the top of that Ferris wheel. You’ll be looking down at the landscape below. Little tiny people like ants. You’ll be alone but not lonely. You’ll realize how powerful you are, and that you never knew it .”
This was different. This was new. I leaned forward, in spite of myself.
“The notion of reinvention will seize you. You will excavate some larval form of yourself, some sixty-year cicada. Some ugly, horny bug! Do you hear me?”
Why couldn’t I give him one last chance, in this addled, unguarded state? To impress me, enlighten me? I’d been waiting for that, expecting it, since I met him.
“You’ll venture forth with wet wings and no baggage. These ideas will destroy your sleep, but you won’t care! The world finally knows who you are, you’re destroyed—rebirth is all you will have left! Be GRATEFUL!” He shook his head, and I knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that in his mind he was stepping down from the pulpit, comingdown to the chancel step. “Be grateful,” he whispered. “That’s what they say. Be grateful .”
I heard the back door open into the kitchen, but I didn’t turn around. I sent a silent prayer that May wouldn’t call out. I wanted the spell unbroken.
“The days will speed up. You’re in an ecstasy of possibility. You will have unspeakable choices before you—you’ve been expecting enlightenment—you’ve been bursting with hubris ! But no—”
May was behind me now. She touched my shoulder and I covered her hand, pressing her quiet.
“—the brightness begins to fade. The grimy details are reappearing. The Ferris wheel … lowers.” I wanted to laugh but he was so utterly serious, holding us with a fierce whisper. “Everything is rotten. Autumn that year is rainy and the leaves are knocked off the trees before their time and the light is never properly golden and then one day you wake up and you shit blood .”
“Oh, Daddy,” May said, her voice catching.
It was done, over. That final, minor performance, capped by that last, grotesque, and ultimately false detail—because, while the cancer had spread to his bones and, clearly, to his brain, I knew it wasn’t in his bowel. Although I was glad beyond measure he had no idea I knew such things.
He was shaking his head, slow and mournful, ignoring us. Lately he’d refused both haircuts and shaves. His eyebrows were gray thickets. I thought of bearded Moses out on some crag, looking down on the Promised Land, forbidden to enter. Perhaps I’d say this to May. Perhaps not. We were both still, waiting for a coda, which made no sense because it seemed like he’d said his piece.
But as we sat in the stretching silence I felt my senses open. Someone had dropped dinner by earlier; I smelled roast chicken. Beside us, the fire crackled. The lamplight in the corners of the room reflected off the thick old woodwork, the creamy walls; Percy was asleep on the sofa; the Christmas tree in the corner glowed. May and I had decorated it a few days before—she insisted. She’d come around now to sit on the floor next to my chair, leaning, just barely, on my leg, and I felt a rising giddiness, a happiness so distilled it was almost painful, whichsurely could not be right, could it, with this old man disintegrating in front of me?
“Charlie,” he said, “do you believe life is infinite?”
“Yes,” I said. “Absolutely. Yes.” Oh the abundance.
And he pounced. “Charles, you of all people. Do you think I’m waiting with bated breath for the many mansions? For the streets of gold?”
“No,” I said, willing to believe for another moment that I would like what was coming next. “Not literally.”
“Not literally ,” he minced. “Oh, but we do believe life goes on. And on and on. That we never stop learning, or some other highfalutin’ version of immortality. Like the gods of Olympus! Or perhaps we come back ! As a king the next time! A movie star! Sheer egotism! That is what I’ve realized. Terror at the
This was different. This was new. I leaned forward, in spite of myself.
“The notion of reinvention will seize you. You will excavate some larval form of yourself, some sixty-year cicada. Some ugly, horny bug! Do you hear me?”
Why couldn’t I give him one last chance, in this addled, unguarded state? To impress me, enlighten me? I’d been waiting for that, expecting it, since I met him.
“You’ll venture forth with wet wings and no baggage. These ideas will destroy your sleep, but you won’t care! The world finally knows who you are, you’re destroyed—rebirth is all you will have left! Be GRATEFUL!” He shook his head, and I knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that in his mind he was stepping down from the pulpit, comingdown to the chancel step. “Be grateful,” he whispered. “That’s what they say. Be grateful .”
I heard the back door open into the kitchen, but I didn’t turn around. I sent a silent prayer that May wouldn’t call out. I wanted the spell unbroken.
“The days will speed up. You’re in an ecstasy of possibility. You will have unspeakable choices before you—you’ve been expecting enlightenment—you’ve been bursting with hubris ! But no—”
May was behind me now. She touched my shoulder and I covered her hand, pressing her quiet.
“—the brightness begins to fade. The grimy details are reappearing. The Ferris wheel … lowers.” I wanted to laugh but he was so utterly serious, holding us with a fierce whisper. “Everything is rotten. Autumn that year is rainy and the leaves are knocked off the trees before their time and the light is never properly golden and then one day you wake up and you shit blood .”
“Oh, Daddy,” May said, her voice catching.
It was done, over. That final, minor performance, capped by that last, grotesque, and ultimately false detail—because, while the cancer had spread to his bones and, clearly, to his brain, I knew it wasn’t in his bowel. Although I was glad beyond measure he had no idea I knew such things.
He was shaking his head, slow and mournful, ignoring us. Lately he’d refused both haircuts and shaves. His eyebrows were gray thickets. I thought of bearded Moses out on some crag, looking down on the Promised Land, forbidden to enter. Perhaps I’d say this to May. Perhaps not. We were both still, waiting for a coda, which made no sense because it seemed like he’d said his piece.
But as we sat in the stretching silence I felt my senses open. Someone had dropped dinner by earlier; I smelled roast chicken. Beside us, the fire crackled. The lamplight in the corners of the room reflected off the thick old woodwork, the creamy walls; Percy was asleep on the sofa; the Christmas tree in the corner glowed. May and I had decorated it a few days before—she insisted. She’d come around now to sit on the floor next to my chair, leaning, just barely, on my leg, and I felt a rising giddiness, a happiness so distilled it was almost painful, whichsurely could not be right, could it, with this old man disintegrating in front of me?
“Charlie,” he said, “do you believe life is infinite?”
“Yes,” I said. “Absolutely. Yes.” Oh the abundance.
And he pounced. “Charles, you of all people. Do you think I’m waiting with bated breath for the many mansions? For the streets of gold?”
“No,” I said, willing to believe for another moment that I would like what was coming next. “Not literally.”
“Not literally ,” he minced. “Oh, but we do believe life goes on. And on and on. That we never stop learning, or some other highfalutin’ version of immortality. Like the gods of Olympus! Or perhaps we come back ! As a king the next time! A movie star! Sheer egotism! That is what I’ve realized. Terror at the
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