New York - The Novel

for the glass towers themselves: “They are ugly, and boring,” Charlie would cry. He was particularly incensed about a group of Midtown bank towers on Park which he seemed to consider a personal affront to the avenue where he lived.
    The strange, curved shape of the Guggenheim, however, was organic,like a mystical plant. Charlie loved it. He seemed quite content to look at the building from the outside. When he’d done, he told Gorham he’d like to walk down Fifth a little way.
    If the volume of vehicles using the city streets had been going up for the last two decades, one relief had been granted. Most of the great avenues were one-way now. Park, with its broad arrangement of double lanes, carried traffic in both directions, but to the west of it, Madison carried the traffic uptown, and Fifth Avenue carried it down. Walking down Fifth on a Sunday morning, therefore, especially in February, was a quiet business. To avoid the garbage, they walked beside the park.
    The Museum Mile, as people called it, was one of the most delightful walks in the city. Having left the Guggenheim, they passed opposite delightful apartment buildings. Then they went by the long, neoclassical facade of the Metropolitan Museum, and down another ten blocks or so toward the Frick. Charlie was walking a little slowly, but he seemed quite determined to continue, and from time to time, he would stare into Central Park, admiring the wintry scene, Gorham supposed. When they came level with the Frick, he sighed.
    “I’m a little tired now, Gorham,” he said. “I think we’d better get a taxi back.” It seemed a rather short ride to Gorham, but he wasn’t going to argue, and it was only a few moments before a yellow cab came by. When they were in the cab, Charlie gave him a wry smile. “Couldn’t find what I wanted,” he said.
    “Which was?”
    “A guy in a red baseball hat. He’s usually in the park around there. He has good stuff.”
    “Oh.” So the expedition had been about buying marijuana. Gorham felt a flash of annoyance. His father saw it.
    “You don’t understand, Gorham,” he said quietly. “It helps with the pain.”
    When they got back into the apartment, Mabel had made them soup and a light lunch. They talked as they ate, mostly about things they’d done together when Gorham was a child. When lunch was over, Charlie said: “There’s something I’m going to ask you to do for me, Gorham, when this is all over.”
    “Sure.”
    “There’s a piece of paper with a list of names and addresses on it by the bureau. Would you bring it over?” Gorham brought the list. He could seeabout a dozen names on it. “Most of these are just friends of one kind or another. You’ll see my doctor’s there, and one of the Keller family, and some others. I’ve left them little mementoes in my will, nothing much, but it’d be awfully nice if you’d deliver them and say I asked you to do it. It’s just that I’d prefer them to receive the presents from your hand, rather than from my lawyer in the mail. Would you do that?”
    “I already said I would.” Gorham ran his eye down the list. The doctor he knew, and several of the others. Others were unfamiliar. “Sarah Adler?”
    “A gallery owner. I had some paintings from there. She might give you something if she likes you. You’ll do them all?”
    “Of course.”
    “I’m feeling a little tired now, Gorham. I’m going to sleep a while. I think you should get back to school now.”
    “I’ll come back next weekend.”
    “Make it two weeks. I’ve got some things going on next weekend, and it’s a long way for you to come. Two weeks will be fine.”
    Gorham could see that his father was getting tired, so he didn’t argue. After parting from Charlie, he quietly told Mabel that he’d be telephoning to check up on him in the coming days.
    Once he was outside, he realized that he had more than an hour to kill before the next Boston train. So he decided to walk a bit to get some fresh air. Crossing Madison and Fifth, he entered Central Park.
    The trees were bare and there was snow on the ground, but the cold air was dry and bracing. As he went over the day in his mind, he decided that it could have been a lot worse. He hadn’t criticized his father or lost his temper, even once. Their meeting had been loving and harmonious. Thank God for that.
    He wondered how long his father had got. Surely some months, at least. He’d visit him plenty more times, and make his final