Manhattan Is My Beat

adventurer came back to New York to be a chic unemployed philosopher, going to clubs, playing with getting his M.A. and Ph.D., going to clubs, picking up blondes without names and brunettes with pseudonyms, going to clubs, working day jobs, getting tired of clubs, waiting to reach a moment of intersubjectivity with a woman. Working away.”
    “On his novel.”
    “Right. On his novel.”
    So far he seemed to be pretty much on her wavelength—despite the car and the moods. She was into fairy stories and he was into philosophy. Which
seemed
different but, when she thought about it, Rune decided they were both really the same—two fields that could stimulate your mind and that were totally useless in the real world.
    Somebody like Richard—maybe him, maybe not— but somebody like him was the only sort of person she could be truly in love with, Rune believed.
    “I know what’s the matter,” she said.
    “Why do you think something’s the matter?”
    “I just do.”
    “Well,” he said, “what? Tell me.”
    “Remember that story I told you?”
    “Which one? You’ve told me a lot of stories.”
    “About Diarmuid? I feel like we’re a fairy king and queen who’ve left the Side—you know, the magic land.” She turned around. Gasped. “Oh, you’ve got to look at it! Turn around, Richard,
look
!”
    “I’m driving.”
    “Don’t worry—I’ll describe it. There’re a hundred towers and battlements and they’re all made out of silver. The sun is falling on the spires. Glowing and stealing all that energy from the sun—how much energy do you think the sun has? Well, it’s all going right into the Magic Kingdom through the tops of the battlements …” She had a sudden feeling of dread, as if she’d caught his mood. A premonition or something. After a moment she said, “I don’t know, I don’t think I should be doing this. I shouldn’t’ve crossed the moat, shouldn’t’ve left the Side. I feel funny. I almost feel like we shouldn’t be doing this.”
    “Leaving the Side,” he repeated absently. “Maybe that’s it.” And looked in the rearview mirror again.
    He might have meant it, might have been sarcastic. She couldn’t tell.
    Rune turned around, hooked her seat belt again. Then they swept around a long curve in the expressway and the country arrived. Hills, forests, fields. A panoramic view west. She was about to point out a large cloud, shaped like a perfect white chalice, a towering Holy Grail, but Rune decided she’d better keep quiet. The car accelerated and they drove the rest of the way to Berkeley Heights, New Jersey, in silence.

     
    “He hasn’t had a visitor for a month,” the nurse was saying to Rune.
    They stood on a grassy hill beside the administration building of the nursing home. Richard was in the cafeteria. He’d brought a book with him.
    “That’s too bad. I know it’s good for the guests,” the nurse continued. “People coming to see them.”
    “How is he?”
    “Some days he’s almost normal, some days he’s not so good. Today, he’s in fair shape.”
    “Who was the visitor last month?” Rune asked.
    She said, “An Irish name, I think. An older gentleman.”
    “Kelly, maybe?”
    “Could have been. Yes, I think so.”
    Rune’s heart beat a bit faster.
    Had he come to ask about a million dollars? she wondered.
    Rune held up a rose in a clear cellophane tube. “I brought this. Is it okay if I give it to him?”
    “He’ll probably forget you gave it to him right away. But, yes, of course you can. I’ll go get him. You wait here.”

     
    “They don’t come to see me much. Last time was, let me see, let me see, let me see … No, they don’t come. We have this party on Sundays, I think it is. And what they do is, it’s real nice, what they do is put, when the weather’s nice, put a tablecloth on the picnic benches, and we eat eggs and olives and Ritz crackers.” He asked Rune, “It’s almost fall now, isn’t it?”
    The nurse said, in a voice aimed at a three-year-old, “You know it’s spring, Mr. Elliott.”
    Rune looked at the old man’s face and arms. It seemed like he’d lost weight recently and the gray flesh hung on his arms and neck like thick cloth. She handed him the flower. He looked at it curiously, then set it on his lap. He asked, “You’re …”
    “Rune.”
    He smiled in a way that was so sincere it almost hurt. He said, “I know. Of course I know your name.” To the nurse: “Where’s Bips? Where’d that