The Book of Air and Shadows

hurting me-she is a saint, so of course she is above such jealousies, yes? And he need not forgive his father for whatever his father has done to him, he has never said what it is. He is a good, kind man, Jake, but he wishes the world to be other than what it is. So this is why I cry. Now, what is your movie?”
    Crosetti told her, and not just about the script proper but about its basis in real life, Carolyn and their pathetically brief encounter, and about his own life and where he wanted it to go. She listened attentively, and in near silence, unlike his mother, who was full of lame ideas and not shy about sharing them. When he’d finished, Amalie said, in a tone of frank admiration, “And you have thought all of this up in your head. I am amazed by this, as I have not one creative bone in my body, except to produce children and small things, like decorations and cooking. And to make great heaps of money. Is that creative? I don’t think it is.”
    “It’s certainly useful,” said Crosetti, who had nothing of that talent.
    “I suppose. But in the end it is a low art, like plumbing. And one has always the nagging feelings that it is undeserved. As it is. This is why the rich find it so difficult to enter heaven.”
    At this point the attendant emerged from behind her curtain and began the dinner service. Amalie made her children take off their earphones and have what she called a civilized dinner. The seats swiveled around so that Crosetti found himself facing the little boy across a wide wood-grained table, which had been laid with a cloth and real china and silverware and a little vase with a baby white rose in it. Apparently Mishkin had decided to eat with his brother instead of with his family. After a few minutes, Crosetti could appreciate why. Neither of the kids shut up for a second during the meal, which for the boy was, remarkably, a bowl of Cheerios. The girl’s conversation consisted largely of wheedling-things to buy, places to go, what she might be allowed to do in Switzerland, what she refused to submit to. Amalie was firm with her, but in an exhausted way that, in Crosetti’s opinion, presaged tears and screaming fights amid the lofty Alps. The boy responded to a polite question about the computer game he was playing with a continuous stream of information about his entire history in the Warcraft universe, every feature of his game persona, every treasure he had won, every monster fought. The spiel was uninterruptable by any of the conventional sociolinguistic dodges and the boredom was so intense it nearly sucked the flavor out of the excellent filet and the Chambertin. Crosetti wanted to stab the child with his steak knife.
    His mother must have picked up the vibrations, because she said, “Niko, remember we agreed that after you talk you have to let the other person talk too.” The boy stopped in the middle of his sentence like a switched-off radio and said to Crosetti, “Now you have to say something.”
    “Could we talk about stuff besides Warcraft?” said Crosetti.
    “Yes. How many pennies are there in a cubic foot of pennies?”
    “I have no idea.”
    “Forty-nine thousand, one hundred and fifty-two. How many are there in a cubic meter?”
    “No, now it’s my turn. What’s your favorite movie?”
    It took a while to figure this out, especially as Niko felt it necessary to review the plotlines of his choices, but eventually they settled on the original
Jurassic Park
. Of course the boy had it on his hard disk (he had watched it forty-six times, he announced), and Crosetti made him run it with the promise that he would tell him how they did all the effects, and he brought out the special little plug that enabled two people to use their headsets at once off a single computer. After that it was dweeb vs. dweeb, and Crosetti felt that he had not disgraced himself as a purveyor of tedious facts.
    The pilot announced their descent into Biggin Hill airport, and they reversed their seats and buckled in. The attendant distributed hot towels. Amalie smiled at Crosetti and said, “Thank you for bearing with Niko. That was very good of you.”
    “No problem.”
    “It is for most people. Niko is unlovable, but even unlovable people need love. It is a wretched fate to love them, but I think perhaps you are one of us who shares that fate.”
    Crosetti couldn’t think of anything to say to this, but found himself thinking about Rolly. Certainly unlovable, but did he love her? And did it