Tom Rachman - The Rise & Fall of Great Powers

“I only played the ukulele.”

She sat, right there on the floor, sudden sadness deflating her. “Humphrey?” she said. “Humphrey Ostropoler?”

“Yes, my friend?”

“I just like saying your name.”

“You can say it.”

“I know things about birds.”

“Tell me.”

“Birds used to be dinosaurs.”

“I cannot believe. It is lie.”

“It’s true. They’re the only dinosaurs left. Or, they came from dinosaurs or something. Do you know how birds fly?”

“Flapping of wings.”

“I mean how they can fly and we can’t.”

“Also flapping of wings.”

“They have hollow bones, so it makes them light. And there’s this thing called lift, which I’ve heard about a million times. Let me remember. Okay, so, lift …” She drummed her lower lip. “Okay, so what happens is birds have curved wings. And the wind, when it goes past, blows faster over the top bit. Wait, I’m getting this wrong. Okay, what happens is the air pushes up on the bottom of the wing and makes them go up.”

Chin in hand, he nodded in fascination. “Please, continue.”

She found herself feigning expertise, trying to field his queries, Humphrey addressing her as if she were the absolute authority on matters avian.

“You open up whole new world for me,” he proclaimed, leading her to the backyard, where he stood, hands in the pockets of his shorts, gazing in wonderment at the sky. “Up there is such life going on! I never think of this before.”

A distant jet appeared, gliding slowly across the blue. Passengers were looking out through the portholes, down at this city, at the roof of this house, unaware of these two staring back. The people up there were thinking of destinations, of faces awaiting them at the airport, of faces they’d just left, just as she had on so many flights, before turning from her window to Paul, his face in a bird book.

Instead of a bird, a raindrop landed, then more, plump ones splatting against her face. Humphrey went back inside, calling her to follow. She resisted, tongue out to catch drops. When she joined him, her hair dripped a trail through the house. Humphrey had a towel ready for her. “What is your address?” he asked.

“My old one? It was Gupta Mansions in Sukhumvit.”

He took her hand, fetched her book bag from the tent, walked her to the front door. “Come,” he said. “Time to go.”

EMERSON OPENED the living-room window to shout at Tooly, who sat on the fire escape. “Put that cigarette out when I’m talking to you,” he said. “The smoke is blowing inside, you dick.”

“You’re the one who opened the window.”

“Excuse me, do you pay rent here? Put that out and get inside.”

She was not in the habit of obeying Emerson, so finished at her leisure, and even contemplated climbing down the fire escape to the sidewalk, going back into the building, and entering the apartment by the front door, just to defy his command. But it was freezing, so she climbed in.

Presumably, his complaint pertained to a recycling infraction. Or did he have a suspect in the plunder of his peach Snapple? She stood before him, struggling to take seriously the remonstrations of a shirtless man in flip-flops. Until she grasped the subject.

“Wait, wait, wait. What?” she said, to delay matters. “What are you even talking about?”

But she knew. This had come from Noeline.

“You never grew up in this apartment at all,” he said. “You’re trying to rip off Duncan. He’s been talking about getting his parents to invest in your little scam. You’re a fraud, and I’m telling him. You’re lucky I don’t call the cops.”

“This is crazy. Can I talk to Noeline, please?”

“So you admit it!”

“I didn’t admit anything. I’d just like to speak with her.”

“Are you telling Duncan,” he demanded, “or am I?”

Tooly had assumed that indiscretions on both sides during that lunch had canceled each other out. If anything, it was Noeline who’d made the most damning statements.

“Can you ask her to come in here, please?” Tooly said. “I’d like to talk to her alone.”

He marched off. After a minute, Noeline entered the kitchen, avoiding Tooly’s gaze.

“Your boyfriend just threatened to call the cops on me.”

“You lied to Duncan, to Xavi, to me. You’ve been living here for weeks without paying, eating their food. You falsely represented yourself.”

“Are you serious? What if I told him a few of your comments? How you wrote half his thesis?”

“I find it sick that you’re trying to harm my relationship with Emerson. I actually love him, an emotion you don’t have, according to what you told me. If you’re suggesting — if you’re even considering claiming — that I helped him inappropriately, I will aggressively deny that. If I said anything that was exaggerated — and I don’t recall doing so — it’s because my relationship was in a difficult position, and I was upset. If you want to take advantage of that, then you’re way more sick than I thought.”

“I’m not telling anyone what you said, Noeline. I’m not a snitch. I’m just saying that I thought we were—”

“A snitch? What is this, jailhouse lingo? The stuff you told me wasn’t blurted out in a state of distress. You were totally calm — just another day for you. You don’t have an ounce of feeling for any of us. Willing to mess with Duncan’s family for some scam you’ve got going with this older boyfriend of yours.”

Tooly shook her head. These accusations were an offense to her self-perception, and she retaliated with an offense of her own: “Just — go screw yourself, okay?”

“Duncan is an ‘opportunity’ for you, right? This hobby of slithering into people’s homes for ‘opportunities’? It’s parasitic, okay? We’re telling Duncan if you don’t.”

“What I said isn’t what you’re making it out to be. I really, really like Duncan. I’m friends with Xavi and, I thought, friends with you. I don’t know Emerson that well, but if you think he’s great now, maybe there’s more to him.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, that I ‘think he’s great now ’? See, this is why you need to leave.”

“I was never going to tell anyone what you said.”

“What, exactly, did I supposedly say?”

“You remember what. But who cares?”

“Just leave. You know? Just say goodbye to Duncan, if you have to, then leave. You’re here to mess with people. For some of us, this is our actual life.”

Emerson appeared again. “Is she telling Duncan, or do I get to?”

“Since when are you concerned with Duncan’s welfare?”

“Hey,” he shot back, “I don’t appreciate some high-school dropout like you questioning my intelligence behind my back.”

Tooly looked at Noeline, who looked away.

“This is a moral issue,” he continued. “Possibly even criminal.”

“What are you talking about? What crime?”

“Entry by false trespassing,” he improvised, making his way out. “I’ll be raising this with Duncan in the next twenty-four hours unless you do. You’d better start thinking up excuses.”

Tooly looked at Noeline, and her anger drained away. “You’re one of the most interesting people I’ve met in this city. One of the most interesting in years. I don’t know what I did to make you mad. And I’m not trying to change your opinion. I’m just — I don’t know — just so sorry this is happening.”

Blushing, Noeline rushed into the bathroom, slammed the door after herself, and turned on the faucet, which ran for several minutes.

Tooly looked down the corridor toward the bedroom where Duncan was studying. But she found herself knocking on Xavi’s door. “Emerson has gone nuts,” she said. “I need your help.”