Read Online Men and Cartoons by Jonathan Lethem - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jonathan Lethem
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vanished archipelago of fume, conversation, and disco, tonight or ever. The ancient party was like a radio signal dopplering through outer space, it seemed to him now.
“You fuck him, Viv?” said Polymus. “Inquiring minds want to know.”
“No,” said Vivian Relf-Polymus. “No, but we were probably flirting. This was a long time ago.”
Polymus and his wife had captured the attention of the whole table, with evident mutual pleasure.
“We had this funny thing,” Doran felt compelled to explain. “You remember? We didn't know anyone in common. You seemed really familiar, but we'd never met before.”
This drew a handful of polite laughs, cued principally by the word
funny
, and perhaps by Doran's jocular tone. Beneath it he felt desperate. Vander Polymus only scowled, as for comic effect he might scowl at an awkwardly hung painting, or at a critical notice with which he violently disagreed.
“What I remember is you had these awful friends,” said Vivian. “They didn't hesitate to show they found me a poor way for you to be spending your time. What was that tall moody boy's name?”
“Top,” said Doran, only remembering as he blurted it. He hadn't thought of Top for years, had in fact forgotten Top was present at the Vivian Relf Party.
“Were you breaking up with some girl that night?”
“No,” said Doran. “Nothing like that.” He couldn't remember.
“If looks could kill.”
Those people mean nothing to me
, Doran wished to cry.
They barely did at the time. And now, what was it, ten years later?
It was Vivian Relf who mattered, couldn't she see?
“Do you remember the airport?” he asked.
“Ah, the
airport
,” said Polymus, with a connoisseur's sarcasm. “Now we're getting somewhere. Tell us about the airport.”
The table chuckled nervously, all in deference to their host.
“I haven't the faintest idea what he's talking about, my love.”
“It's nothing,” said Doran. “I saw you, ah, at an airport once.” He suddenly wished to diminish it, in present company. He saw now that something precious was being taken from him in full view, a treasure he'd found in his possession only at the instant it was squandered.
I wrote a poem to you once, Vivian Relf
, he said silently, behind a sip of excellent Rioja. Doran knew it was finer, much more interesting, than the wine he'd brought, the Cabernet Franc they'd sipped with their appetizers.
He might have known Vivian Relf better than anyone he actually knew, Doran thought now. Or anyway, he'd wanted to. It ought to mean the same thing. His soul creaked in irrelevant despair.
“This is boring,” pronounced Vander Polymus.
The dinner party rose up and swallowed them, as it was meant to.
Planet Big Zero
M Y HOUSE IS PROTECTED FROM THE STREET by a wooden fence six feet high, so solidly built that it's practically a wall. You can't look through it. The fence gate swings open smoothly, an inch from the paved walkway, without sticking or wobbling. Returning home a few days ago, I stepped up and pushed the gate open, as I always do, without breaking my stride. This day the gate bumped hard against something on the other side.
Annoyed, I pushed harder, and stepped through the space I'd wedged open. Lying on the walkway, rubbing his head, was a bum. I'd whacked him on the top of his skull with the gate. After a confused moment I grasped the situation: he'd ducked in from the street, then stretched out to warm in the sun in the first place he found. I live next door to a supermarket. He was probably napping after a meal of salvage from the dumpster in the alley. I knew that bums sometimes slept the night in the alley, though they always kept out of sight.
He wasn't knocked out. He made a sort of rasping, moaning sound and rolled onto his side.
Then we had the strangest conversation.
“You okay?” I said, defensively gruff.
“Yeah,” he said. He was bald on top, so I could see that there wasn't a gash.
“That's a hell of a place to
“You fuck him, Viv?” said Polymus. “Inquiring minds want to know.”
“No,” said Vivian Relf-Polymus. “No, but we were probably flirting. This was a long time ago.”
Polymus and his wife had captured the attention of the whole table, with evident mutual pleasure.
“We had this funny thing,” Doran felt compelled to explain. “You remember? We didn't know anyone in common. You seemed really familiar, but we'd never met before.”
This drew a handful of polite laughs, cued principally by the word
funny
, and perhaps by Doran's jocular tone. Beneath it he felt desperate. Vander Polymus only scowled, as for comic effect he might scowl at an awkwardly hung painting, or at a critical notice with which he violently disagreed.
“What I remember is you had these awful friends,” said Vivian. “They didn't hesitate to show they found me a poor way for you to be spending your time. What was that tall moody boy's name?”
“Top,” said Doran, only remembering as he blurted it. He hadn't thought of Top for years, had in fact forgotten Top was present at the Vivian Relf Party.
“Were you breaking up with some girl that night?”
“No,” said Doran. “Nothing like that.” He couldn't remember.
“If looks could kill.”
Those people mean nothing to me
, Doran wished to cry.
They barely did at the time. And now, what was it, ten years later?
It was Vivian Relf who mattered, couldn't she see?
“Do you remember the airport?” he asked.
“Ah, the
airport
,” said Polymus, with a connoisseur's sarcasm. “Now we're getting somewhere. Tell us about the airport.”
The table chuckled nervously, all in deference to their host.
“I haven't the faintest idea what he's talking about, my love.”
“It's nothing,” said Doran. “I saw you, ah, at an airport once.” He suddenly wished to diminish it, in present company. He saw now that something precious was being taken from him in full view, a treasure he'd found in his possession only at the instant it was squandered.
I wrote a poem to you once, Vivian Relf
, he said silently, behind a sip of excellent Rioja. Doran knew it was finer, much more interesting, than the wine he'd brought, the Cabernet Franc they'd sipped with their appetizers.
He might have known Vivian Relf better than anyone he actually knew, Doran thought now. Or anyway, he'd wanted to. It ought to mean the same thing. His soul creaked in irrelevant despair.
“This is boring,” pronounced Vander Polymus.
The dinner party rose up and swallowed them, as it was meant to.
Planet Big Zero
M Y HOUSE IS PROTECTED FROM THE STREET by a wooden fence six feet high, so solidly built that it's practically a wall. You can't look through it. The fence gate swings open smoothly, an inch from the paved walkway, without sticking or wobbling. Returning home a few days ago, I stepped up and pushed the gate open, as I always do, without breaking my stride. This day the gate bumped hard against something on the other side.
Annoyed, I pushed harder, and stepped through the space I'd wedged open. Lying on the walkway, rubbing his head, was a bum. I'd whacked him on the top of his skull with the gate. After a confused moment I grasped the situation: he'd ducked in from the street, then stretched out to warm in the sun in the first place he found. I live next door to a supermarket. He was probably napping after a meal of salvage from the dumpster in the alley. I knew that bums sometimes slept the night in the alley, though they always kept out of sight.
He wasn't knocked out. He made a sort of rasping, moaning sound and rolled onto his side.
Then we had the strangest conversation.
“You okay?” I said, defensively gruff.
“Yeah,” he said. He was bald on top, so I could see that there wasn't a gash.
“That's a hell of a place to
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