Read Online Good on Paper by Rachel Cantor - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Rachel Cantor
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thought everyone had forgotten.
That’s what my head says, Benny continued, but how to make that leap? Even as I urge my flock to make peace over the High Holidays, I’m stuck. Every year it’s the same.
I’ve been thinking about that quote, too. Weird, huh?
No coincidences. So what do you think?
About forgiveness? Celan talks about meeting halfway across the void of subjectivity, misunderstanding, and depleted language. But he assumes a ‘we’ who want to meet. Not everyone’s willing to make that leap—I don’t think I am.
Hmm, Benny said. I didn’t know if he was agreeing, disagreeing, or had even heard me.
I yawned into my pillow, turned and stretched my limbs.
You in bed?
I froze.
Kitchen table, why?
He laughed.
I’m not coming on to you! I heard the “rustle of bedclothes,” I thought maybe you were tired.
I’m in bed, but I’m okay.
Liar! he said. Fiction writer! What’re you wearing?
Benny!
Just kidding! What’s keeping you up? What’re you worried about?
Stuff.
Oh, c’mon! You’re not worried that I won’t like you! Tell Uncle Benny what’s wrong.
The whole Romei thing, I said, thinking, Simple is good .
I wish I were there. Then I could tell if you were serious.
Of course I’m serious. But you can’t come over.
Benny laughed.
Look, I’ve got some baggage, I said. Vita Nuova . Some not-so-great memories.
A bad reading experience?
Don’t make fun of me, I said.
I’m not.
Oh.
Mm, Benny said.
You sound like my shrink, I said.
You have a shrink?
No.
Oh, Benny said, confused.
There was a pause.
You know, he said, I’ve never experienced New Life. What’s it like?
I laughed.
Not what it’s cracked up to be!
Would you care to say more?
The New Life takes no prisoners!
What does that mean?
No idea.
This is fun! Benny said. Like a slumber party!
I didn’t know guys had slumber parties.
We didn’t. But we always wondered what you did at yours.
I’ll tell you sometime. It isn’t interesting.
Don’t tell me then. I like my fantasies intact.
Perhaps because I was tired, I found myself wondering what Benny might fantasize about. Waify would-be artists in torn fishnet stockings, unbuttoning their tie-dyed halter tops, Benny in his skullcap saying whatever blessing one says before a striptease …
But really, Benny said. You can’t be worried about the translation, right?
I was just talking to Tinky Winky about it, if that’s any indication.
Pinkle winkle, Tinky Winky, pinkle winkle, Tinky Winky.
I beg your pardon?
That’s what Tinky Winky sings. Don’t you watch the show?
You do?
Sure. They live in a chromedome and eat Tubby custard.
You’re kidding, right?
I wish I were.
Benny?
I used to be a Big Brother. It was my little brother’s favorite show. All he wanted was to watch TV. He said he felt safe on my couch, holding my hand and watching TV.
You’re sweet, I said.
I thought you knew, Benny said. So what did Tink say?
If this is the New Life, I want my money back! This is nothing like happily ever after!
Hah! Speaking of which, I read your Vita Nuova today. What an odd little book! Probably the most non-Jewish book I’ve ever read.
Eh?
Well, exile is our defining metaphor, as I’m sure you know. We dosmall acts of repair, we try to fix the brokenness, but our exile never ends, not until we are collectively redeemed at the End of Days. But for Dante—for all Christians, I suppose—individual pilgrimage is the defining metaphor explaining our life’s journey. What did you call it the other day, the straight-line narrative to salvation?
Life as intentional journey toward a redemptive end. The hero-as-pilgrim’s journey. Pilgrims’ progress, as it were. Backbone of all story.
Maybe that’s why I hardly read stories these days, Benny said. Anyway, Vita Nuova is chock-a-block with pilgrims, isn’t it? The figure of Love dresses in pilgrims’ gear, Dante meets different types of pilgrims, pilgrims are everywhere—as if we
That’s what my head says, Benny continued, but how to make that leap? Even as I urge my flock to make peace over the High Holidays, I’m stuck. Every year it’s the same.
