Free Subtle Bodies by Norman Rush

Ned turned the lantern off. He would lower himself into sleep down a ladder of thoughts of Nina, his honey monkey. He would imagine he was hearingsomebody singing “Ombra mai fu.” He liked opera, thanks to Nina and not the patrician Claire, he might add. He believed Nina liked opera and Kurosawa movies for the same reason, they were
all out
. Nina was small but not really petite, and very brunette, next to Claire, whose yellow hair was so fine it looked luminous. Claire treated her breasts like blisters, you had to be so gentle. But Nina would play with you, and she might say, Okay, you can feel me up, but only one breast, take your pick. Yes, and the time Claire had stared coldly at him when he’d cupped her breast and pushed her nipple with his thumb-tip and asked Is the missus home? Terrible violation. Undo me, Nina knew how to say in a way that made his hair stand up. With Claire never anything even close.
    I need to live forever, Ned thought.

 
    11 “I don’t know why we’re here,” Ned said to Gruen as they stood in the living room, waiting for the sliding doors to the formal dining room to open and reveal the sumptuous breakfast they all expected. Preparations were still in progress. Premium coffee was plainly going to be on the menu.
    “She’s going to tell us why we’re here,” Gruen said. He was medicated. The day was warm and everyone had gotten into jeans and sport shirts. Joris’s shirt was tucked in. He was showing off a little. He was the only one of them in short sleeves. He had been a little late in joining them to wait for breakfast, delayed by his push-up regimen and whatever else he did without fail.
    At the end of the sofa was a woven African basket thesize of a washtub containing a midden of scholarly quarterlies, most still in their mailing sleeves. Ned thought, After NYU we were supposed to keep up with the quarterlies because they represented a worthy stream of thought nobody was paying much attention to. He had tried, in a sampling way, until the branch libraries in Contra Costa County had stopped letting periodicals circulate, meaning readers would have to sit in a chair at the library and fit the experience into the ever-shrinking hours the library was open. And then the subscription list had dwindled down to the
Sewanee Review
. Vandalism had been the announced reason for cutting back on periodicals, something he had difficulty imagining applied to the
Explicator
or
Celtic Studies
.
    Gruen asked, “Got any water on you?” which was not exactly a normal question. Gruen had a pill bottle in his hand which he rattled in explanation. Just then the doors slid open.
    It was indeed another feast. Places were set around an exaggerated refectory table. Iva was in black. She was at the head of the table. Elliot was directing two women servers, new people, older women. Elliot was wearing a black business suit. He was scheduled to meet with the authorities. Joris made some effort to secure the seat on Iva’s right.
    Iva was repaired. She seemed calm. All the food was hot. There were warming panels in use. Ned’s scrambled eggs were hot. Even the tomato and scallion garnish was hot. Ned sat down next to Gruen, mid-table. There were four or five media people present, to whom he hadn’t been introduced.
    “Don’t miss the mushroom thing,” Gruen said.
    Ned realized that Iva was looking with some intensityat him. A strong and unwelcome feeling came over him. It was the conviction that he could help this woman, that the accidents of his life had peculiarly qualified him to help her in her sadness. It was unsettling.
    Ned concentrated on eating. He thought that these might really be the best scrambled eggs he’d ever had. It couldn’t be just the fines herbes because Nina used them routinely on eggs. Nina loved food but she didn’t like to cook, which wasn’t that unusual. Unexpectedly, Iva rapped on the table.
    She said, “I don’t know how I can thank you for coming so quickly