The Oracle Year(11)

“I’m so sorry, Reverend,” Jonas said.

Just over ten words, and yet they changed everything.

Everything.





Chapter 5




The waiter—an elderly, aproned man—gingerly placed a large white platter down on the middle of the table. The platter contained a single enormous steak, a porterhouse, resting in a near-to-boiling, savory-smelling lake of juices.

“Very, very hot,” the waiter said in a slightly German-accented voice, making eye contact with both Will and Hamza. “You touch, you’ll be sorry.”

“Understood,” Hamza said. “I’ve been here before.”

The waiter produced a set of carving tools and went to work on the steak, slicing it into bite-size chunks and serving out portions, dragging the meat through the sizzling puddle of melted butter on the platter before depositing it on each of their plates. A little bit of creamed spinach, some mashed potatoes, topping up of wineglasses, and he withdrew, with one last finger wag toward the platter.

Will picked up his fork and speared a piece of steak. He stared at it.

“I get it,” Hamza said. “Savor the moment. From now on, your life will be forever divided between the time before you’ve had that bite and after. There is no place in this world like Peter Luger’s. This is the best steak in the world, since 1887, right out here in Williamsburg. Make it count.”

“That’s not why I’m waiting,” Will said. “I’m just . . . it’s hard to process all this. This is a ninety-dollar piece of meat. This meal will cost like three hundred bucks. That’s a month’s grocery budget for me. It all seems . . .”

Will put his fork back down on his plate. Hamza watched it go, frowning.

“No, don’t let it get cold, man.”

“You said you’ve been here before, Hamza. I haven’t. I never, in a million years, thought I ever would go to a place like this.”

“We can afford it, Will. You could buy every meal served here for a month and not even notice.”

“That’s not the point. All my instincts are off. I don’t know what to do. I’ve spent a good part of almost every day of my life since I moved to New York worrying about where my next gig would come from. If I’d get hired enough to make rent, and pay bills, and eat.”

“You don’t have to think about that anymore.”

“I know. But I don’t know what I’m supposed to think about. I wanted all this money because you’re supposed to want money. And now . . . it’s hard to believe any of this will last. It’s too big. I keep waiting for something to happen to balance it out, to fuck it up.”

Hamza pointed to Will’s fork.

“Pick that up, and eat it. Then, I’ll tell you how to deal with this.”

Will glanced down at his fork, then popped the bite into his mouth. The steak was tender, and savory, and buttery, and without a doubt one of the best things he’d ever eaten in his life.

“Well,” he said.

“Right,” Hamza said. “Now, you keep working away at your plate, and just listen to me. Back at Corman Brothers, I regularly saw completely talentless assholes, managing director level and above, take home five million bucks as their annual bonus. These were miserable people, who had gained their positions because they were, in general, willing to be more evil than the people around them on the way up.”

Hamza leaned forward.

“They didn’t deserve five million dollars. But they got it anyway, and nothing ever happened to them. There was no karmic justice. They lived their lives, they were total shits to everyone around them, and next year, another five million bucks.”

He leaned back and speared his own chunk of steak, popping it into his mouth, almost angry. He chewed, swallowed, then pointed his fork across the table.

“You’re in shock, Will. It makes sense. Change can be tough, and what’s happened to you . . . to us . . . it’s seismic, as far as life events go. You’ll get used to it—but the biggest step you can take in that direction is to stop looking for some meaning in the predictions. You’re stuck on this whole destiny thing, but there is no such thing as destiny. What happens, happens.

“My dad used to say it all the time. He was always frustrated by the way people in the States have this assumption, this moral certainty that there’s some bigger plan. It sure as hell wasn’t that way for him and my mom back in Pakistan. For them, life was chaos. None of us are meant for anything, and none of us are meant for nothing. Life is chaos, but it’s also opportunity, risk, and how you manage them. If you’re smart, you get this . . .”

He gestured at the table, laden with expensive delights.

“If you’re not, you don’t. There’s nothing else to it.”

Will swirled his fork through his creamed spinach, considering. Hamza took a sip of wine, not taking his eyes off his friend across the table.

“The numbers, though,” Will said.

“Numbers?”

“Twenty-three, twelve, four. The last prediction, if that’s what it is.”

“Come on, man,” Hamza said, a little edge creeping into his voice. “You don’t have any evidence that those numbers mean anything. You’ve gotta work with what you know, not with what you feel.”