Winter's Tale Part 18

"Where were we talking about?"

"About New York."

The old man stared vacantly ahead."That's the point."

"What's the point?"

"You ought to go there."

"Why?"

"Catch it before it gets too latea"the engines."

"What engines?"

"All of *em. They're all set up to play one sound. They're tuning, I think. It isn't right yet, but it's music. One will lead. The others will followa"and that'll be the day."

"I'm sorry, Grandpa," Asbury said,"but I don't understand exactly what you mean."

"What are we talking about?"

"The engines."

"Oh, the engines. What do you want to know about them?" You said that they're all set to play one sound." I did. They sit there as quietly as dogs, facing in all directions, some abandoned in the dark, some rusting and aging, others well tended. It doesn't matter. They have souls."

Asbury looked shocked.

"Soulsa"every one. They move, don't they? Who do you think sets things to moving? Nothing that moves lacks a soul. I ought to know. You ever heard of a bellwether? It goes for engines too. There's one engine that'll pick up the intervals as they pa.s.s through it, and echo them just right. Then all the others will follow.

"If I was young like you, I'd go there myself," he said. Then he had a coughing fit. He turned purple very quickly, but just as rapidly cooled into blue, and finally breathed easily in white. Asbury wondered how the old man could breathe so little. He seemed to inhale and exhale only a few times each minute. Asbury must have wondered this out loud, for when his grandfather was once again in possession of himself he said,"Because I don't need oxygen. I've already come to all my conclusions. I'm just slowly gliding down. Someday I'll be as light as a feather. Promise me."

"Promise what?"

"Go to New York."

Asbury had promised. But until the day that the wind had taken him, he had forgotten what he had vowed.

Now, after a few sunny days on the sea, he was surrounded by a low-pitched rumble that he took to be the thundering heartbeat of a city, and he had no doubt what city it was.

HARDESTY Marratta and Virginia had fallen in love in the obsessive and total way of two people who have seen the same truth which they cannot quite comprehend. And though the times were not as promiscuous as they had been several decades earlier, no one would have blinked had they taken up residence together (Virginia's apartment was just barely big enough for three) or maintained some sort of indecisive relations.h.i.+p that, like many others of its type, was half scandal and half hesitation. But they didn't. Instead, they courted almost as their parents had done. Perhaps it was that, save for when they were small children, Hardesty had not known his mother and Virginia had not known her father. They had been brought up on tender descriptions, and had heard the stories of their parents' courts.h.i.+ps in the most glowing terms. And perhaps it was because Virginia had been unsuccessfully married, and was still wary of visions,even if they were her own; whereas Hardesty, who had been drafted into combat twice in his life, had already suffered conscription doubly. For whatever the reason, their pa.s.sion unrolled in a long, easy wave, and they courted, slowly and gently, throughout the severe winter that followed their first meeting.

Hardesty lived in the attic of a house on Bank Street. The roof was peaked, and he had to bend when pa.s.sing through doors, but the neighborhood was quiet and all he could hear apart from the wind and snow was the sound of bells ringing through yards and gardens as churches patiently struck the hours, their halves, and their quarters. Cats and squirrels made astounding leaps and tightroped the telephone lines in a show of hunting and escape that put the greatest circus to shame. When a cat walked in the snow, it moved like an exiled queen, the epitome of caution and pride. Once, a hawk alighted briefly in the courtyard, but only long enough to look under each of its mottled wings and then rise up. The air was often choked with snow or sweet wood smoke that darkened things and had a way with time, suspending it. And when night came early with its snowy blue light, the world looked like that quiet place depicted in paperweights filled with water and confetti.

