Teddy Wayne - Kapitoil

Mrs. Schrub said that she was very glad to have met me after she had heard so much about me, and I tried not to smile but I couldn’t restrict myself, and I said I had heard a great amount about her as well, although of course Mr. Schrub hadn’t told me anything, but I had read about her and the multiple charitable organizations she is on the board of.

My bedroom had a wooden bookshelf of a blond color with dozens of books. Many were about finance, and I initially selected one titled Emerging Asian Markets , as that is an area I have interest in. I was prepared to start, but then I saw that the bookshelf contained a few nonfinancial books.

This was an opportunity to broaden my worldview, as I don’t typically read literature. Although it was very long, I picked the one that had the most intriguing title because its arrangement of words was illogical: The Grapes of Wrath .

I read the first few pages, and the language was simple for me to access, and the story incorporated me, and then I noticed I had been reading for three hours without stopping, which is rare for me to do with anything nonfinancial.

It was slightly after midnight. I wondered what Rebecca was doing. She had said she was doing nothing special, but maybe she was lying as well. I hoped she was home alone and not with any of the men from her party. I continued thinking about this scenario, and I couldn’t fall asleep, and I told myself to reroute my thoughts but that made me think about it more, and finally I called Rebecca’s home telephone number that she had listed in the email for her party. It rang several times, and each time it rang I was more certain that she was out with someone else, but on the fifth ring Rebecca picked up.

“Hello?” she said, and her voice sounded scratched.

I didn’t say anything. “Hello?” she said again. “David, is that you?” My chest shifted until I remembered that David was her brother.

When I still didn’t respond, she said, “Whoever the fuck wakes me up in the middle of the night should at least have the courtesy to identify yourself,” and disconnected.

I closed my cellular and exhaled.

I woke in the morning feeling fatigued, because although the bed was very soft, in fact the softest bed I had ever slept on, it was almost too soft and I never felt comfortable, in the same way that some foods are too sweet to enjoy.

When I went downstairs, Mr. and Mrs. Schrub were already eating breakfast. “We didn’t want to wake you,” Mrs. Schrub said. “Derek is up at 5:30 every morning to go for his walk, but the rest of us mortals need a little more sleep.”

They were reading their own copies of The New York Times and eating bacon and eggs, but Andre made me a flavorful vegetarian version of it with tofu and false eggs. Even though it was a substitute I believe it probably tasted superior to the authentic version. When we finished, we heard the front door open. Mrs. Schrub said it was the boys and that I should come and meet them. Mr. Schrub stayed to read an article.

I knew their names were Wilson and Jeromy, and they were putting down their luggage by the front door. A black sport utility vehicle was parked outside on the semicircular driveway.

Mr. Schrub’s sons were both tall, even taller than he is, although they were also slightly overweight, especially in their faces, as if someone had inflated them, Wilson’s more than Jeromy’s, and Jeromy’s neck had red bumps all over from shaving. Mrs. Schrub introduced me to them, and they both shook my hand and said they were glad to meet me. Then Wilson said he was starving and Mrs. Schrub told him Andre would fix them something, and we all returned to the kitchen.

Mr. Schrub and his sons said hello to each other. Jeromy ordered French toast from Andre and Wilson ordered steak with eggs. “Bloody and runny, please,” he said.

“I was thinking of taking a hike around the Audubon Center today. Who’s up for it?” Mr. Schrub asked. I waited for his sons to answer, but when they didn’t, I said I was.

“Good,” he said. “Guys? It’s a beautiful day.”

His sons were reading the newspaper now. Wilson had the National section and Jeromy had the Sports section. “I’d love to, Dad, if I could find the time,” Wilson said, and he smiled very slightly to himself while he continued reading.

“Me, too,” said Jeromy. “I’ve been getting literally raped at school.”

“Jeromy,” Mrs. Schrub said. “First of all, getting ‘literally raped’ would mean you’re actually getting raped. Second, it’s not the most polite language.”

“Sorry,” he said. “Figuratively speaking, I’ve been getting sexually harassed.”

“Then it’ll literally just be me and Karim,” Mr. Schrub said. “Or is it ‘Karim and I’?” he asked his wife, and pinched her waist. The proper grammar was in fact “Karim and I,” and in addition to “me and Karim” being incorrect, it is considered impolite to state “me and [other person]” instead of “[other person] and me,” but I remained quiet.

Irma provided me with hiking clothing and sneakers, and after I changed Mr. Schrub and I went outside to the driveway, where a dark green sport utility vehicle was already parked. Mr. Schrub drove and I sat next to him, and because we were so high off the ground in the car, it felt as if he were the pilot of a plane and I were his copilot.

The Audubon Center had multiple walking trails, and we took one that Mr. Schrub said was his preferred route. Of course I had been in Central Park many times, but there you are always seeing people and it doesn’t feel like you are truly solitary in nature. We saw very few others, and the only sounds I heard were birds and the wind on the leaves colored like fire and the branches breaking under our feet. Mr. Schrub didn’t talk frequently except to identify the names of the trees I didn’t know, such as American sycamore, and plants with original names, such as honey-bells and eastern skunk cabbage.

We arrived at an open field, and Mr. Schrub handed me a pair of binoculars he had brought. “This is one of the best sites in the country to spot hawks,” he said as he looked through his own pair. He pointed to a tree a few hundred meters away. “Look! That’s a red-shouldered. They’re rare, now.” He exhaled loudly and said, “Moronic hunters.”

It took me longer to find it, because I wasn’t acclimated to searching for birds in trees. The hawk had red and brown horizontal stripes over its chest and shoulder and black and white on its wings and tail. Mr. Schrub told me facts about the bird, e.g., it locates prey from a tree branch, then dives quickly and retrieves its target and eats it on the branch again, and facts about hawks in general, e.g., their eyes are eight times more powerful than a human’s. “Gorgeous creature, isn’t he? You have to be a robot if that doesn’t bowl you over,” he said.

Maybe this was why Mr. Schrub gave his company the logo of a hawk, which was something I had always wondered and had never read about.

Then the hawk flew off its branch and zoomed down to the field. I couldn’t track it with the binoculars because it was too fast, so I observed with my eyes. It plummeted to the ground and fluctuated its wings but without flying. “Use the binoculars again, and look at its talons,” Mr. Schrub told me.

The hawk’s talons contained a gray object. “What is that?” I asked.

“Lunch,” Mr. Schrub said. “And dinner. Squirrel.”

The hawk made noises that sounded like “kee yar,” and Mr. Schrub joked that it was trying to call my country’s name.

Through my binoculars I saw the hawk rip into the squirrel’s body with its claws and beak. “Watch him go. It’ll devour the whole thing right now,” Mr. Schrub said.