Glimmering

Still, her presence at the table never failed to unsettle Jack. He poked desultorily at his Cheerios with a spoon, pouring a thin stream of powdered milk dissolved in water into the center. He forced himself to eat, imagining Jule and Emma at their breakfast table sixty miles to the north, with the remains of whatever frugal harvest they’d taken from Emma’s garden, dried apples and cherries, blueberries and black walnuts. It was an image that usually fortified him. This morning it only made him sad, seeing Marz in the chair where Jule and Emma’s young daughter Rachel had once perched. He finished his Cheerios quickly and excused himself, setting the empty bowl in the sink. There was electricity today: he let hot water dribble from the tap into his bowl, inhaling the steam as though it were perfume.

“I’m going out to work,” he said.

At the table three heads turned.

“Will you be busy, dear?” His grandmother sipped at her ersatz coffee in its Limoges china cup. “Have you found another printer?”

“No, I haven’t found another printer.” Larry Muso’s face stared calmly up at him from the rippling surface of his cereal bowl. “I—I have to try to send some faxes. While the power’s on.”

“Of course, darling,” his grandmother said. He looked back and saw her smiling as Marz shoveled Cheerios into her mouth. “Will you be going to the city today?”

“The city? No, Grandmother—I don’t go to the city anymore. Remember?”

“Of course, dear. I thought your grandfather said he had a meeting this afternoon, that’s all.”

God, she’s drifting! Jack turned away and his heart constricted; but why shouldn’t she drift? In six months she would be one hundred years old, her wizened body still remarkably strong but how long could, or should, that last? She had been a widow for twenty-five years, she had lost one child to God knows what, drugs or suicide or murder, and two others to more ordinary circumstances. She had outlived all her friends; should she outlive the century, too?

“It’s all right, Grandmother,” he murmured, crossing the kitchen to kiss her cheek. “I’ll be in for lunch…”

In the carriage house he turned on everything—lamps, radio, television, fax, answering machine, computers, electric typewriter, stereo. Even with the volume turned down on the TV and radio, the office hummed and rustled as though he’d smashed open a wasps’ nest. He could feel the electrical currents surging through the room, and watched as dust motes circled purposefully above the compact fluorescent bulbs, insectlike. He sat at his desk.

If circumstances permit I will be happy to attend GFI’s New Year’s celebration. However, transportation from here can be difficult…

He faxed off the reply, for good measure also sent an electronic response to the address on Larry Muso’s postscript. Faster than he would have thought possible, an icon on his monitor began flashing to signal that a message had arrived.

FROM: [email protected]

Jack! So glad to hear from you! Don’t worry about transport, lodging, all will be attended to on this end. Julie Braxton-Kotani from Special Events will have a courier be in touch with you by midsummer, to arrange security clearances, etc. & I anticipate no difficulties. I am on special assignment til Sept/Oct at the earliest but VERY MUCH want to see you again! All best & warm wishes, Larry M. P.S. Mr. Tatsumi says that he enjoyed the last issue of The Gaudy Book. Please let us know when we can expect the next one.