Asymmetry

by Lisa Halliday

Then she flung up her wrists, flared her nostrils, and the Hammerklavier was sprung from its cage: a great rumbling rigorous pounding that was anything but aloof;

The effect, on Alice, was dazzling and demoralizing all at once: reverberating in her sternum, the music made her more desperate than ever to do, invent, create—to channel all her own energies into the making of something beautiful and unique to herself—but it also made her want to love. To submit to the loving of someone so deeply and well that there could be no question as to whether she were squandering her life, for what could be nobler than dedicating it to the happiness and fulfillment of another?

As soon as you are born the sand starts falling and only by demanding to be remembered do you stand a chance of it being upturned again and again. Alice

“Is this relationship a little bit heartbreaking?” The glare off the harbor hurt her eyes. “I don’t think so. Maybe around the edges.”

“Are you worried?” asked Alice. “No. But that’s because I’m at the end of my life, and you . . .”—he laughed softly, at the neatness of it—“you’re at the beginning of yours.”

Shave and a haircut, two bits.

...which introduces all the neighbor Anna episodes

“Mary-Alice?” His voice was much changed from before—higher-pitched and almost musical in its politeness. “I’ve got Anna’s granddaughter Rachel here on the line with us. Do you want to tell her what you were just telling me?”

“The Nobel Prize in Literature for 2004

Only Roth fills the bill of an American Jewish author waiting to win the Nobel.

“My back is bad, darling. This thing didn’t work.” “What thing?” “The denervation I had last week.” “Oh, I didn’t . . . What’s denervation?” He nodded. “Denervation is when they use radio frequency to destroy a nerve so that it no longer sends a pain message to the brain.

then Big Papi hit a two-run homer and in an instant she was on her feet, making a running jump onto the bed. “We did it! We won! The Red Sox won! We won we won we won we won we WON!” “You did darling. Fair and square.” “Now the party’s over!”

Ortiz fouled right, then left, plus two more fouls up and over the backstop, then hit a fair ball that dropped down in centerfield, driving Johnny Damon home. “Hoooraaaaaaaayy!” “All right, Choo. That’s it. Time for bed.”

“Whoa! Did you see that?” “What?” “A-Rod slapped him!” They watched as the ball dribbled over the foul line and Jeter sprinted home. “He was running to first and Arroyo went to tag him and A-Rod slapped the ball out of his glove!”

“Hi,” she said, knocking on her boss’s door. “Here’s that—” He slammed down the phone. “Sorry,” said Alice, “I didn’t—” “Fucking Blazer is staying with Hilly.”

Pujols took second on ball one inside. When Renteria hit it back to Foulke, Foulke threw him out at first, and the dugout emptied onto the field, where the men ran to join a celebratory huddle, leaping onto one another’s backs and into one another’s arms and punching the air and pointing gratefully to the heavens.

Selig handed Manny Ramirez the MVP trophy. A reporter asked him how it felt.

“Every man makes his own destination,” Alice said wryly, putting her phone back into her purse. “He’s right,” said Julian, pulling her toward him for a kiss.

“Ezra works hard,” said Edwin, pulling a shard of potato chip out of his daughter’s hair. “If you work hard and do well in school then maybe one day you’ll be able to afford nice shirts, too.” “And meet the president?” “And become the president,” said Eileen. “That’s right,” said Ezra. “President Wu. Madam President Wu. You’d already be better than the one we’ve got now.”

A day with with the Wu family: Ed, Eileen, Olivia, Kyle

“You gave money to the hot dog guy?” “Sure.” “How much?” He waved a fly away. “Seven hundred.” “Seven hundred dollars!” “You don’t even like hot dogs,” said Eileen.

Ezra held up his hands. “I haven’t seen him since.”

Ezra flipped backward onto the lawn,

“I’m serious,” said Ezra, still lying on his back. “My defibrillator just went off.”

In Alice’s mailbox when she got home: A jury summons.

sensuality

My otherwise fine narrator read this as "sensibilities," which is altogether wrong

“Not this piece,” he said at least twice, once to each side of the room. “This one.” But each time either his knuckles or his pointing hand had obstructed Alice’s line of vision, so that when it came time for her to turn her own piece in the officer receiving it tutted direly and said, handing it back, “This is the wrong piece.” “Oh, sorry. What should I do?” Seizing the summons again, the clerk removed a Scotch-tape dispenser from her desk, taped the pieces together and thrust them back. “Sit down.” Then, shaking her head, and already gesturing to the next person in line, she added, “Very poor.”

“Samantha Bargeman.” Alice looked up. The woman beside her yawned. “Samantha Bargeman?”

