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Back The Third Brother Save as PDF
Chapters (116)
  1. Cover
  2. Also by the Author
  3. The Third Brother
  4. Copyright
  5. Dedication
  6. PART I
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. 38
  45. 39
  46. 40
  47. 41
  48. 42
  49. 43
  50. 44
  51. 45
  52. 46
  53. 47
  54. 48
  55. 49
  56. 50
  57. 51
  58. 52
  59. 53
  60. 54
  61. 55
  62. 56
  63. 57
  64. 58
  65. 59
  66. PART II
  67. 60
  68. 61
  69. 62
  70. 63
  71. 64
  72. 65
  73. 66
  74. 67
  75. 68
  76. 69
  77. 70
  78. 71
  79. 72
  80. 73
  81. 74
  82. 75
  83. 76
  84. 77
  85. 78
  86. 79
  87. 80
  88. 81
  89. 82
  90. 83
  91. 84
  92. 85
  93. 86
  94. 87
  95. 88
  96. PART III
  97. 89
  98. 90
  99. 91
  100. 92
  101. 93
  102. 94
  103. 95
  104. 96
  105. 97
  106. 98
  107. 99
  108. 100
  109. 101
  110. 102
  111. 103
  112. 104
  113. 105
  114. 106
  115. 107
  116. 108

Mike has stopped in the deli to buy a bar of chocolate, for energy, to speed up his walk. He realized how tired he was after he had to slip through a police barricade at Fourteenth Street. It looked like too many cops at Union Square, so he had walked to Seventh Avenue, where there were fewer cops. Mike figured out that they could only stop the people who listened to them. He just stuck to the edge of the crowd and walked by as the cops were shouting something about “identification necessary to go farther south at this time.” A block later he had to rest, something that never happened to him. Fewer than three hours have passed since he stood in front of St. John the Divine, but he is exhausted. For a moment Mike considers turning around and going back uptown. He could find Jane. They could go to sleep. Maybe Lyle would be fine.

* * *

The white guy next to Mike is angry. He listens, with the deli guys, to the radio behind the counter.

“They’re making chumps out of us,” he says, jabbing a finger in the air.

“Who?” asks one of the deli guys, handing Mike change for the chocolate bar.

“The Arabs. They want to fight, they should come to Yonkers and kiss my Irish ass.”

I don’t want to be a chump, either, Mike thinks, looking at the white guy. Anything not to be a chump. Anything to have dignity, to look at the world slowly and thoughtfully. The most important thing is to be thoughtful. Mike doesn’t want to talk to himself but that’s exactly what he’s doing.

“I shouldn’t have fucked Tweety.” He doesn’t notice that everyone in the place is looking at him.

“You OK, man?” The Dominican guy squeezes his arm, snaps him out of it. Mike is embarrassed. Am I really that tired? he wonders.

He remembers something stupid he said in Bangkok, about how he was the fastest white kid in the city. It wasn’t a big deal, really, but he had won the one-ten high hurdles his junior year at the city meet. Most of his friends thought this was funny and it became a joke. It was really about not being afraid of black kids. Lyle thought it was racist. All I want now, Mike thinks, is to slow down.

79

The streets are frenzied.

Mike is walking down Seventh Avenue, into the cloud where soot and ash hang in the air. The people he sees coming out are covered in yellow dust.

At Twelfth Street the intersection has becomes a triage center. There are lines of people. He overhears one woman say something his mother used to say, about there being two kinds of people in the world when they’re standing on the edge of a cliff: one afraid of falling, and the other, afraid of jumping.