Every afternoon, just as The Sun was put to bed, Hardesty called Virginia from a public phone (neither had a telephone in the house, believing it a wasteful extravagance). They discussed the composition of dinner, and later, as they walked from different directions toward Virginia's apartment, they gathered ingredients from markets and stores on the way. Sometimes, if Virginia were working late or Hardesty had finished early, he would meet her in Printing House Square and they would go home together. Most of the time, though, Hardesty had a solitary walk at dusk down Greenwich Avenue. He thought there was no finer street in the city. Whenever he pa.s.sed St. Vincent's Hospital he felt as if he were inside a great Russian novel. Its looming walls and large lighted windows spoke of things eternal; and seated next to timid interns, in local restaurants with wood fires and evergreen wreaths, were people of fas.h.i.+on and means who seemed in comparison to be astonis.h.i.+ngly empty. How could they help it? The interns carried with them the truths of death and dying, and when they walked across the street in the snow they did not shed thestrange melancholy of their sleepless and terrible year.

Though he felt obliged to carry out the task his father had skillfully engineered for him in San Francisco, Hardesty was held in place by powerful attractions and satisfying responsibilities. Thinking of how it would be to leave Virginia made him sadder than he could tell. The way things were set up, he would have to betray her. He truly loved her, but she was not willing to cross the Atlantic with him or anyone else, having had her sleigh ride to Canada. Thus far, she had successfully held him back. And, then, there was his job.

Praeger de Pinto had found in him not just a kindred spirit, but something bettera"a compet.i.tor. Praeger was never sure that Hardesty wouldn't think of what he himself was thinking, beforehand, and, despite what this implied about Praeger, Praeger considered it a magnificent talent. He had asked Virginia about Hardesty on several occasions, because he wanted to hire him. But he did not know in what capacity: he thought perhaps as a political writer, or a neighborhood reporter, since he had discovered that Hardesty knew Italian. Furthermore, he wanted Hardesty to ask for the job. One Sat.u.r.day afternoon, they met by accident at a skating pond in Brooklyn.

This place was famous for a vista of New York that compressed the city unerringly, so that one could look down the rifle barrel of a long avenue and see it laid out as if in an oil painting. Sitting on crowded benches in a rectangular yellow building with roaring wood stoves, and windows that faced Manhattan, Praeger, Virginia, and Hardesty had pounded their skate blades on the floor to throw off the ice shavings and then stared in a daze through the ten-degree air."I wonder what that strange-looking tower is," Praeger had said, almost to himself, referring to a Moorish campanile of rose-colored stone. And, to his surprise, Hardesty told him.

"That's the Clive Tower," Hardesty said,"built in 1867 by John J. Clive, in honor of his son, who died at Mobile Bay." He went on to discourse about its place in the city, its relation to the history of architecture, and the engineers and architects who built it.

Praeger asked about other buildings. Hardesty knew most or them, and soon the spots of fire that Praeger had set worked themselves into the blaze of a lecture in history, architecture, poetry, andthundera"a portrait of the city from the skating pond, that amazed Praeger, Virginia, and Hardesty himself. Only when they saw a group of local boys playing hockey by torchlight did they realize that it had grown dark.

"How the h.e.l.l do you know all that?" Praeger asked.

"I've been reading and walking around a lot."

"What did you do in San Francisco?"

"I didn't do much," Hardesty confessed."I was resting after the army. I rested for a couple of years. But when I came back the first time, I managed to get a doctorate in the history of art and architecture. That's probably what you want to know."

"It makes no difference to me," Praeger stated,"as long as you know what you're talking about, and I think you do. Why don't you write a few pieces for The Sun and The Whale? If they're as good as that little dissertation on Western civilization that just went by, you can have a regular column."

"Marko Chestnut might ill.u.s.trate it," Virginia added.

"You see," Praeger began, turning toward Hardesty because he knew that Virginia already knew,"The Ghost has an architecture section: section thirty-nine, on Mondays and Fridays. But it's a personalities page. For example, they recently had a piece on a charactera"I think his name was Ambrosio D'Urbervillesa"whose *design statement' was to stuff an entire apartment from floor to ceiling with dark purple cottonb.a.l.l.s. He called it *Portrait of a Dead Camel Dancing on the Roof of a Steambath.'

"If we compete with them, we have to do it as if they were something other than what they are. To avoid their influence, we try to pretend that they don't exist. To counter the mirror-image effect, we fight them as if they were actually serious opponents. This takes much imagination on our part, and elevates them a great deal. But Harry Penn would have it no other way; and, these days, neither would I."

