by Norman Rush
People in the march were saluting as though the overhang were a reviewing stand. He wanted to shout something juvenile, like Every hand being raised in this march is grasping the hand of a person who will not die because of us. He wanted the march to suck the occupants out of every building as it passed, and leave them empty.
He thought, You can’t control everything. He couldn’t control Nina. She was with one of the Berkeley women’s groups. She was pregnant and he had briefly thought he could get her on one of the ludicrous but earnest floats that were part of the parade, but she had laughed at him. They had their cell phones and would find each other at Union Square. Being on a float was still being part of the march and he couldn’t see why it had been such a bad idea for her.
Everything was good. He had a rising feeling in his chest like nothing he had ever felt. The signs could use improvement. Some of Douglas’s inventions would have made good signs, like War Is the Continuation of Business as Usual by Any Means Necessary, and Strike When the Gorgon Blinks. They were too literary, but still.
Everything was good. Two exile Cuban anarchist groups that had been fighting forever were marching together under a common banner saying Frente Libertario. Go, old men! he wanted to shout. He knew some of them. Maybe one or two of them might notice him there. He waved violently. He went right to the parapet to try to signal his presence. Their eyesight might not be up to it. Racially, everything was okay and looking better. It had been Nina’s idea to contact the step dance teams in the black high schools. There was a huge contingent from McClymonds. He wanted to be everywhere in the march. Except with the drum groups, which were unbearably loud. He felt drunk with gratitude and the conviction of victory. He thought, You can’t control everything … but this we can control. There would be no war. In part because of them there would be no war in Iraq. A few new people had come onto the overhang and he was going to shake hands with them, too. There would be no war. He thought, No war, No invasion, No.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
With deep gratitude to both my editor Ann Close and my agent Andrew Wylie, and with affection for both. And with thanks for the encouragement and astute suggestions supplied by early readers of this book—my beloved brothers Nick and Chris, Mona Simpson, Tom Hayes, Joshua Pashman, Leslie McGrath, Max Porter. My old friend Tom Disch would have been on this list, but for outrageous fortune.
A Note About the Author
Norman Rush is the author of three previous works of fiction: Whites, a collection of stories, and two novels, Mating and Mortals. His stories have appeared in The New Yorker, The Paris Review, and Best American Short Stories. Mating was the recipient of the National Book Award. Rush and his wife live in Rockland County, New York.
Other titles by Norman Rush available in eBook format
Mating • 978-0-307-78935-8
Mortals • 978-0-307-78936-5
Whites • 978-0-307-78937-2
For more information please visit www.aaknopf.com
ALSO BY NORMAN RUSH
Mortals
Mating
Whites