Colum McCann - Let the Great World Spin

No shame in saying either that I let her rattle on, even encouraged her to get it all out. Years ago, when I was at university in Syracuse, I developed a manner of saying things that made people happy, kept them talking so I didn’t have to say much myself, I guess now I’d say that I was building a wall to keep myself safe. In the rooms of wealthy folk, I had perfected my hard southern habit of Mercy and Lord and Landsakes. They were the words I fell back on for another form of silence, the words I’ve always fallen back on, my reliables, they’ve been my last resort for I don’t know how long. And sure enough, I fell into the same ditch in Claire’s house. She spun off into her own little world of wires and computers and electric gadgets, and I spun right back.

Not that she noticed, or seemed to notice anyway; she just peeked up at me from under her gray streak, and smiled, like she was surprised to be talking and nothing could stop her now. She was a picture of pure happiness, collecting one thought after the other, circling around, going back, explaining another thing about the electronics, detailing another about Joshua’s time in school, rattling on about a piano in Florida, doing her own peculiar hopscotch through that boy’s life.

It grew hot in the room, all five of us stuffed together. The hand of the clock by the bedside table didn’t move anymore, maybe the batteries were expired, but it got to ticking in my mind. I could feel myself drifting. I didn’t want to fall asleep. I had to bite the inside of my lip to keep myself from nodding off. Sure enough, it wasn’t just me, we were all getting a little itchy, I could feel it, the shifting of bodies, and the way Jacqueline was breathing and the little cough that came every now and then from Janet, and Marcia wiping her brow with her little handkerchief.

I could feel a case of pins and needles coming on. I kept trying to move my toes and tighten my calf muscles — I guess I was grimacing a little, moving my body, making too much noise.

Claire smiled at me but it was one of those smiles that has a little zipper in it, a little too tight at the edges. I gave her a smile back, and tried hard not to make it seem like I was fidgety and awkward both. It wasn’t as if she was boring me, it had nothing at all to do with what she was telling me, just my body giving me a hard time. I tightened my toes again, but that didn’t work, and as quiet as possible I started knocking my knee off the edge of the bed, trying to get that half-gone feeling out of my leg. Claire gave me a look like she was disappointed, but it wasn’t me who stood up at all; it was Marcia who finally stretched herself up in the air and flat-out yawned — yawned, like a child pulling a piece of chewing gum from her mouth, a thing that said, Look at me, I’m bored, I’m going to yawn and nobody’s going to stop me.

“Excuse me,” she said with a half-apology

There was a lockdown for a moment. It was like seeing the air fall apart so that you could recognize all the separate things that go together to make it.

Janet leaned across and tapped Claire on the knee and said: “Go on with your story.”

“I forget what I was saying,” she said. “What was I saying?”

Nobody stirred.

“I know I was saying something important,” she said.

“It was about Joshua,” said Jacqueline.

Marcia glared across the room.

“I can’t for the life of me recall what it was,” said Claire.

She smiled another one of her quick zipper smiles, like her brain was refusing to accept the bold-faced evidence, and took a deep breath and jumped right in. Soon she was traveling on that highballing Joshua train again — he was at the cusp of something so entirely new, she said, that the world would never quite know what it missed, he was bringing machines to a place where they would do good things for man and mankind, and someday these machines would talk to each other just like people, even our wars would be fought through machines, it might be impossible to understand, but believe me, she said, it was the direction the world was going.

Marcia stood up again and stretched near the doorway. Her second yawn was not as bad as the first, but then she said: “Has anyone got the timetable for the ferry?”

Claire stopped cold.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt you. Sorry. I just don’t want to get caught up in any rush hour,” said Marcia.

“It’s lunchtime.”

“I know, but it gets very busy sometimes.”

“Oh, it does, yes,” piped Janet.

“Sometimes you have to wait in line for hours.”

“Hours.”

“Even on Wednesdays.”

“We could order something in,” said Claire. “There’s a new Chinese place on Lexington.”

“Really, no. Thank you.”

I could see the red rising to Claire’s cheeks. She tried to smile again, a neutral smile, and I thought of that old yea-saying line A little bit of poison helped her along , from an old song my mother had taught me as a child.

Claire was pulling at her dress, straightening it, making sure it wasn’t puckered. Then she picked the photo of her Joshua off the window ledge, and got to her feet.

“Well, I can’t thank you enough for coming,” she said. “It’s been I don’t know how long since someone has been in this room.”

Her smile could’ve broken glass.

Marcia smiled a hammer blow right back. Jacqueline wiped her brow like she’d just been through the longest ordeal. The room filled with hems and haws and pauses and coughs, but Claire still clutched the photo frame right into her dress. Everyone began saying what a wonderful morning it was, and thank you so much for the hospitality, and wasn’t Joshua such a brave guy, and yes we’ll meet as soon as we can, and wasn’t it a wonder that he was so smart, and Lord give me the address of the bakery that made the doughnuts, and whatever other specimen of word-fill we could find to plug the silence around us.

“Don’t forget your umbrella, Janet.”

“I was born with my umbrella in hand.”

“It won’t rain, will it?”

“Impossible to get a cab when it rains.”

In the corridor Marcia adjusted her lipstick in the mirror and hung her handbag on her wrist.

“Next time I’m here, remind me to bring a tent.”

“A what?”

“I’ll camp right here.”

“Me too,” said Janet. “It’s really a glorious apartment, Claire.”

“A penthouse,” said Marcia.

All sorts of lies were flying through the air, going back and forth, colliding with each other, and even Marcia was afraid to be the first to turn the handle of the door. She stood by the hat stand with the ball-and-claw feet. Her shoulder touched against it. The feet tottered and the handles swayed.

“I’ll call you first thing next week.”

“That would be wonderful,” said Claire.

“We’ll begin again in my house.”

“Great idea — I can’t wait.”

“We’ll put out yellow balloons,” said Janet. “Remember those?”

“Did we have yellow balloons?”

“In the trees.”

“I can’t recall,” said Marcia. “My mind’s shot.” Then she leaned across and whispered something in Janet’s ear and they both giggled.

We could hear the clack outside from the elevator going up and down.

“Delicate question?” said Marcia. She had a guilty look on her face. She touched Claire’s forearm.

“Please, please.”

“Should we tip the elevator boy?”

“Oh, no, of course not.”

I took a quick last look in the hallway mirror, and checked the clasp of my handbag, when all of a sudden Claire tugged my elbow and brought me down the corridor a little ways.

“Would you like some extra bagels, Gloria?” she said for all to hear.