"I understand," said Hardesty, with the sound of the stoves thundering in his ears like sunstroke."I read the thing about the camel dancing on the roof." As the hockey players' torches flew across the night ice under the glow of lighted canyon walls, Hardesty told the editor of The Sun that he would try his best to portray the city.

Within a week, Hardesty and Marko Chestnut began to wander in search of those places constructed to hold and keep the spirit These were not hard to find, because they existed literally in the hundreds of thousands, from Riverdale to South Beach, and from Riverside Drive to New Lots. On Thursdays, The Sun ran Hardesty's commentary across two full pages. In the center of each page was a large pen-and-ink drawing by Marko. They gave The Sun's readers Brooklyn from the air: there it was, spread out before them like a pinioned eagle trying to eat the oyster of Staten Island. They gave them the chaos of Fourteenth Street, the chimneys of Astoria, silvered sections of the East Side, Gramercy Park as misty as an English garden, and Manhattan's golden spires as seen from Weehawken at sunset, when the city of gla.s.s burns like a star in s.p.a.ce. The more they found, the more they could see to find, and they did very well by The Sun.

But all this only made Hardesty increasingly impatient to see the just city. He resolved to overcome all his feelings and inclinations, and get on a boat to Europe. Though he loved Virginia, loved her even more than he felt responsible to his father, there was something else apart from either of them that drove him on. Its power astounded him and made him think of those men who leave their families to go to war. And now he, too, was about to trade, to take the cold wind for the warm, because of something that was not his own, and that spoke to him from a time so distant that he had to admire it merely for its tenacity. He was wrong to leave, and he knew it. But simply to be wrong was one thing. To be wrong for the sake of a perfectly just city, was another.

He told Virginia on the first of June, and it caught her completely off guard. She cried fiercely, and then she attacked him. She tried to pull his hair, and landed a punch or two."Get out!" she screamed in rage. When he did get out, she slammed the door and bolted it, and he heard sobbing that broke his heart. After all that, he couldn't just knock at the door and step back into the house, so he bought a ticket for a s.h.i.+p that was soon to depart, and went back to his attic, cursing summer.

The day that Hardesty left New York he took a taxi through the city on his way to the ocean liner. It was early on a Sundaymorning in the beginning of June, in perfect weather. Though it was cool, serene, and blue, no one was in the streets but the sun. Pa.s.sing through Chelsea, Hardesty heard on the taxi driver's radio an aria that seemed to come from the buildings themselves, their abandoned inner courtyards, and the souls of their inhabitants. He could not have loved Virginia Gamely more, and he wondered if what he a.s.sumed lay at such a great distance were present in this very citya" or even in Virginia herself, if the future were to be fair and imaginative enough to take refuge in a single soul. If that were so, then he would be doing the wrong thing. Midway through the aria, he saw a familiar figure crossing Hudson Street with an easel over his shoulder and a box of oils under his arm.

Marko Chestnut was returning from painting the Hudson early in the morning, when the light was best and gangs of hoodlums were just going to bed. The Hudson was a thousand rivers, changing with each variation of the lighta"mild at dawn, whitecapped in a strong autumn wind, royal blue under an empty sky, covered with white ice, green and gray in winter storms, a mist-covered mountain lake in August. But Marko Chestnut preferred summer mornings with their strong and unambivalent light.

Hardesty had the taxi pull over. He jumped out and called to his friend, who was always wary, because he was often attacked when he painted outside. Marko began to scurry away."It's me!" Hardesty shouted.

"I thought you left already," Marko said, squinting through his gla.s.ses.

"I'm on my way now. What time is it? The boat leaves at eight."

Marko Chestnut hesitated, looked at his watch, and said,"It's seven. How come you left so early? The pier for the Rosemvald is only three blocks from here."

"I didn't think it was that early."

"Have you eaten yet?"

"No."

"Let's go to Petipas and have some breakfast," Marko Chestnut suggested."We can walk from there to the boat."

