Here I Am by Jonathan Safran Foer(75)
“…”
“That isn’t fair.”
“…”
“Perhaps. But it’s also what people say when something isn’t fair.”
“…”
“Of course it is.”
“…”
“So this is just the most hysterical coincidence of timing since—”
“…”
“Ah.”
“…”
“So please tell me what it’s about. If not balance, then—?”
“…”
“Great.”
“…”
“Great.”
“…”
“The way I do it, yes.”
“…”
“Both.”
“What happened?” Max asked.
“Nothing,” Jacob said. And then, to Julia: “Max asked me what happened.”
“…”
“But you’re upset,” Max said.
“Life is upsetting,” Irv said. “Like blood is wet.”
“Scabs,” Max pointed out.
Jacob turned the volume yet louder, to the point of aggression. He was fast until his feet were held fast in concrete. The earth was held up by Atlas, and the earth held Atlas up on his way to elsewhere. After she left, no one was left.
“…”
“There is no of course anymore.”
“…”
“Are you coming home?”
“…”
“I don’t understand, Julia. I really don’t.”
“…”
“But you told me, in bed the other night, that it was something you—”
“…”
“You just said you didn’t stop it. I can’t believe this. I can’t believe you.”
“Maybe you guys should get a room?” Irv said to Jacob in a whisper.
“…”
“Now I get it. Why you didn’t call last night.”
“…”
“Does Micronesia even have a bomb?”
“…”
Jacob hung up.
They were in battle against each other, and they had served together in battle.
“Jesus,” Irv said. “What the hell was that about?”
“That was about—”
“Dad?”
For only long enough to be able to dismiss it, Jacob considered telling his father and son everything. That would feel good, but at the price of his goodness.
“That. That was about a whole bunch of logistical crap, having to do with when they’re coming home later, and where the Israelis will sleep, and what they’ll eat, and so on.”
Of course Irv didn’t believe him. And of course Max didn’t, either. But Jacob almost believed himself.
He cleaved to the life from which he cleaved himself.
THE L-WORD
Billie was preparing her remarks for the General Assembly—after the unproductive caucus of the Pacific Islands Forum, the Micronesian delegation reconvened in Mark’s room and argued well past their scheduled curfew, narrowly voting to hand the bomb over to whatever competent and trustworthy third party could safely disarm it and dispose of the nuclear material—when her phone sang the first two words of Adele’s “Someone Like You,” just enough to unleash a Charybdis of feelings without revealing to others that she didn’t find the song totally cheesy. It was the special tone for Sam’s texts; she had been holding her phone in her hand since the night before, wanting and not wanting to hear I heard.
are you working on your speech?
what makes you think i want to talk to you?
that you just wrote that someone should invent an emoji for the word someone should invent for how hurt i am
i’m sorry
actually, it’s guernica …
where’d you go?
had to look up guernica you could have just asked nobody is like you, and you are never like anybody else
did you get that off the side of a tampon box?
???
try harder
emet hi hasheker hatov beyoter what truth? and what lie?
really, really like…
that’s the lie
and the truth?
love
did you just say the hardest thing?
no, that was the easiest why were you so mean to me?
can i tell you something?
ok
when i was eight, my left hand got smashed in the hinge of a heavy iron door three of my fingers were severed and had to be reattached the nails are all mangled when my hand stops growing i’m going to have fake nails attached anyway, i keep my hand in my pocket a lot and when i’m sitting i’ll slide it under my thigh i know
a few times i’ve wanted to touch your face
really?
many, many times
then why didn’t you?
my hand
you were afraid of me seeing it?
yes
and also of me seeing it you could have used your other hand i want to touch you with that hand that’s the point
that’s the hand i want you to touch me with really?
…
where’d you go?