some than others. Why do they say you’re a thousand years old?”
“It isn’t so miraculous. It’s only because I reaped the benefits of modern medicine.”
There came a crash and a shout of jubilance, and when we turned around we saw my father laughing amongst broken glass. He was wearing a yellow acrylic cardigan and also his crown, which was made from obsidian and gold. He was drinking sweet potato wine from an agateware pitcher. He was very happy. If a man must be a cracked window through which chaos escapes into the world, it is nice for him if he is a king and president.
2016
----
After breakfast, the ancient mariner hung upside down from a scaffold behind the kitchen shed. He’d put on some boots that could be fastened into the wooden frame. The idea was to stretch his spine so that his rib cage and pelvis didn’t become locked together. Azar was taking a shower in the tidy little bathroom shed a few yards from the back door of the boat.
“In your letter you said you needed help with some digging,” I said.
“Never mind that.” He pointed to the bathroom shed. “Your friend. How well do you know him?”
“Azar? I know him very well. I’ve known him since we were eighteen. I should tell him sometime how much he means to me.”
“But what kind of name is Azar?”
“Persian. Iranian? Persian?”
“Persian,” he said, his voice stifled and his face red.
“Iranian? He’s a Persian Jew.”
“A Jew! I myself am a Jew. Then never mind. I thought he was a Turk.”
“He’s not a Turk. Or maybe he is. I’m not sure what you mean by Turk.”
“Turk doesn’t mean anything. Our enemies were the Turks, therefore anyone who was our enemy was a Turk, but they might have been Saracens and Malabars too. Truly I had no idea where they came from. They were Mohammedans. They must still be out there somewhere.”
“I don’t know if the Turkish Turks are our enemies now or not. I’m not so knowledgeable about politics. Are you talking about the Ottomans?”
“I’ll tell you sometime about when I was a slave in the Arab world,” he said. “It was all camels and camel milk. And the Turks! I will say onething for them. They had a delicious pastry called a croissant. You will know it today as a French butter crescent. But I can’t tell you about these things while I’m upside down.”
Out in the street it was the twenty-first century. I drank espresso out of a Styrofoam cup, which made me feel very guilty, and then I checked my email, which I’d sworn not to do, and then I checked my weather app for new information about climate change, which I’d especially sworn not to do. There was indeed new information. In a Warming World, Where to Grow Wine? And less trivially, Melting Arctic Permafrost Looms as Major Factor in Warming .
But even though the world was ending, I got my shoes out of the car and went for a run. Tight narrow streets, reckless driving, outlandish tropical plants, pastel houses with idyllic shady verandas, frigate birds stuck like decals in the hot blue sky. Soon I felt much better. Sharp and clearheaded and cheerful. It came to me that the movie would be a success. It would make us famous. Surely this would mitigate, at least for us, the sorrow of environmental devastation?
The island had come alive by the time I got back. Groups of stunned tourists were drifting down the street. The bars were open. There were street vendors who’d write your name on a shell, but the only people interested were Korean tourists. The shell people were working hard to produce transliterations.
Out in the street in front of the ancient mariner’s boat, a stumpy little man with a plastic toupee was having a telephone conversation and drinking from a red Solo cup.
“Baby,” he said, “there’s not a thing I can do. I’ll have to stay here in Cleveland another day.”
He was wearing a lavender sport coat and a bathing suit and his hair had slipped down over his right ear. He adjusted it
“It isn’t so miraculous. It’s only because I reaped the benefits of modern medicine.”
There came a crash and a shout of jubilance, and when we turned around we saw my father laughing amongst broken glass. He was wearing a yellow acrylic cardigan and also his crown, which was made from obsidian and gold. He was drinking sweet potato wine from an agateware pitcher. He was very happy. If a man must be a cracked window through which chaos escapes into the world, it is nice for him if he is a king and president.
2016
----
After breakfast, the ancient mariner hung upside down from a scaffold behind the kitchen shed. He’d put on some boots that could be fastened into the wooden frame. The idea was to stretch his spine so that his rib cage and pelvis didn’t become locked together. Azar was taking a shower in the tidy little bathroom shed a few yards from the back door of the boat.
“In your letter you said you needed help with some digging,” I said.
“Never mind that.” He pointed to the bathroom shed. “Your friend. How well do you know him?”
“Azar? I know him very well. I’ve known him since we were eighteen. I should tell him sometime how much he means to me.”
“But what kind of name is Azar?”
“Persian. Iranian? Persian?”
“Persian,” he said, his voice stifled and his face red.
“Iranian? He’s a Persian Jew.”
“A Jew! I myself am a Jew. Then never mind. I thought he was a Turk.”
“He’s not a Turk. Or maybe he is. I’m not sure what you mean by Turk.”
“Turk doesn’t mean anything. Our enemies were the Turks, therefore anyone who was our enemy was a Turk, but they might have been Saracens and Malabars too. Truly I had no idea where they came from. They were Mohammedans. They must still be out there somewhere.”
“I don’t know if the Turkish Turks are our enemies now or not. I’m not so knowledgeable about politics. Are you talking about the Ottomans?”
“I’ll tell you sometime about when I was a slave in the Arab world,” he said. “It was all camels and camel milk. And the Turks! I will say onething for them. They had a delicious pastry called a croissant. You will know it today as a French butter crescent. But I can’t tell you about these things while I’m upside down.”
Out in the street it was the twenty-first century. I drank espresso out of a Styrofoam cup, which made me feel very guilty, and then I checked my email, which I’d sworn not to do, and then I checked my weather app for new information about climate change, which I’d especially sworn not to do. There was indeed new information. In a Warming World, Where to Grow Wine? And less trivially, Melting Arctic Permafrost Looms as Major Factor in Warming .
But even though the world was ending, I got my shoes out of the car and went for a run. Tight narrow streets, reckless driving, outlandish tropical plants, pastel houses with idyllic shady verandas, frigate birds stuck like decals in the hot blue sky. Soon I felt much better. Sharp and clearheaded and cheerful. It came to me that the movie would be a success. It would make us famous. Surely this would mitigate, at least for us, the sorrow of environmental devastation?
The island had come alive by the time I got back. Groups of stunned tourists were drifting down the street. The bars were open. There were street vendors who’d write your name on a shell, but the only people interested were Korean tourists. The shell people were working hard to produce transliterations.
Out in the street in front of the ancient mariner’s boat, a stumpy little man with a plastic toupee was having a telephone conversation and drinking from a red Solo cup.
“Baby,” he said, “there’s not a thing I can do. I’ll have to stay here in Cleveland another day.”
He was wearing a lavender sport coat and a bathing suit and his hair had slipped down over his right ear. He adjusted it
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