They had breakfast in the garden at Petipas, watching birds in the sunlit ivy on the garden wall, and listening to s.h.i.+p whistlesechoing off the cliffs of the Hudson."How can you leave a woman like that? And for what? You know she was left once before, by that Canadian lunatic, what was his name, Boissy d'Anglas?"

"I know," Hardesty answered.

"It's not fair to her. It's not fair to you. It's wrong. Maybe, as a widower, I can know things that you can't. But let me tell you somethinga"you're an idiot. You're throwing away the most precious.... For Christ's sake, do I have to explain this to you?"

"No."

"Then why not just stay."

"I can't," Hardesty whispered."My father."

A s.h.i.+p's whistle rent the air."Is that the Rosenwald?" Hardesty asked.

"It may be," Marko Chestnut replied."But if it is, it must be heading downriver. It's already twenty after eight.

" He smiled.

"You son of a b.i.t.c.h, I'll remember this!" Hardesty said with a threatening look.

"You'll thank me," Marko Chestnut stated confidently.

They ran out of the restaurant. Struggling with his easel, Marko Chestnut overturned tables and chairs and broke a lot of china. Hardesty hailed a taxi, and sped south. Marko Chestnut followed. Their two cabs arrived at the Battery simultaneously, and the tourists did not understand what was happening as Hardesty, and Marko Chestnut (lugging easel and paints), ran to the southernmost extension of the promenade, screaming epithets at one another. As trim as an admiral in a new set of whites, the Rosenwald was getting up a good head of steam, and her towering stern had just cleared Liberty Island. Hardesty started to unlace his shoes.

"What's the point of swimming?" Marko Chestnut asked."A s.h.i.+p like that goes twenty knots."

"That's right, and the water's freezing. I don't expect to catch it. But I'm going to try, just in case it stops. What can I lose except a little body heat?"

He dived into the harbor and began to swim. To Marko Chestnut's amazement, a minute after Hardesty jumped, the Rosenwald sent up a plume of black smoke and went dead in the water.

THE officers of the Dutch s.h.i.+p Rosenwald were flattered that Hardesty valued their services enough to immerse himself in the outrageous pudding of filth that pa.s.sed for water in New York Harbor. They took him down somewhere near the engines and pushed him into a scalding shower, after which the s.h.i.+p's doctor gave him ten injections, and the chief steward brought him a gallon of beef bouillon. He would have declined an invitation to dine that evening at the captain's table, had he not been wearing the captain's own sapphire-colored velvet bathrobe with Holland's royal crest in gold on the pocket. It is difficult, he reasoned, to refuse an invitation from someone in whose bathrobe one is.

When Hardesty finally managed to get on deck, he saw New York as it took the strengthening sun. It looked like a piece of flas.h.i.+ng jewelry. Nothing of human proportion could be made out amid the blocks and towers. But an occasional dome or the graceful fall of a catenary put the gla.s.sy cliffs in scale, and reminded Hardesty that within and among them people were shouting and singing, women were stepping into the shower, and pianos were being played as dancers danced. Virginia was there, somewhere, going about in the summer sun. Not far upriver, newly awakening forests rested between greening fields and blue mountains. Here and there, early summer fires built to clear the forest alleyways of fallen limbs sent up smoke that seemed to climb as slowly and carefully as alpinists.

It was hard to leave New York in summer, by sea. Hardesty immediately began to miss the city where never-ending avenues jumped over rivers on bridges that habitually b.u.mped the clouds, and where history and the future seemed to run side by side in shock and disorder. And he longed for Virginia. He longed for her so that he wanted to vault the railings and swim to Long Island, though the water was far too cold for him to make it. He realized as well that to do so would probably be considered eccentric, especially in light of the way in which he had come on board. Besides, he would probably get chopped up in the propellers, and his clothes were being laundered and pressed, which meant that even if he survived he would beforced to go naked on land or swim ten miles in a stolen bathrobe. His desire to leave the s.h.i.+p was overwhelmed by such impracticalities, until he saw what lay in the Rosenwald's path.

