if you want.’
‘Are there any blue ones left?’
‘Black, red, and brown. I bought the last blue one.’
‘Too bad. Blue is the only color I like. Now that the company’s gone, I guess I’ll have to start developing some new habits.’
‘It’s funny, but when I looked over the pile this morning, I went straight for the blue myself. I felt drawn to that one, as if I couldn’t resist it. What do you think that means?’
‘It doesn’t mean anything, Sid. Except that you’re a little off in the head. And I’m just as off as you are. We write books, don’t we? What else can you expect from people like us?’
Saturday nights in New York are always crowded, but that night the streets were even more packed than usual, and what with one delay and another, it took us over an hour to get home. Grace managed to flag down a cab right outside John’s door, but when we climbed in and told the driver we were going to Brooklyn, he made some excuse about being low on gas and wouldn’t accept the fare. I wanted to make a stink about it, but Grace took hold of my arm and gently pulled me out of the cab. Nothing materialized after that, so we walked over to Seventh Avenue, threading our way past gangs of raucous, drunken kids and half a dozen demented panhandlers. The Village was percolating with energy that night, a madhouse jangle that seemed ready to erupt into violence at any moment, and I found it exhausting to be out among those crowds, trying to keep my balance as I clung to Grace’s arm. We stood at the corner of Barrow and Seventh for a good ten minutes before an empty taxi approached us, and Grace must have apologized six times for having forced me out of the other one. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t let you put up a fight,’ she said. ‘It’s my fault. The last thing you need is to be standing out in this chill, but I hate to argue with stupid people. It makes me too upset.’
But Grace wasn’t only upset by stupid cabdrivers that night. A few moments after we got into the second taxi, she inexplicably began to cry. Not on a large scale, not with some breathless outrush of sobs, but the tears started gathering in the corners of her eyes, and when we stopped at Clarkson for a red light, the glare of the street lamps swept into the cab, and I could see the tears glistening in the brightness, welling up in her eyes like small expanding crystals. Grace never broke down like that. Grace never cried or gave way to excessive shows of feeling, and even at her most stressful moments (during my collapse, for example, and all through the desperate early weeks of my stay in the hospital), she seemed to have an inborn talent for holding herself together, for facing up to the darkest truths. I asked her what was wrong, but she only shook her head and turned away. When I put my hand on her shoulder and asked again, she shrugged me off – which was something she had never done before. It wasn’t a terribly hostile gesture, but again, it was unlike Grace to act that way, and I admit that I felt a little stung by it. Not wanting to impose myself on her or let her know I’d been hurt, I withdrew to my corner of the backseat and waited in silence as the cab inched southward along Seventh Avenue. When we came to the intersection at Varick and Canal, we were stalled in traffic for several minutes. It was a monumental jam-up: honking cars and trucks, drivers
‘I bought a big supply before I moved back to New York. Unfortunately, the one you saw is the last one I have, and I’ve almost filled it up. I didn’t know you could get them in America. I was thinking of writing to the manufacturer and ordering some more.’
‘The man in the shop told me that the company’s gone out of business.’
‘Just my luck. But I’m not surprised. Apparently there wasn’t much of a demand for them.’
‘I can pick one up for you on Monday, if you want.’
‘Are there any blue ones left?’
‘Black, red, and brown. I bought the last blue one.’
‘Too bad. Blue is the only color I like. Now that the company’s gone, I guess I’ll have to start developing some new habits.’
‘It’s funny, but when I looked over the pile this morning, I went straight for the blue myself. I felt drawn to that one, as if I couldn’t resist it. What do you think that means?’
‘It doesn’t mean anything, Sid. Except that you’re a little off in the head. And I’m just as off as you are. We write books, don’t we? What else can you expect from people like us?’
Saturday nights in New York are always crowded, but that night the streets were even more packed than usual, and what with one delay and another, it took us over an hour to get home. Grace managed to flag down a cab right outside John’s door, but when we climbed in and told the driver we were going to Brooklyn, he made some excuse about being low on gas and wouldn’t accept the fare. I wanted to make a stink about it, but Grace took hold of my arm and gently pulled me out of the cab. Nothing materialized after that, so we walked over to Seventh Avenue, threading our way past gangs of raucous, drunken kids and half a dozen demented panhandlers. The Village was percolating with energy that night, a madhouse jangle that seemed ready to erupt into violence at any moment, and I found it exhausting to be out among those crowds, trying to keep my balance as I clung to Grace’s arm. We stood at the corner of Barrow and Seventh for a good ten minutes before an empty taxi approached us, and Grace must have apologized six times for having forced me out of the other one. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t let you put up a fight,’ she said. ‘It’s my fault. The last thing you need is to be standing out in this chill, but I hate to argue with stupid people. It makes me too upset.’
But Grace wasn’t only upset by stupid cabdrivers that night. A few moments after we got into the second taxi, she inexplicably began to cry. Not on a large scale, not with some breathless outrush of sobs, but the tears started gathering in the corners of her eyes, and when we stopped at Clarkson for a red light, the glare of the street lamps swept into the cab, and I could see the tears glistening in the brightness, welling up in her eyes like small expanding crystals. Grace never broke down like that. Grace never cried or gave way to excessive shows of feeling, and even at her most stressful moments (during my collapse, for example, and all through the desperate early weeks of my stay in the hospital), she seemed to have an inborn talent for holding herself together, for facing up to the darkest truths. I asked her what was wrong, but she only shook her head and turned away. When I put my hand on her shoulder and asked again, she shrugged me off – which was something she had never done before. It wasn’t a terribly hostile gesture, but again, it was unlike Grace to act that way, and I admit that I felt a little stung by it. Not wanting to impose myself on her or let her know I’d been hurt, I withdrew to my corner of the backseat and waited in silence as the cab inched southward along Seventh Avenue. When we came to the intersection at Varick and Canal, we were stalled in traffic for several minutes. It was a monumental jam-up: honking cars and trucks, drivers
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