Read Online The City When It Rains by Thomas H. Cook - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Thomas H. Cook
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been up all night by then, with nothing but a short nap around dawn. But the nap had been just long enough to rejuvenate him, so he was able to feed Lucy her breakfast of cereal, then watch leisurely as she did her usual Sunday morning chores, cleaned her room, straightened her closet, folded the laundry heâd washed earlier while she was still sleeping in her room.
âI guess we can go to Uncle Edgarâs now,â she said when sheâd finished.
âWeâre not supposed to be there until the afternoon,â Corman reminded her.
Lucy pivoted one of her hips out melodramatically. âWell, can we at least go to the park before that?â
âItâs not a very nice day.â
âItâs not raining now,â Lucy said. âWe could try it. We could meet them there.â
âOkay,â Corman said, giving in. âGet your bike.â
It was the usual time-consuming struggle getting the two bikes out of the basement storeroom and into the elevator. They were rickety affairs, with nearly treadless tires, rusty chains, handlebars that were slightly off center. They looked old the way people looked old, used beyond their days. Corman had hoped to buy Lucy a new one by summer, but now that seemed unlikely, and as he finally managed to wheel his own bike into the elevator, the pinched quality of his life overtook him once again. He thought of Pike, Groton, the kind of work that made your nights better because your days were worse.
Once on the street, they turned west, rode quickly to Tenth Avenue, then swung north toward the park, with Corman in the lead, Lucy close behind. The whole distance was a worry for him. Traffic sped by at high speed, half-clipping bikers as they passed, a far cry from the old city, when taxis had been electric, and all other cars had been limited to nine miles an hour and forced to warn pedestrians with a gong. And yet Corman had long ago realized that despite the danger, he didnât have the patience to walk, dragging the bike beside him, and he knew Lucy didnât either.
They reached 59th Street in less than fifteen minutes. From there it was only a short pull eastward to Columbus Circle. The air was still very heavy, and the fall chill had not lifted. A spectral haze clung to the upper reaches of the trees, floating through their dark leafless branches, giving the whole area an eerie, moorish look that Corman found vaguely unsettling. He stopped dead and stared out toward a particular line of trees. Only a few days before, a woman had been raped and murdered beneath them, and during the last minutes of her life, she had probably lain on her back and stared helplessly at the same bare branches that spread out before him now. As his eyes lingered on the trees, Corman suspected that every inch of earth contained similarly wrenching ironies, and that a thorough knowledge of them would inevitably create a different way of seeing.
âWhat are you looking at?â
Lucy had come up beside him and was busily zipping her dark blue parka more tightly against her throat.
âNothing,â he told her.
âItâs colder than I thought,â she said when sheâd finished.
âPut up your hood.â
She looked at him sourly. âI donât like hoods. You know that.â Corman shrugged. âOkay, you ready?â
âIâve been ready,â Lucy said.
She pressed down on the pedal, shot forward instantly, then headed down the gently curved road that led into the park. Corman followed along after her, pedaling slowly, careful to keep his distance so that she wouldnât feel surveilled.
Within a few seconds she was almost out of sight. It was her favorite trick, and he began pedaling a bit more rapidly to stay closer to her. He could see her parka billowing out slightly as she raced ahead, but it was little more than a blur which darted in and out from behind the other riders. Once again, he speeded up until he was near
âI guess we can go to Uncle Edgarâs now,â she said when sheâd finished.
âWeâre not supposed to be there until the afternoon,â Corman reminded her.
Lucy pivoted one of her hips out melodramatically. âWell, can we at least go to the park before that?â
âItâs not a very nice day.â
âItâs not raining now,â Lucy said. âWe could try it. We could meet them there.â
âOkay,â Corman said, giving in. âGet your bike.â
It was the usual time-consuming struggle getting the two bikes out of the basement storeroom and into the elevator. They were rickety affairs, with nearly treadless tires, rusty chains, handlebars that were slightly off center. They looked old the way people looked old, used beyond their days. Corman had hoped to buy Lucy a new one by summer, but now that seemed unlikely, and as he finally managed to wheel his own bike into the elevator, the pinched quality of his life overtook him once again. He thought of Pike, Groton, the kind of work that made your nights better because your days were worse.
Once on the street, they turned west, rode quickly to Tenth Avenue, then swung north toward the park, with Corman in the lead, Lucy close behind. The whole distance was a worry for him. Traffic sped by at high speed, half-clipping bikers as they passed, a far cry from the old city, when taxis had been electric, and all other cars had been limited to nine miles an hour and forced to warn pedestrians with a gong. And yet Corman had long ago realized that despite the danger, he didnât have the patience to walk, dragging the bike beside him, and he knew Lucy didnât either.
They reached 59th Street in less than fifteen minutes. From there it was only a short pull eastward to Columbus Circle. The air was still very heavy, and the fall chill had not lifted. A spectral haze clung to the upper reaches of the trees, floating through their dark leafless branches, giving the whole area an eerie, moorish look that Corman found vaguely unsettling. He stopped dead and stared out toward a particular line of trees. Only a few days before, a woman had been raped and murdered beneath them, and during the last minutes of her life, she had probably lain on her back and stared helplessly at the same bare branches that spread out before him now. As his eyes lingered on the trees, Corman suspected that every inch of earth contained similarly wrenching ironies, and that a thorough knowledge of them would inevitably create a different way of seeing.
âWhat are you looking at?â
Lucy had come up beside him and was busily zipping her dark blue parka more tightly against her throat.
âNothing,â he told her.
âItâs colder than I thought,â she said when sheâd finished.
âPut up your hood.â
She looked at him sourly. âI donât like hoods. You know that.â Corman shrugged. âOkay, you ready?â
âIâve been ready,â Lucy said.
She pressed down on the pedal, shot forward instantly, then headed down the gently curved road that led into the park. Corman followed along after her, pedaling slowly, careful to keep his distance so that she wouldnât feel surveilled.
Within a few seconds she was almost out of sight. It was her favorite trick, and he began pedaling a bit more rapidly to stay closer to her. He could see her parka billowing out slightly as she raced ahead, but it was little more than a blur which darted in and out from behind the other riders. Once again, he speeded up until he was near