The pa.s.sengers thought it was only a fogbank. They had entrusted themselves to the Vergeetachtig Oester line and a.s.sumed that its officers and representatives would bring them through. But the officers were uncomfortable with what they saw ahead of their s.h.i.+p. Fogbanks do not rise to the top of the sky. Nor do they stretch across the sea for thirty miles in each direction, as straight and smooth as the platinum meter sticks at the Bureau of Postulates in Budapest. Nor do they oscillate, thundering like snare drums.

The bridge came alive while the captain decided whether to come about and watch this thing work, from a distance, or stick to his course and smash through it. Hardesty went to the bow to get a better look. These were not storm clouds, but a vast white wall that polished the sea at its base into a kind of invisibility. Its hysterical thunder sounded like a terrible argument between Klaxons and foghorns. As the Rosenwald drew closer, the enormity of the wall became overwhelming.

Despite all their years on the sea and all the electronic instruments they were training in on the cloud wall, they didn't know what it was. But Hardesty did, which made leaving Virginia out of the question, because it meant that he might never be able to return to her. Virginia had told him about it on several occasions, and he himself had pa.s.sed through it, though he had been sound asleep on the Polaris as the tops of the cars were polished by a cloud of busy white emery disguised as the fury of winter. How Virginia knew was a mystery. Presumably, her mother had told her.

Hardesty was unwilling to vanish into indeterminate time. After all, if Virginia were right, the Rosenwald could spend an eternity there, or a second, and emerge either to stun the Iroquois or to find itself in a future it did not understand. And if the Rosenwald and those upon it were ever to return, no one but those who had been there would ever believe them, and they would be condemned to lives of silence or madness.

In his youth Hardesty had wondered about the feat of jumping from a moving s.h.i.+p. This was a complicated act that was sometimeslethal because of spinning propellers and the tendency of things floating alongside to be drawn into them. After careful thought, the young Hardesty had decided that his best chance would be to leap off the s.h.i.+p, fifteen degrees from its longitudinal axis, with a weight to lessen the possibility of being drawn back into the blades. His father, too, had a.n.a.lyzed the problem."When you sink about twenty feet," he had cautioned,"you must compress yourself into a ball to reduce your surface area. That way, you reduce the sail effect and the likelihood of being pushed into the vacuum created by the propellers. Don't forget to let go of the weight at about forty feet. The ocean is quite deep, you know."

The captain of the Rosenwald decided to proceed as if the wall were an ordinary fogbank. When the vessel's narrow bow plunged into the white cliff, Hardesty sprinted down the main deck, trying to escape sternward. Resigned and expectant, showing the beatific smiles and expressions of those who have apprehended the existence of a better world, the pa.s.sengers were swallowed up with the superstructure of the now half-vanished s.h.i.+p. As it touched Hardesty's heel, he felt rapturous pleasure spreading through his entire body, not the kind of sensuality which robs and burns the soul, but something elevated and ecstatic that he knew might take him very far. Still, everything in him told him that the city was better. He had hardly seen it, or felt its scandalous energy. Its towers, bridges, and domes, the river at midday, the life within it; were there to claim. And then, there was Virginia.

The s.h.i.+p's forward motion was impressive even for a Dutch liner that had a reputation for being quite speedy. Inches ahead of the wall, Hardesty grabbed a fire bucket full of sand to serve as the weight that would keep him from the propellers. The white froth surrounded one of his legs, weakening him with delight. He wrenched himself away from it, and pushed ahead. As he stood poised on the stern rail, the cloud willowed half his body into ecstasy. He might have given in, had not gravity hurled him into the waves that broke silently into the invisible s.p.a.ce under the wall.

The Rosenwald disappeared. Hardesty was soon far under water, holding his breath, afraid to let go of the bucket not so much for fear of being drawn into the propellers as for fear of being swallowed bywhat he had just escaped. He sank deeper and deeper into a freezing green sea that was cold enough to be nearly gelatinous, and emerald to the quick.