I’ve been thinking about that quote, too. Weird, huh?
No coincidences. So what do you think?
About forgiveness? Celan talks about meeting halfway across the void of subjectivity, misunderstanding, and depleted language. But he assumes a ‘we’ who want to meet. Not everyone’s willing to make that leap—I don’t think I am.
Hmm, Benny said. I didn’t know if he was agreeing, disagreeing, or had even heard me.
I yawned into my pillow, turned and stretched my limbs.
You in bed?
I froze.
Kitchen table, why?
He laughed.
I’m not coming on to you! I heard the “rustle of bedclothes,” I thought maybe you were tired.
I’m in bed, but I’m okay.
Liar! he said. Fiction writer! What’re you wearing?
Benny!
Just kidding! What’s keeping you up? What’re you worried about?
Stuff.
Oh, c’mon! You’re not worried that I won’t like you! Tell Uncle Benny what’s wrong.
The whole Romei thing, I said, thinking, Simple is good .
I wish I were there. Then I could tell if you were serious.
Of course I’m serious. But you can’t come over.
Benny laughed.
Look, I’ve got some baggage, I said. Vita Nuova . Some not-so-great memories.
A bad reading experience?
Don’t make fun of me, I said.
I’m not.
Oh.
Mm, Benny said.
You sound like my shrink, I said.
You have a shrink?
No.
Oh, Benny said, confused.
There was a pause.
You know, he said, I’ve never experienced New Life. What’s it like?
I laughed.
Not what it’s cracked up to be!
Would you care to say more?
The New Life takes no prisoners!
What does that mean?
No idea.
This is fun! Benny said. Like a slumber party!
I didn’t know guys had slumber parties.
We didn’t. But we always wondered what you did at yours.
I’ll tell you sometime. It isn’t interesting.
Don’t tell me then. I like my fantasies intact.
Perhaps because I was tired, I found myself wondering what Benny might fantasize about. Waify would-be artists in torn fishnet stockings, unbuttoning their tie-dyed halter tops, Benny in his skullcap saying whatever blessing one says before a striptease …
But really, Benny said. You can’t be worried about the translation, right?
I was just talking to Tinky Winky about it, if that’s any indication.
Pinkle winkle, Tinky Winky, pinkle winkle, Tinky Winky.
I beg your pardon?
That’s what Tinky Winky sings. Don’t you watch the show?
You do?
Sure. They live in a chromedome and eat Tubby custard.
You’re kidding, right?
I wish I were.
Benny?
I used to be a Big Brother. It was my little brother’s favorite show. All he wanted was to watch TV. He said he felt safe on my couch, holding my hand and watching TV.
You’re sweet, I said.
I thought you knew, Benny said. So what did Tink say?
If this is the New Life, I want my money back! This is nothing like happily ever after!
Hah! Speaking of which, I read your Vita Nuova today. What an odd little book! Probably the most non-Jewish book I’ve ever read.
Eh?
Well, exile is our defining metaphor, as I’m sure you know. We dosmall acts of repair, we try to fix the brokenness, but our exile never ends, not until we are collectively redeemed at the End of Days. But for Dante—for all Christians, I suppose—individual pilgrimage is the defining metaphor explaining our life’s journey. What did you call it the other day, the straight-line narrative to salvation?
Life as intentional journey toward a redemptive end. The hero-as-pilgrim’s journey. Pilgrims’ progress, as it were. Backbone of all story.
Maybe that’s why I hardly read stories these days, Benny said. Anyway, Vita Nuova is chock-a-block with pilgrims, isn’t it? The figure of Love dresses in pilgrims’ gear, Dante meets different types of pilgrims, pilgrims are everywhere—as if we
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