Read Online Let the Great World Spin by Colum McCann - Free Book Online
Authors: Colum McCann
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alone with the same terror.
He left his sleeve rolled up for an hour or so while he dealt with the locks. The bruises inside his arm were a deep blue. When he was finished, the door didn’t even click closed, just swung on the hinges.
“There,” he said.
He went into the bathroom, where I was sure I could hear him strapping an elastic band around his arm. He came out, long- sleeved again.
“Now leave the friggin’ door alone,” he said.
He fell soundlessly into bed. I was sure I wouldn’t sleep, but I woke to the usual thrum of the Deegan. The outside world was dependable. Engine noise and tire song. Huge metal sheets had been laid over some potholes. They boomed deeply when a truck ran over them.
It was an easy enough choice to stay: it wasn’t as if Corrigan was ever going to ask me to leave. I was up and shaved early in the morning to accompany him on his rounds. I stirred him from the blankets. He had a faint nosebleed and the blood was dark against his stubble. He turned away. “Put on the tea, will you?” When he stretched, he touched the wooden crucifix on the wall. It swung back and forth on its nail. There was a light patch where the paint was not discolored. The faint imprint of the cross. He reached up to steady it, muttered something about God being ready to move sideways.
“Leaving today?” he asked.
The rucksack was packed on the floor.
“I was thinking I’d stay a couple more days.”
“No problem, brother.”
McCa_9781400063734_4p_01_r1.w.qxp 4/13/09 2:31 PM Page 43
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He combed his hair in the fragment of broken mirror, sprayed on some deodorant. At least he was keeping up pretenses. We took the lift instead of the stairs.
“A miracle,” said Corrigan as the door sighed open, and the little moons of light shone on the inside panel. “It’s working.”
Outside, we crossed the small patch of grass in front of the projects, among the broken bottles. All of a sudden, being around him felt right for the first time in years. That old dream of purpose. I knew what I had to do—bring him on the long walk back towards a sensible life.
Among the early- morning hookers I felt strangely charmed. Corr- gan.
Corr- i- gun. Corry—gan. It was, after all, my last name too. It was a strange taking of ease. Their bodies did not embarrass me as much as when I’d watched them from afar. Coyly, they covered their breasts with their arms. One had dyed her hair a bright red. Another wore sparkling silver eyeliner. Jazzlyn, in her neon swimsuit, positioned the strap over her nipples. She took a deep drag on her cigarette and exhaled smoke in expert streams from nose and mouth. Her skin shone. In another life she could have been aristocratic. Her eyes went to the ground as if she was looking to find something she had dropped. I felt a softening for her, a desire.
They kept up a wavery pitch of banter. My brother gazed across at me and grinned. It was like Corrigan whispering in my ear to give his approval to all I couldn’t understand.
A few cars cruised past. “Get outta here,” said Tillie. “We got business to accomplish.” She said it like it was a stock exchange transaction. She nodded to Jazzlyn. Corrigan pulled me into the shadows.
“They all use smack?” I said.
“Some of them, yeah.”
“Nasty stuff.”
“The world tries them, then shows them a little joy.”
“Who gets it for them? The smack?”
“No idea,” he said as he took a small silver pocket watch out from his carpenter pants. “Why?”
“Just wondering.”
The cars rumbled above us. He slapped my shoulder. We drove to the nursing home. A young nurse was waiting on the steps. She stood up and waved brightly as the van pulled in. She looked South American—
McCa_9781400063734_4p_01_r1.w.qxp 4/13/09 2:31 PM Page 44
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small and beautiful with a clout of black hair and dark eyes. Something fierce shot in the air between them. He loosened
He left his sleeve rolled up for an hour or so while he dealt with the locks. The bruises inside his arm were a deep blue. When he was finished, the door didn’t even click closed, just swung on the hinges.
“There,” he said.
He went into the bathroom, where I was sure I could hear him strapping an elastic band around his arm. He came out, long- sleeved again.
“Now leave the friggin’ door alone,” he said.
He fell soundlessly into bed. I was sure I wouldn’t sleep, but I woke to the usual thrum of the Deegan. The outside world was dependable. Engine noise and tire song. Huge metal sheets had been laid over some potholes. They boomed deeply when a truck ran over them.
It was an easy enough choice to stay: it wasn’t as if Corrigan was ever going to ask me to leave. I was up and shaved early in the morning to accompany him on his rounds. I stirred him from the blankets. He had a faint nosebleed and the blood was dark against his stubble. He turned away. “Put on the tea, will you?” When he stretched, he touched the wooden crucifix on the wall. It swung back and forth on its nail. There was a light patch where the paint was not discolored. The faint imprint of the cross. He reached up to steady it, muttered something about God being ready to move sideways.
“Leaving today?” he asked.
The rucksack was packed on the floor.
“I was thinking I’d stay a couple more days.”
“No problem, brother.”
McCa_9781400063734_4p_01_r1.w.qxp 4/13/09 2:31 PM Page 43
L E T T H E G R E A T W O R L D S P I N
43
He combed his hair in the fragment of broken mirror, sprayed on some deodorant. At least he was keeping up pretenses. We took the lift instead of the stairs.
“A miracle,” said Corrigan as the door sighed open, and the little moons of light shone on the inside panel. “It’s working.”
Outside, we crossed the small patch of grass in front of the projects, among the broken bottles. All of a sudden, being around him felt right for the first time in years. That old dream of purpose. I knew what I had to do—bring him on the long walk back towards a sensible life.
Among the early- morning hookers I felt strangely charmed. Corr- gan.
Corr- i- gun. Corry—gan. It was, after all, my last name too. It was a strange taking of ease. Their bodies did not embarrass me as much as when I’d watched them from afar. Coyly, they covered their breasts with their arms. One had dyed her hair a bright red. Another wore sparkling silver eyeliner. Jazzlyn, in her neon swimsuit, positioned the strap over her nipples. She took a deep drag on her cigarette and exhaled smoke in expert streams from nose and mouth. Her skin shone. In another life she could have been aristocratic. Her eyes went to the ground as if she was looking to find something she had dropped. I felt a softening for her, a desire.
They kept up a wavery pitch of banter. My brother gazed across at me and grinned. It was like Corrigan whispering in my ear to give his approval to all I couldn’t understand.
A few cars cruised past. “Get outta here,” said Tillie. “We got business to accomplish.” She said it like it was a stock exchange transaction. She nodded to Jazzlyn. Corrigan pulled me into the shadows.
“They all use smack?” I said.
“Some of them, yeah.”
“Nasty stuff.”
“The world tries them, then shows them a little joy.”
“Who gets it for them? The smack?”
“No idea,” he said as he took a small silver pocket watch out from his carpenter pants. “Why?”
“Just wondering.”
The cars rumbled above us. He slapped my shoulder. We drove to the nursing home. A young nurse was waiting on the steps. She stood up and waved brightly as the van pulled in. She looked South American—
McCa_9781400063734_4p_01_r1.w.qxp 4/13/09 2:31 PM Page 44
44
C O L U M M c C A N N
small and beautiful with a clout of black hair and dark eyes. Something fierce shot in the air between them. He loosened
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