Hardesty dropped the bucket and began to float upward. He suspected that perhaps he had imagined the voracious cloud wall and wondered what the other pa.s.sengers had thought when, in the captain's blue bathrobe, he had run down the deck, seized a fire bucket, and gone over the rail. Then he broke the surface. Neither the s.h.i.+p nor the cloud wall was in sight. He was alone, far from land, in a very cold sea.

THAT evening, as the lights were coming up in the buildings and on the bridges, Asbury Gunwillow guided his small sloop over the chestnut-colored waters of the harbor. He was amazed at the diversity of traffic plying among the many industrial islands, and in the river entrances, channels, straits, and coves. The harbor was complicated enough for Craig Binky once to have called it "octopusine," and Asbury might easily have b.u.mbled into Jamaica Bay or tried to fight the tidal rush in the East River, were it not for the pilot he had taken on.

He had been disappointed that the figure floating in a bathrobea"somewhat like Ophelia in her buoyant skirts, but thras.h.i.+ng and garrulous rather than mild and distracteda"was not his lost brother, Holman. And, once he had pulled Hardesty in, given him a pair of pants, a navy blue sweats.h.i.+rt, and enough time to warm up and get oriented, he expected a straight answer when he asked,"How did you get out here?" They were far from land and there were no boats. Thinking to hear that Hardesty was the world's greatest cold-water swimmer, that his luxury yacht had capsized and gone under, that he had been ejected from a submarine, shot from a cannon, or thrown from an airplane, Asbury was resentful when Hardesty told him that he had ridden there on a tea tray. Hardesty had maintained this with such relieved and convincing hysteria that Asbury dared not question him further.

For a while they made polite conversation, but at the Narrows, perhaps because of the beauty of the bridge lights in soft dusk andthe sudden appearance of the city across the bay, they spoke of what had brought them into one another's company. Concluding that one should not make or imply a promise and leave it unfulfilled, they wondered nonetheless about the curious net of obligations, failings, coincidences, and events that seem to tie everything together even for those who think they are free."Apart from natural laws, from the world as we know it," Hardesty speculated,"maybe there are laws of organization which bind us to patterns that we can't see and to tasks that we don't perceive."

"I can testify to that directly," Asbury said."I made a promise which I didn't keep, and then years later a wind came up, threw my brother out of the boat, and put me on course. The promise was to go to New York. I'm not surprised. I even picked up a pilot, for free."

"You can have my apartment, too," Hardesty said, because he planned to live with Virginia, if she would have him, forever.

Asbury accepted, thinking that, the way things were going, to look at the place before he took it would be foolish.

They glided up to the Morton Street pier, where Hardesty took off like a rabbit. When he arrived at Virginia's door, he stood outside listening to the sounds from withina"water running, the baby trying to speak, a knife on a chopping board, Virginia singing to herself or talking to Martin as if he were able to understand.

Hardesty went up to the roof and lowered himself onto the adjoining roof of a police stable, where he could look into Virginia's apartment un.o.bserved. Chinese and Italian boys from neighboring buildings often went there on the pretense of getting some fresh air, but their real purpose was to see Virginia without her clothes. Hardesty sympathized with their desires, and was appropriately severe when he caught them. Now all he wanted was to see her in motion: what she was wearing did not matter. He wanted to see her, and to keep the portrait forever. One day in the future, because he loved her, he would unveil it for her pleasure. Cool night air came from the river and crossed the many rows of tenements. A huge tree, lush with new leaves, sighed and shuddered as Virginia moved about in the bright box of her apartment, every now and then darting in front of a window where Hardesty would catch a glimpse of her. She wa.s.sunburnt, and she wore a white dress with a line of violet embroidery around the neckline. Hardesty s.h.i.+fted position, and heard whinnies in the stable below as the horses apprehended his presence. He could now see into the kitchen, and he could hear Virginia reading to Martin as their dinner cooked.

"'Here arrived yesterday the s.h.i.+p The Arms of Amsterdam which sailed from New Netherland out of the Mauritius River on September twenty-third, *" she read. She often read to Martin, for she did not want him just to vegetate while she sat in what he would take to be mysterious silence, staring at a paper thing with lines on it, and sometimes turning the page. He was flattered silly when his mother spoke to him as if he understood, and always tried to talk. Since she didn't want to monopolize the conversation, she would often break her narrative, put down the book, and ask,"What did you think of that, Martin?"

