Bradley pulled the
books off the back shelves for the final time, the librarian turned in
exasperation for the final time, and he was off and out with the card in
his hand before the librarian had turned back again.
Credentialed.
He'd read the word in a book of war stories.
He liked the sound of it.
#
"What did Krishna do?"
"What do you mean?" She was looking at him guardedly now, but his
madness seemed to have past.
"I mean," he said, reaching over and taking her hand, "what did Krishna
do when you went out for coffee with him?"
"Oh," she said. She was quiet while they drove a narrow road over a
steep hill. "He made me laugh."
"He doesn't seem that funny," Alan said.
"We went out to this coffee shop in Little Italy, and he sat me down at
a tiny green metal table, even though it was still cold as hell, and he
brought out tiny cups of espresso and a little wax-paper bag of
biscotti. Then he watched the people and made little remarks about
them. 'She's a little old to be breeding,' or 'Oh, is that how they're
wearing their eyebrow in the old country?' or 'Looks like he beats his
wife with his slipper for not fixing his Kraft Dinner right.' And when
he said it, I *knew* it wasn't just a mean little remark, I *knew* it
was true. Somehow, he could look at these people and know what they were
self-conscious about, what their fears were, what their little secrets
were.
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