Saïd Sayrafiezadeh - New American Stories

“All right,” Corinne whispered to Otto. “Now do you see?”

—

“You’re right, as always,” Otto said, in the taxi later, “they’re no worse than anyone else’s. They’re all awful. I really don’t see the point in it. Just think! Garden garden garden garden garden, two happy people, and it could have gone on forever! They knew, they’d been told, but they ate it anyway, and from there on out, family ! Shame, fear, jobs, mortality, envy, murder…”

“Well,” William said brightly, “and sex.”

“There’s that,” Otto conceded.

“In fact, you could look at both family and mortality simply as by-products of sexual reproduction.”

“I don’t really see the point of sexual reproduction, either,” Otto said. “ I wouldn’t stoop to it.”

“Actually, that’s very interesting, you know; they think that the purpose of sexual reproduction is to purge the genome of harmful mutations. Of course, they also seem to think it isn’t working.”

“Then why not scrap it?” Otto said. “Why not let us divide again, like our dignified and immortal forebear, the amoeba.”

William frowned. “I’m not really sure that—”

“Joke,” Otto said.

“Oh, yes. Well, but I suppose sexual reproduction is fairly entrenched by now — people aren’t going to give it up without a struggle. And besides, family confers certain advantages as a social unit, doesn’t it.”

“No. What advantages?”

“Oh, rudimentary education. Protection.”

“ ‘Education’! Ha! ‘Protection’! Ha!”

“Besides,” William said. “It’s broadening. You meet people in your family you’d never happen to run into otherwise. And anyhow, obviously the desire for children is hardwired.”

“ ‘Hardwired.’ You know, that’s a term I’ve really come to loathe! It explains nothing, it justifies anything; you might as well say, ‘Humans have children because the Great Moth in the Sky wants them to.’ Or, ‘Humans have children because humans have children.’ ‘Hardwired,’ please! It’s lazy, it’s specious, it’s perfunctory, and it’s utterly without depth.”

“Why does it have to have depth?” William said. “It refers to depth. It’s good, clean science.”

“It’s not science at all, it’s a cliché. It’s a redundancy.”

“Otto, why do you always scoff at me when I raise a scientific point?”

“I don’t! I don’t scoff at you. I certainly don’t mean to. It’s just that this particular phrase, used in this particular way, isn’t very interesting. I mean, you’re telling me that something is biologically inherent in human experience, but you’re not telling me anything about human experience.”

“I wasn’t intending to,” William said. “I wasn’t trying to. If you want to talk about human experience, then let’s talk about it.”

“All right,” Otto said. It was painful, of course, to see William irritated, but almost a relief to know that it could actually happen. “Let’s, then. By all means.”

“So?”

“Well?”

“Any particular issues?” William said. “Any questions?”

Any! Billions. But that was always just the problem: how to disentangle one; how to pluck it up and clothe it in presentable words? Otto stared, concentrating. Questions were roiling in the pit of his mind like serpents, now a head rising up from the seething mass, now a rattling tail…He closed his eyes. If only he could get his brain to relax…Relax, relax…Relax, relax, relax…“Oh, you know, William — is there anything at home to eat? Believe it or not, I’m starving again.”

—

There was absolutely no reason to fear that Portia would have anything other than an adequately happy, adequately fruitful life. No reason at all. Oh, how prudent of Sharon not to have come yesterday. Though in any case, she had been as present to the rest of them as if she had been sitting on the sofa. And the rest of them had probably been as present to her as she had been to them.

When one contemplated Portia, when one contemplated Sharon, when one contemplated one’s own apparently pointless, utterly trivial being, the questions hung all around one, as urgent as knives at the throat. But the instant one tried to grasp one of them and turn it to one’s own purpose and pierce through the murk, it became as blunt and useless as a piece of cardboard.

All one could dredge up were platitudes: one comes into the world alone, snore snore; one, snore snore, departs the world alone…

What would William have to say? Well, it was a wonderful thing to live with an inquiring and mentally active person; no one could quarrel with that. William was immaculate in his intentions, unflagging in his efforts. But what drove one simply insane was the vagueness. Or, really, the banality. Not that it was William’s job to explicate the foggy assumptions of one’s culture, but one’s own ineptitude was galling enough; one hardly needed to consult a vacuity expert!

And how could one think at all, or even just casually ruminate, with William practicing, as he had been doing since they’d awakened. Otto had forgotten what a strain it all was — even without any exasperating social nonsense — those few days preceding the concert; you couldn’t think, you couldn’t concentrate on the newspaper. You couldn’t even really hear the phone, which seemed to be ringing now—

Nor could you make any sense of what the person on the other end of it might be saying. “What?” Otto shouted into it. “You what?”

Could he —the phone cackled into the lush sheaves of William’s arpeggios— bribery, sordid out—

“William!” Otto yelled. “Excuse me? Could I what?”

The phone cackled some more. “Excuse me,” Otto said. “William!”

The violin went quiet. “Excuse me?” Otto said again into the phone, which was continuing to emit gibberish. “Sort what out? Took her where from the library?”

“I’m trying to explain, sir,” the phone said. “I’m calling from the hospital.”

“She was taken from the library by force ?”

“Unfortunately, sir, as I’ve tried to explain, she was understood to be homeless.”

“And so she was taken away? By force? That could be construed as kidnapping, you know.”

“I’m only reporting what the records indicate, sir. The records do not indicate that your sister was kidnapped.”

“I don’t understand. Is it a crime to be homeless?”

“Apparently your sister did not claim to be homeless. Apparently your sister claimed to rent an apartment. Is this not the case? Is your sister in fact homeless?”

“My sister is not homeless! My sister rents an apartment! Is that a crime? What does this have to do with why my sister was taken away, by force, from the library?”

“Sir, I’m calling from the hospital.”

“I’m a taxpayer!” Otto shouted. William was standing in the doorway, violin in one hand, bow in the other, watching gravely. “I’m a lawyer! Why is information being withheld from me?”

“Information is not being withheld from you, sir, please! I understand that you are experiencing concern, and I’m trying to explain this situation in a way that you will understand what has occurred. It is a policy that homeless people tend to congregate in the library, using the restrooms, and some of these people may be removed, if, for example, these people exhibit behaviors that are perceived to present a potential danger.”

“Are you reading this from something? Is it a crime to use a public bathroom ?”

“When people who do not appear to have homes to go to, appear to be confused and disoriented—”