He usually hesitated as if weighing his thoughts, looked around, and burst out with something like,"Tawiya! Tawiya!" or "Iyama! Iyama!" in a shrill infant gurgle, to which she responded by picking him up, kissing him, and saying,"Yes! Yes! That's extremely astute of you!" Now he seemed especially agitated, and she wondered why.

She continued."*They report that our people there are of good courage, and live peaceably. Their women, also, have borne children there, and they have bought the isle of Manhattes from the wild men for the value of sixty guilders.'

At that, she turned and looked out the window into the summer night. He could see her straight on, though she could not see him. What a sad look she had, and how lovely was her face, framed in her black hair and the fine ring of violet tendrils embroidered on the dress. Suddenly, she bowed her head and covered her eyes with her left hand. Hardesty strained forward in the darkness. She had often told him that she merely wanted to live in the city and see what it would bring. She had often begged him not to seek, but to wait."Churchmen," she had said,"like Boissy d'Anglas, burn themselves up in seeking, and they find nothing. If your faith is genuine, then you meet your responsibilities, fulfill your obligations, and wait until you are found. It will come. If not to you, then to your children, and if not to them, then to their children."

The lovely woman in a white dress with violet borders, in a room that gave out beautifully on gardens and the bridge, had become for Hardesty a personification of the city rising. And besides, city or no city, he loved her.

Before she cried, he would be up the ladder, onto the roof, down the stairs, and at her door. As he left the top of the stable, the horses whinnied again. Clearing the parapet, he saw the city. From this perspective its lights were like summer fires on a gra.s.sy plain.

Remember the soft air, he thought to himself as he crossed the roof. Remember the soft air and all the lights. The lights, never quite the same, always changing, were like distant spiritsa"those who were forever gone but not forgotten. And perhaps the distant spirits were s.h.i.+ning in approval as Hardesty Marratta silently crossed the roof, hesitated to look back at them, and disappeared down the narrow stairway.

Virginia heard his steps. Somehow, Martin and the horses had already known. She looked up, wondering if it were he. She could hardly breathe. She tilted her head to hear better. Hardesty wondered if she would take him back."Tawiya! Tawiya!" Martin shrieked as the knocks came on the door, and his mother rushed to open it.

h.e.l.l GATE.

NEARLY every morning from the middle of September to the end of June, Christiana Friebourg emerged from her father's old hotel and stood on the porch while her eyes adjusted to the light glaring from potato fields and pastures that ab.u.t.ted the sea. Because hurricane waves were sometimes driven over the dunes and across the fields, the hotel was built on rock piers, and thus the porch was a full story and a half high, with a long staircase that connected it to the ground. From this height one could see past the dunes to the ocean, and, to the east, a low forest that covered the sand hills in a band of green. Christiana always stood on the porch for a few moments to look over the sea, the fields, and the forest, to listen to waves and wind, and to say good morning to the light. Then, after hoisting her schoolbag to her shoulders and hitching up her skirt, she would cobble down the stairs and start off in the direction of the northern wood. To get to school, she walked five miles over fields, past the shacks of migrant laborers, and through a forest in which lived deer, rabbits, half a hundred kinds of bird, foxes, weasels, and wild pigs that crashed through the underbrush like soldiers on maneuver.

A former Marine barracks that perched on a cliff above Gardiner's Bay, Christiana's school had half a dozen bare white rooms, into which the north light came unimpeded, glancing off the water, the islands, and a sky that sometimes could hardly be distinguished from the Atlantic itself. Winter and summer, the tops of the windows were crowned with a bright glow. And though the lessons were demanding and time pa.s.sed quickly, there were intervals in which the children could listen as the whistles of oceangoing s.h.i.+ps were bent through distance and mist until they sounded like French horns, or wonder about the composition of the wind, which always managed to push aside the shades and enter their cla.s.s to speak to them of suns.h.i.+ne and shadow.