his hands shook. God, he had to stop this. He started to drink the juice when he saw a roach run across the table. He was startled by the bug, terrified by it. It was almost as if he were seeing it in 3-D. It was huge, its brown antennae hanging over the white table like some long, filthy membrane. He wanted to crush it, but somehow was afraid of it. Then he brought his hand down on it hard and watched it squish, and he started to laugh loudly … He hated the sound of his own voice, the laughter was not that of joy but of panic. He heard the Space whirling inside of him, and it seemed to cry out that it needed to be filled … it needed it desperately, and he shook so badly now that he was spilling the juice.
He got up and ran back into the bedroom. Sat down on the edge of the bed and called Debby. He had memorized her number, though he didn’t know why. He hadn’t even thought about it consciously. It just happened naturally, and he let the phone ring three times.
Finally she picked it up … He heard her voice … Yes, it was her.
“Hello … hello … Who is this?”
He wanted to say something. He felt like a fool. It must be three A.M . She would think he was crazy.
“Hello, who is this? Hello?”
He put the phone back on the hook and lay down on the bed, and stared up with wide, blue eyes at the rippling, buckling ceiling.
8
Esther Goldstein got out of the elevator on the seventh floor of the Riverside Apartments. As she stepped into the hallway, she suddenly felt a sharp pain in her left arm—a strange, circulating spasm which shot around her neck and landed like an arrow near her left breast. She put down her heavy suitcase and leaned on the wall. Though she was fifty-eight and had felt the pains twice in the last month, she didn’t panic. If there was one thing she was not going to be, it was a Jewish mother. She was all through with that, had been since Morty died, and she had started analysis. Let people laugh, if they wanted, but her shrink, Dr. Gruenberg, had changed her life. She was a loving, caring, sensual person. Oy gevalt, if Morty could see her now, having an affair with a gentile weight-lifter named Big Ned Malloy. They had met at a YMHA dance and it had been love at first sight. She sighed and headed down the bland white-walled hallway toward her son’s apartment. Barty would never understand this … any of it … her lover or her new look … her fashionable Ralph Lauren hacking jacket and corduroy skirt, her tall Jourdan boots … her wide silk tie … but he was simply going to have to get used to it … After all, this was a new, modern world where people were free to live out their fantasies, and why shouldn’t they? If Barty wanted to stand down by the Big Board and read ticker tape all day, that was his business, but such a life? You might as well be eating stale bagels … and if they thought for one second she was going to let them ruin little Morty’s life … her only grandson … and turn him into a
nebbish
like his father, well, they just didn’t know Esther Goldstein. As she approached the door, she sighed heavily and felt a little twinge of pain again … probably nerves. With a cocky jab, she pushed the button to her son’s apartment. In a second, the door opened, and there stood a squat man with a head like a cauliflower with hair. His little eyes blinked in surprise and his hand ran up to his chest, where he patted the reindeer which was stitched on his sweater.
“Ma,” he said. “Ma … Hey, Betsy, come here quick. Look who we got at our door. Annie Hall.”
Peter Cross wheeled his patient, James Thomas, out of the operating room. Thomas, a forty-eight-year-old insurance actuary, had just successfully come through a colostomy, and though Peter had given him a shot of morphine just as the operation ended, there was little doubt that James Thomas was going to be in a great deal of pain when he awoke. He thought of the same man just the other day, sitting up in his
He got up and ran back into the bedroom. Sat down on the edge of the bed and called Debby. He had memorized her number, though he didn’t know why. He hadn’t even thought about it consciously. It just happened naturally, and he let the phone ring three times.
Finally she picked it up … He heard her voice … Yes, it was her.
“Hello … hello … Who is this?”
He wanted to say something. He felt like a fool. It must be three A.M . She would think he was crazy.
“Hello, who is this? Hello?”
He put the phone back on the hook and lay down on the bed, and stared up with wide, blue eyes at the rippling, buckling ceiling.
8
Esther Goldstein got out of the elevator on the seventh floor of the Riverside Apartments. As she stepped into the hallway, she suddenly felt a sharp pain in her left arm—a strange, circulating spasm which shot around her neck and landed like an arrow near her left breast. She put down her heavy suitcase and leaned on the wall. Though she was fifty-eight and had felt the pains twice in the last month, she didn’t panic. If there was one thing she was not going to be, it was a Jewish mother. She was all through with that, had been since Morty died, and she had started analysis. Let people laugh, if they wanted, but her shrink, Dr. Gruenberg, had changed her life. She was a loving, caring, sensual person. Oy gevalt, if Morty could see her now, having an affair with a gentile weight-lifter named Big Ned Malloy. They had met at a YMHA dance and it had been love at first sight. She sighed and headed down the bland white-walled hallway toward her son’s apartment. Barty would never understand this … any of it … her lover or her new look … her fashionable Ralph Lauren hacking jacket and corduroy skirt, her tall Jourdan boots … her wide silk tie … but he was simply going to have to get used to it … After all, this was a new, modern world where people were free to live out their fantasies, and why shouldn’t they? If Barty wanted to stand down by the Big Board and read ticker tape all day, that was his business, but such a life? You might as well be eating stale bagels … and if they thought for one second she was going to let them ruin little Morty’s life … her only grandson … and turn him into a
nebbish
like his father, well, they just didn’t know Esther Goldstein. As she approached the door, she sighed heavily and felt a little twinge of pain again … probably nerves. With a cocky jab, she pushed the button to her son’s apartment. In a second, the door opened, and there stood a squat man with a head like a cauliflower with hair. His little eyes blinked in surprise and his hand ran up to his chest, where he patted the reindeer which was stitched on his sweater.
“Ma,” he said. “Ma … Hey, Betsy, come here quick. Look who we got at our door. Annie Hall.”
Peter Cross wheeled his patient, James Thomas, out of the operating room. Thomas, a forty-eight-year-old insurance actuary, had just successfully come through a colostomy, and though Peter had given him a shot of morphine just as the operation ended, there was little doubt that James Thomas was going to be in a great deal of pain when he awoke. He thought of the same man just the other day, sitting up in his
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