Read Online Breakable You by Brian Morton - Free Book Online
Authors: Brian Morton
Tags: Fiction, Literary, General, Psychological, Psychological fiction, Sagas, Family Life, Domestic Fiction, Novelists
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the same couch where they were sitting now It looked old enough. He remembered being surprised by how vulnerable she allowed herself to be—whispers and sighs and little moans.
They had spent the afternoon on the couch, though, come to think of it, he couldn't quite remember whether they'd actually, technically, made love. They'd done something, but he couldn't quite remember what.
How strange that they were once so hot for each other. He couldn't have summoned up any interest in her now, not even if he wanted to. Even if he could reverse the effects of global warming just by getting an erection for Ruth, the accomplishment would be beyond him.
What would she think if she saw him on the street with Thea? She'd definitely have a few acid things to say—about his second childhood or about the unfairness of a society in which older men can take up with younger women while older women are, as Eleanor had once pompously put it, "disappeared."
All these thoughts went through his mind in telegraphic form, in an instant.
"Thank you for telling me about this, Ruth. But is that all? Is there anything you need from me? Anything you want me to do?"
"Yes, there is, Adam. Thank you for asking. There
is
something I want you to do. I want you to read it. I think it's wonderful, but I'm his widow. I'm his wife. I need you to tell me if it's as good as I think it is. And if it is, I would love it if you could help me find a publisher. New Directions was faithful to Izzy, but I don't know anybody there anymore, and I'm not really sure they'd be the best publisher for him at this point anyway."
"Of course, Ruth. Of course I'll read it. And I'll do what I can."
"Wonderful," she said. "I'm so thankful."
She went to the bedroom and returned with a cardboard box and set it on the coffee table. He lifted the cover and took a look inside. The title of the manuscript was
So Late So Early
. He sneaked a look at the last page, not to see how it ended but to see how long it was. Six hundred pages. It would be a chore.
"If you could read it sooner rather than later, that would be a special favor to me," Ruth said.
"I'll try, Ruth, but I don't know. I've got a lecture to give at Bennington next week that I still haven't prepared for, and after that I'm committed to a weeklong workshop in Florence. And after that—I don't even want to tell you all the ridiculous commitments I've made."
"I'm sure those things are important, Adam, and I hate to impose on your time. But if you could read it sooner rather than later, I would appreciate it."
Something about her tone made him want to ask if there was a special reason she felt pressed for time. Ruth had had breast cancer a few years ago. Was she ill again? He didn't ask.
"It's big," she said, "but it's hard to put down. I told you I read it in a night; I wouldn't be surprised if you do too. Maybe I can't judge… I thought everything he did was great. But I really think you might end up agreeing with me that it was the best thing he'd ever written."
Doubtful, Adam thought. Doubtful.
"I have a feeling you might be right," he said, wondering if his utter lack of sincerity was obvious. "I'll get to it as soon as I can. This isn't your only copy, is it? I wouldn't want to lose your only copy."
"I have another. Don't worry. Izzy always made a carbon copy of everything he wrote."
A carbon copy! Adam was surprised that he'd forgotten. Though Izzy had lived half a block away from a copy shop, he'd made carbon copies of everything he wrote. For reasons that would remain a mystery, he didn't trust copy shops.
Known to all the world as sunny and sane, Izzy had had an odd obsessive secretive streak. It was so like him to hide his most cherished work at the home of his sister—his unliterary, uninterested sister. He was like some furred and furtive creature hiding bright objects in the darkest place he could find.
Adam looked at his watch. He tried to do it without her noticing, but she noticed.
"Do you
They had spent the afternoon on the couch, though, come to think of it, he couldn't quite remember whether they'd actually, technically, made love. They'd done something, but he couldn't quite remember what.
How strange that they were once so hot for each other. He couldn't have summoned up any interest in her now, not even if he wanted to. Even if he could reverse the effects of global warming just by getting an erection for Ruth, the accomplishment would be beyond him.
What would she think if she saw him on the street with Thea? She'd definitely have a few acid things to say—about his second childhood or about the unfairness of a society in which older men can take up with younger women while older women are, as Eleanor had once pompously put it, "disappeared."
All these thoughts went through his mind in telegraphic form, in an instant.
"Thank you for telling me about this, Ruth. But is that all? Is there anything you need from me? Anything you want me to do?"
"Yes, there is, Adam. Thank you for asking. There
is
something I want you to do. I want you to read it. I think it's wonderful, but I'm his widow. I'm his wife. I need you to tell me if it's as good as I think it is. And if it is, I would love it if you could help me find a publisher. New Directions was faithful to Izzy, but I don't know anybody there anymore, and I'm not really sure they'd be the best publisher for him at this point anyway."
"Of course, Ruth. Of course I'll read it. And I'll do what I can."
"Wonderful," she said. "I'm so thankful."
She went to the bedroom and returned with a cardboard box and set it on the coffee table. He lifted the cover and took a look inside. The title of the manuscript was
So Late So Early
. He sneaked a look at the last page, not to see how it ended but to see how long it was. Six hundred pages. It would be a chore.
"If you could read it sooner rather than later, that would be a special favor to me," Ruth said.
"I'll try, Ruth, but I don't know. I've got a lecture to give at Bennington next week that I still haven't prepared for, and after that I'm committed to a weeklong workshop in Florence. And after that—I don't even want to tell you all the ridiculous commitments I've made."
"I'm sure those things are important, Adam, and I hate to impose on your time. But if you could read it sooner rather than later, I would appreciate it."
Something about her tone made him want to ask if there was a special reason she felt pressed for time. Ruth had had breast cancer a few years ago. Was she ill again? He didn't ask.
"It's big," she said, "but it's hard to put down. I told you I read it in a night; I wouldn't be surprised if you do too. Maybe I can't judge… I thought everything he did was great. But I really think you might end up agreeing with me that it was the best thing he'd ever written."
Doubtful, Adam thought. Doubtful.
"I have a feeling you might be right," he said, wondering if his utter lack of sincerity was obvious. "I'll get to it as soon as I can. This isn't your only copy, is it? I wouldn't want to lose your only copy."
"I have another. Don't worry. Izzy always made a carbon copy of everything he wrote."
A carbon copy! Adam was surprised that he'd forgotten. Though Izzy had lived half a block away from a copy shop, he'd made carbon copies of everything he wrote. For reasons that would remain a mystery, he didn't trust copy shops.
Known to all the world as sunny and sane, Izzy had had an odd obsessive secretive streak. It was so like him to hide his most cherished work at the home of his sister—his unliterary, uninterested sister. He was like some furred and furtive creature hiding bright objects in the darkest place he could find.
Adam looked at his watch. He tried to do it without her noticing, but she noticed.
"Do you
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