Sam Lipsyte - The Subject Steve

We pulled into Port Authority at dusk. The home grime gladdened me. I led Lem through the throng.

"How about a peep show?"

"It's all kiddie stuff now," I said.

"Kiddie porn?"

"Kind of."

I shoved him onto a downtown train.

"Gibbering, jostling humanity," said Lem.

"Sit the fuck down," I said.

A man stood near us gripping the pole. He dropped his pants, groaned down into a squat.

"I have no place to shit tonight," he said. "Can you help me find a place to shit tonight?"

He started to pass a hat around.

"Have you ever really done it?" Lem asked the man.

"Done what?"

"Taken a dump on the train."

"That's disgusting," said the man.

It looked like they were doing some work on my old building. There were ladders outside, high bins full of stones. The neighborhood had been crumbling for some time. Every so often a gargoyle would topple off an edifice, crush a schoolgirl. It was good homegrown horror but people still preferred the imported kind. My old neighbor, an architect, wore a hard hat everywhere outside. He called us all cornice-bait.

Lem and I walked into the lobby and waited for the elevator.

"You're not going to believe this," said Lem, "but I've never been on one of these before."

"An elevator?"

"People fuck in them, right?"

"Constantly."

We got in with an old lady I used to bathe.

"Hilda," I said.

"Hilda's dead," said the woman. "I'm Hilda's mother."

My apartment door had been painted over. Someone was doing slap bass scales inside. I knocked and a woman in platinum-rimmed safety glasses answered the door. She had a jar of ointment with her. The label said Rad Balm. She daubed some of it on her lips.

"What?" she said.

"I live here," I said.

"Are you a time traveler?"

"I don't understand."

"Maybe you used to live here."

"That's very clever," I said. "How'd you get in?"

"Super gave me the key."

The Rad Balm girl disappeared, came back with a cardboard box. There was my Jews of Jazz calendar sticking out, Cudahy's track jacket, some spice vials bound in rubber band.

"Yours?"

"Yes."

"I had no real reason to save it. No law compelled me. And how many months does Benny Goodman get anyway?"

"Somebody gave me that calendar."

"Somebody gave me chlamydia. Stop making excuses. You'll be better off."

"I'd be better off if I hadn't been illegally evicted from my home."

"That I can't help you with. Just the emotional stuff."

"Thanks," I said. "See you around."

"Sure."

"You play beautifully," said Lem.

"It's not me," said the Rad Balm girl. "It's software for the fish."

"Fish?" said Lem.

"That's musician talk."

She shut the door.

We got some hot dogs and papaya juice, sat with the pigeons in a park. The park was mostly concrete. Stone benches, stone fountains, a brick chute for the kids. I threw a piece of wiener to the birds. They didn't mob it the way I'd hoped. A few made some listless pecks. It was a slowdown.

"Get hungry later," said Lem, "we can always eat one of those guys."

"Full of disease."

"Glass houses, pal."

Traffic was jammed up at the intersection. Stop-and-go all the way to the bridge. Families on the other side of the river were probably boiling their dinner pouches, cursing the tardiness of their pouch-winners. Surly sons punched down the channel changer for some late-afternoon bikini tit before Mom came home. Disaffected daughters carved Wiccan proverbs into their arms. Cats dozed on quilts, recovering traumatic memories in dream. Most cats were once mishandled kittens. This was all waiting for the men and women in the cars and they leaned on their horns as though they did not know they were already home.

I decided to die. I figured I owed it to myself, maybe to future personal extinction victims everywhere. Cleaved, sawed, prised open, my corpse would yield the secret to their salvation. Maybe it was fair penance for the damage I'd done.

Tough cookies.

"Come on," I said to Lem. "I've got to make a call."

We took a train back up to Port Authority. We had an hour to kill before the next bus, found a lone porn shop tucked off near a parking lot. New laws had reconfigured the stock. Teen comedy up near the register, teen anal in back. Somehow it reminded me of a medieval synagogue I'd once visited in Spain.

Tenakill was a leafy ville out past the city limits. The plaque at the bus stand explained the name was Dutch but that the Dutch had left before explaining what it meant.

Maryse was out by the curb in what must have been the latest in suburban transport. You could see where the gun mounts had gone, how you might secure the wounded. The color was a cousin to teal. We climbed in back and Maryse nodded, peeled out toward the hills. The vehicle shook with Bach.

"You used to call this math rock," I said.

"I appreciate it now," she said. "I'm a much more evolved appreciator."

We passed a chain video store and a shop selling "locally scented" candles. The Latte Da, Tenakill's most stylish cafe, advertised an open mike sonnet slam to benefit victims of the victim culture.

"By the way," I said, "this is Lem."

"Okay, Lem," said Maryse.

"Thanks for picking us up," I said.

"I take it this isn't just a friendly visit."

"I think we're being very friendly," I said.

"Look," said Lem, pointed out the window. "It's a white person."

"Kid's a comedy gem," said Maryse.

Business news burbled out of the wall. William was asleep on modular suede. His laptop was sliding off his lap. His slipper had fallen to the carpet. There were bruises on his toes.

"Oh," said William, waking. "Hey. Hi. Wow. Look at you. Hey. Hi. Come sit down."

"He called before," said Maryse. "I didn't want to interrupt you."

"Trading in my sleep," said William. "Nap trader."

"He hasn't told me why he's here," said Maryse. "He said he wanted to speak to the both of us. Coffee?"

"Coffee," said William. "Terrific. Coffee?"

"I'm in," said Lem.

"He's in. Terrific."

William looked down at his swollen toes.

"Thought we had a creep," he said. "A prowler. I kicked the credenza."

We sat quietly for a while. William seemed to be conducting vital transactions on his laptop. I peered over, watched him switch his desktop photo from a seascape to an apple basket. Lem was scoping the stock quotes on the wall screen. He had this look on his face, some annihilating wonderment.

"Has anyone ever explained this stuff to you?" I said.

"What, why the biotechs are diving?"

Maryse came back with a tray full of cappuccinos.

"Cinnamon?" she said. "Nutmeg? I recommend cardamom."

"She's never wrong about this shit," said William. "Am I right?"

"We used to drink instant," I said.

"Is that true, honey?"

"God," said Maryse. "I can hardly remember. Could be. It's the kind of life we were leading."

"So," said William, "what brings you to Tenakill? Not that we're not thrilled to see you. Especially, you know, considering. I mean you're really bearing up, aren't you? I mean, under the weight. The weight of your illness. Is illness okay?"

"I'm not," I said.

"Not what?"

"I'm not really bearing up. I'm gearing down. Do you get what I mean? That lap you run after the race is over?"

"The victory lap?"

"Not that one," I said.

"The cool-down," said Maryse.

"That's it," I said. "The cool-down. My race is run. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Wow," said William. "Terrific. I mean, not terrific. I mean the opposite of terrific. Do you need money? I have money."

"I know you have money."

"It's well known, I guess," said William. "My frugality is less documented. But I can do something for you. Some cash. A check. We'll call it a loan but only to call it something. Look, you're my friend. A friend is forever. Or until there's a problem with the friendship. But this isn't about friendship anyway. I can see that. Where are my glasses?"