“. . . Purva Singh.” “Barry Featherman.” “Felicia Porges.” “Leonard Yates.” “Kendra Fitzpatrick.” “Mary-Alice Dodge.” Still stunned, Alice stood

“What about my father?” “Did he use drugs?” “I don’t know. I don’t think so. We didn’t live with him.” Her voice wavered. “I couldn’t say.” “I’m sorry, I—” “It’s okay.” “I didn’t mean to—” “You didn’t.” “I wasn’t—” “I know. You didn’t. It’s not—It’s not that. I’m just . . . tired. And sort of going through a difficult time.”

“I knew this would happen,” said Ezra. A little after ten, their nurse returned to say that she’d spoken with Pransky’s office and his EKG had indicated nothing out of the ordinary but they wanted to keep him overnight anyway just to be sure. Previously perfunctory, her manner had become girlish, flirty even; clutching her clipboard to her chest she fluttered her eyelashes and said, “By the way, my mother is a huge fan. She’d kill me if I didn’t tell you The Running Gag is her favorite book.”

“That’s fine.” In the cubicle across from theirs a woman produced a rosary from her purse and began working her fingers along it while the man lying beside her squirmed and moaned.

“Jesus!” said the man, laying his hands on his partner’s abdomen. “Let this pain cease and desist!” Ezra watched spellbound, eyes bright and jaw slack; he could never get enough of humanity, so long as it slept in another room. “Your mouth is open,” said Alice.

“You don’t have to make a big deal of it. Just say ‘Mouth.’ ”

The man in the Mets sweatshirt pointed at something in the Post. The woman beside him laughed. “Don’t,” she said, holding her stomach. “It hurts.” “Mouth,” said Alice.

If there were a pill that would make her a writer living in Europe and another that would keep him alive and in love with her until the day she died, which would she choose?

His chest pain, she was reassuring him, was probably just a bit of gas. But his blood pressure was up and she was glad he was staying the night anyway, so that they could keep an eye on him. Ezra beamed. “Mary-Alice! Genevieve here is going to order me some chicken. Would you like something to eat?”

Ezra swallowed a pill. “Go, little Uroxatral, far and near, to all my friends I hold so dear . . .”

The nurse looked up. “Religion?” she repeated. “No religion,” said Ezra. “Atheist.” The nurse studied him for a moment before turning to Alice. “Is he serious?” Alice nodded. “I think so.” Turning back to Ezra: “Are you sure?” Ezra flexed his toes under the covers. “Yep.”

“Why do they ask that?” “Well, if you say you’re Catholic and it looks like you’re getting close to the end, they send a priest around. If you’re Jewish, they send a rabbi around.” “And if you’re atheist?” “They send Christopher Hitchens around.”

“Ezra!” “What!” “I can’t . . .” “You can’t what?” She took her hands away. “This!” “I don’t follow you, darling.” “It’s just . . . so . . . hard.” “And you’re telling me this now?” “No! I wouldn’t do that. I wouldn’t leave you here. I love you.” That much was true. “You’ve taught me so much, and you’re the best friend I have. I just can’t . . . It’s so not . . . normal.” “Who wants to be normal? Not you.”

“No, I don’t mean normal. I mean . . . good for me. Right now.” She took a deep breath. “If I’m with you . . .” Ezra shook his head neatly, as if she’d been misinformed about who he was. “Sweetheart, you’re tired.” Alice nodded. “I know.” “And shaken up I think. But we’re going to be fine.” Sniffling, Alice nodded again and said, “I know. I know.”

They watched as Renteria struck out. “Mouth.”

“Alice,” he said rationally. “Don’t leave me. Don’t go. I want a partner in life. Do you know? We’re just getting started. No one could love you as much as I do. Choose this. Choose the adventure, Alice. This is the adventure. This is the misadventure. This is living.”

This sounds like a real speech. A decrepit old man and his romantic - or is it just romance-besotted? - plea.

Shave and a haircut, two bits.

The nurse came in with their hosp...

Yhus endeth Book I: Folly

MADNESS

Amar's Story

Our ideas about the war were the war. —WILL MACKIN, Kattekoppen

I’ve just finished my dissertation. In? Economics.

What does Mr. Blunt do? He’s a journalist. What sort of a journalist? A foreign correspondent. And you’ll be staying with him? Yes.

Alastair Blunt

To get me breathing, he’d slapped the soles of my feet. Alhamdulillah! cried one of the stewardesses, upon seeing that I was a boy. May he be one of seven!

As to the question of my nationality, immigration officials scratched their heads for three weeks. Both of my parents were born in Baghdad. (So was Sami, on the same day as Qusay Hussein.)

In the end, I was granted both: two passports with two colors and three languages between them, although my Arabic is barely serviceable and I didn’t learn a word of Kurdish until I was almost twenty-nine. So: two passports, two nationalities, no native soil. I