”I don’t like to read.“
”It’s better than looking at the lamp fixtures till bedtime, isn’t it?“
”No.“
I kept reading.
Paul said, ”What’s that book?“
”A Distant Mirror,“ I said.
”What’s it about?“
”The fourteenth century.“
He was quiet. Sap oozed out of the end of a log and sputtered onto the hot ash beneath it.
”What do you want to read about the fourteen hundreds for?“ Paul said.
”Thirteen hundreds,“ I said. ”Just like the nineteen hundreds are the twentieth century.“
Paul shrugged. ”So why do you want to read about it?“
I put the book down. ”I like to know what life was like for them,“ I said. ”I like the sense of connection over six hundred years that I can get.“
”I think it’s boring,“ Paul said.
”Compared to what?“ I said.
He shrugged.
”I think it’s boring compared to taking Susan Silverman to Paris,“ I said. ”Things are relative.“
He didn’t say anything.
”I know more about being human when I know more about their lives. I get a certain amount of perspective. The time was full of people that killed, tortured, suffered, struggled, and agonized for things that seemed worth anything to them. Now they’ve been dead for six hundred years. What’s it all about, Ozymandias?“
”Huh?“
” ’Ozymandias‘? It’s a poem. Here, I’ll show you.“ I got up and found a book in the box I hadn’t unpacked yet.
”Listen,“ I said. I read the poem to him. Deliberately in the firelit room. It was about his level.
He said, ”She your girl friend?“
I said, ”What?“
He said, ”Susan Silverman. She your girl friend?“
”Yes,“ I said.
”You going to get married?“
”I don’t know.“
”You love her?“
”Yes.“
”How about her?“ he said.
”Does she love me?“
He nodded.
”Yes,“ I said.
”Then why don’t you get married?“
”I’m not sure. Mostly it’s a question of how we’d affect each other, I suppose. Would I interfere with her work? Would she interfere with mine? That sort of thing.“
”Wouldn’t she quit work?“
”No.“
”Why not? I would. I wouldn’t work if I didn’t have to.“
”She likes her work. Makes her feel good about herself. Me too. If you just did it for money, of course you’d want to quit. But if you do it because you like to…“ I gestured with my hand. ”What do you like to do?“
He shrugged. ”That guy Hawk your friend?“
”Sort of.“
”You like him?“
”Sort of. I can count on him.“
“He seems scary to me.”
“Well, he is. He’s not good. But he’s a good man. You know the difference?”
