New Beginning 212

Here are the things he loves about this world: The slow disappearance of his brush strokes into paint smoothing and rearranging itself as though it has always been here, on this wall, on this house. The way he feels the rumble of thunder down to his soles, so much that sometimes he thinks it could be his doing. The sudden moment of silence that captures the teeming steam-liners when the vastness of the water gives way to the exquisite beauty and filth of New York. The bitter shreds of tea leaves that stick to his tongue when he swallows the last of the cup.

Finding just the right word in English to describe a color or a smell or a song.

The swell of the tulips that grow in the village garden. The Brooklyn Ferry.

Robert wonders whether he will miss these things, after Jesus comes to take him to Heaven.


Here are the things he hates about this world: The awful color of not-quite-puce that his wife chose and his brush has smoothed onto the wall, and will always be there, until she chooses another nauseating shade. The way the thunder emanates from his wife's nether regions, so often that he thinks she must have swallowed a Gatling gun. The sudden moment of silence that captures his ears when the vastness of his wife gives way to the exquisite silence of her departure. The way the leaves stick between his teeth when his wife forgets to strain the tea yet again.

Finding just the right word in English to describe the color of her scabs, the smell of her armpits, the croak of her voice.

The horror that he lives with. As big as the Brooklyn Ferry.

Robert wonders if his wife will miss these things after Satan comes to take her to Hell.


Opening: Miss Havisham.....Continuation: McKoala