New York - The Novel

Then he said he’d take her home. Before doing so he gave Juan a call to find out the latest, but there was no reply.
    There weren’t any taxis on Park, so they started to walk up to Eighty-sixth. Everything was dark, and quiet, but staring up the wide avenue, theycould see faint glows that suggested fires. They walked together without speaking, but when they got to Eighty-fourth, Maggie broke the silence.
    “Something on your mind?”
    “It’s nothing. Kind of stupid.”
    “Let me guess. You were worried when Juan didn’t pick up.”
    He turned to her in the darkness. He couldn’t really see her face.
    “Actually, I was. Which is absurd. He knows El Barrio like the back of his hand.”
    “Where does he live?”
    “Right on Ninety-sixth and Lexington. It’s actually a doorman building.”
    “After you leave me safe at Eighty-sixth, you’re going to go up to his place, aren’t you?”
    “I was thinking of it, actually.”
    “So.” She linked her arm in his. “Let’s go up there together.”
    “You can’t come.”
    “You can’t stop me.”
    He looked at her in astonishment. “You are a strange woman, Miss O’Donnell.”
    “You better believe it.”
    When they got to the Ninety-sixth Street crossing, they had a view over a whole section of Spanish Harlem. The streets were quiet for the moment, but they could see several fires. They walked swiftly along to Juan’s building. The doorman had shut the door, but after shining a flashlight to inspect them, he opened it, and Gorham explained his mission.
    “Mr. Campos didn’t go out again, sir, I can tell you that.” Gorham expressed relief. “Did you come here to visit him once before?” the doorman asked. Gorham replied that he had. “Well”—the doorman evidently decided that Gorham and Maggie looked respectable—“some of the tenants went up on the roof. He may be up there. The intercom isn’t working, but I can telephone his number if you have it, just in case he came back down.”
    This time Juan picked up. He was amazed to find that Gorham was at his building.
    “I thought you might be hanging out with the pretty redhead.”
    “She’s with me.”
    “You want to come up on the roof? There’s a bunch of us up there, and we have beer. You’ll have to walk up a dozen floors.”
    Gorham relayed the invitation to Maggie.
    “We accept,” she said.
    There were quite a few people up on the roof. There was a good view over sections of Harlem; part of the skyline of Brooklyn, to the east, was also visible; and all over the area, fires had broken out.
    The sound of fire engine sirens echoed across the night. After a while, from a few blocks up Lexington, there was a screech of tires followed by a resounding crash of glass, as if someone had driven a van through the windows of a store.
    “That’ll be the supermarket,” said Juan calmly. Then, turning to Maggie, he added: “El Barrio. My people.”
    They sipped from cans of beer, and watched the fires spreading in the hot and humid night. After a time, over in Brooklyn, a huge fire started to develop. Half an hour passed, but it just kept spreading.
    “It must stretch for twenty blocks,” Gorham said.
    “More, I think,” said Juan.
    And so, well into the early hours of the morning, they stayed on the roof, watching the great, divided city of New York express its tensions, its rage and its misery, by fire, and looting, and more fire.

Giving Birth
1987
    G ORHAM MASTER RACED around the apartment. He knew he shouldn’t panic like this. In the bedroom, Maggie’s bag was neatly packed, and had been for weeks. So why didn’t he just grab it and run? Maggie was already on her way to the hospital, racing in a taxi through the November streets. She’d need him to be there with the bag, when she arrived.
    Their first child. They’d waited a long time, and they’d both agreed that they should. Maggie had wanted to get more established in her career, and he’d wanted that for her too. And now at last the great day had come, and he was filled with panic.
    Was Maggie ready for this? Was she going to be all right?
    He’d thought she should stop work last week. But she’d assured him it was okay.
    “Quite honestly, sweetie,” she told him, “I’d rather have the work to distract me.” He saw her point, of course. But had she gone too far? Now that the great moment had arrived, he was seized with fear. Should he have begged her not to go into work today? If, God forbid, something