American Appetites
“On an evening of the previous year, in another lifetime, it now seemed, Ian McCullough entered a crowded, buzzing room—was it in fact his own living room? in his own house?—and paused for a moment on the threshold and stared, overcome by a sudden sense of confronting, not the men and women who were his friends, but a gathering of souls.
How strange we are to one another, he thought.
Each soul was encased in flesh, bound by an envelope of skin, turned inward, immersed in silence. The soul was light, or flame—its heat small, ephemeral, easily extinguished. Ian stared and felt afraid: yet felt, in that instant, an uncanny happiness. He saw himself so brotherly, so deeply kindred to them all—these souls, these separate beings, whom he did not know.
And then Meika Cassity came up to him, and slipped her arm through his, and said, “What a lovely party, Ian!” as if she had never said those words before.
And Ian said, “Is it? We’re so glad.”
AT THE HAZELTON Medical Center, waiting for Glynnis... to be returned to him, waiting out the long hours—there would be nearly seven—during which she was in surgery, Ian was overcome by this same strangeness: a certitude that we are all in disguise from one another and from ourselves, souls glimmering like phosphorescent fire, hidden in the opacity of flesh.MoreLess
How strange we are to one another, he thought.
Each soul was encased in flesh, bound by an envelope of skin, turned inward, immersed in silence. The soul was light, or flame—its heat small, ephemeral, easily extinguished. Ian stared and felt afraid: yet felt, in that instant, an uncanny happiness. He saw himself so brotherly, so deeply kindred to them all—these souls, these separate beings, whom he did not know.
And then Meika Cassity came up to him, and slipped her arm through his, and said, “What a lovely party, Ian!” as if she had never said those words before.
And Ian said, “Is it? We’re so glad.”
AT THE HAZELTON Medical Center, waiting for Glynnis... to be returned to him, waiting out the long hours—there would be nearly seven—during which she was in surgery, Ian was overcome by this same strangeness: a certitude that we are all in disguise from one another and from ourselves, souls glimmering like phosphorescent fire, hidden in the opacity of flesh.MoreLess
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