On Beauty by Zadie Smith

linking arms with his daughter as they began to walk the pretty avenue. ‘If I had my way, we’d do this every night. I don’t think enough people listen to Mozart. As we speak his legacy is dying. And if we don’t listen to him, what will happen to him?’
    â€˜Save it, Howie.’
    But Howard continued. ‘Poor bastard needs all the support he can get, as far as I’m concerned. One of the great unappreciated composers of the last millennium . . .’
    â€˜Jerome, ignore him, honey. Levi’ll like it – we’ll all like it. We’re not animals. We can sit for half an hour like respectable folk.’
    â€˜More like an hour, Mom,’ said Jerome.
    â€˜ Who likes it? Me?’ asked Levi urgently. The mention of his own name was never an occasion for irony or humour for Levi, and, like his own avid lawyer, he took a personal interest in every mention or misuse of it. ‘I don’t even know who he is! Mozart. He’s got a wig, right? Classical,’ he said with finality, having satisfied himself that he had diagnosed the correct disease.
    â€˜That’s right,’ agreed Howard. ‘Wore a wig. Classical. They made a film about him.’
    â€˜I’ve seen that. That film eats my ass  . . .’
    â€˜Quite.’
    Kiki began to giggle. Now Howard let go of Zora and held his wife instead, gripping her from behind. His arms could not go entirely around her, but still they walked in this manner down the small hill towards the gates of the park. This was one of the little ways in which he said sorry. They were meant to add up each day.
    â€˜Man, look at this line,’ said Jerome glumly, for he had wanted the evening to be perfect. ‘We should have left earlier.’
    Kiki rearranged her purple silk wrap around her shoulders. ‘Oh, it’s not that long, baby. And at least it’s not cold.’
    â€˜I could jump that fence like that ,’ said Levi, pulling at the vertical iron rods as they walked beside them. ‘You wait in line, you’re a fool, seriously. A brother don’t need a gate – he jumps the fence. That’s street.’
    â€˜Again, please?’ said Howard.
    â€˜Street, street,’ bellowed Zora. ‘It’s like, “being street”, knowing the street – in Levi’s sad little world if you’re a Negro you have some kind of mysterious holy communion with sidewalks and corners.’
    â€˜Aw, man, shut up . You don’t know what the street looks like. You ain’t never been there.’
    â€˜What’s this?’ said Zora, pointing to the ground. ‘Marshmallow?’
    â€˜ Please . This ain’t America. You think this is America? This is toy-town . I was born in this country – trust me. You go into Roxbury, you go into the Bronx, you see America. That’s street .’
    â€˜Levi, you don’t live in Roxbury,’ explained Zora slowly. ‘You live in Wellington. You go to Arundel . You’ve got your name ironed into your underwear.’
    â€˜I wonder if I’m street . . .’ mused Howard. ‘I’m still healthy, got hair, testicles, eyes, etcetera. Got great testicles. It’s true I’m above subnormal intelligence – but then again I am full of verve and spunk.’
    â€˜ No .’
    â€˜Dad,’ said Zora, ‘please don’t say spunk. Ever.’
    â€˜Can’t I be street?’
    â€˜ No . Why you always got to make everything be a joke?’
    â€˜I just want to be street.’
    â€˜ Mom . Tell him to stop, man.’
    â€˜I can be a brother. Check it out,’ said Howard, and proceeded to make a series of excruciating hand gestures and poses. Kiki squealed and covered her eyes.
    â€˜Mom – I’m going home, I swear to God if he does that for one more second, I swear to God . . .’
    Levi was trying desperately to get his hoodie to