Light Years Read Online Free PDF

recognizes, a corner post office, a grocery that sells the city papers, the wooden fence of neighbors, the lights of home.
    “What are the children doing, Alma?” she asks. The dog is leaping about at her feet. “Hello, Hadji. Be quiet.”
    Drawing pictures upstairs, the Jamaica woman says. She has read to them; she has taken them on a walk.
    “He is some dog,” she says. “A fine dog.”
    “He is, isn’t he?”
    “Oh, he like to bark.”
    Her daughters are coming down the stairs. Mama, they cry.
    “I brought something for you,” she says, kneeling in her coat.
    “What is it?” they say. “Your face is so cold.”
    “Yours is warm. What have you been doing?”
    “We’re making something,” the younger says. “What did you bring?”
    She names a French biscuit they love, LU’s.
    “Oh, good!”
    “What are you making?”
    “We’re making an Egyptian temple,” Franca says. “Come and see.”
    “But we have no more gold,” her sister cries. They call her Danny. Her name is Diane.
    “Can you bring it down?” Nedra asks them. “Bring it to the kitchen. I’m going to have some tea.”

6
     
    “BRUCE ETTINGER IS BEAUTIFUL,” Nedra whispered.
    “Which one is he?”
    “He’s there in the corner. He’s very tall.”
    Viri looked over.
    “You think he’s good-looking?”
    “Wait till he smiles.”
    The rooms were crowded. There were people they knew, people they might have known. Beautiful women, audacious clothes.
    “He has a smile like a gangster,” Nedra said.
    Eve was across the room in a thin, burgundy dress that showed the faint outline of her stomach. She was pale, elegant, slutty. Her eyes were bad; she could hardly see who she was talking to. She wore contact lenses, but not at a party. The man she was facing was shorter than she was. Behind them was a painting that seemed to be of a primitive jungle: blue, violet, sea-green.
    “It matches your shirt,” Nedra said.
    “Even Bruce Ettinger doesn’t have a shirt like this.”
    “Oh, you have the best shirt. You have absolutely the best shirt.”
    “I think so.”
    “But he has the best smile.”
    “I’ll get you something to drink,” he offered.
    “Nothing too strong.”
    She made her way slowly across the room, her face less animated than other women’s faces. She passed behind people, around them, nodded, smiled. She was that woman the first glimpse of whom changes everything.
    “Saul Bellow is here,” Eve told her.
    “Where? What does he look like?”
    “He was in the hallway just a minute ago.”
    They could not find him.
    “I don’t think I’ve read anything he’s written.”
    “Arthur Kopit is here,” Eve said.
    “Well, he can’t even write.”
    “He’s very funny.”
    “Bruce Ettinger is here,” Nedra said.
    “Who?”
    “He’s a man who doesn’t have very nice shirts.”
    “Shirts. Have you seen the shirts Arnaud had made?”
    “Viri sent him.”
    “Did he?”
    “Are they nice?”
    “He even sleeps in them.”
    Arnaud was coming toward them at that moment, warm, unperturbed, his shoulders flecked with what looked like talcum powder. In each hand was a glass.
    “Hello, Nedra,” he said. He leaned to kiss her. “Here you are, darling,” he said to Eve. “Where’s Viri?”
    “He’s here.”
    “Where?”
    “You’ll recognize him,” Nedra said. “He’s wearing the exact same shirt.”
    “Ah, you’re jealous.”
    “Of course not,” Nedra said. “I think you deserve to have beautiful things …”
    “You know, I’ve always adored you.”
    “I mean, after all, you already have us.” She smiled at him, knowing, direct, her white teeth showing.
    “You’re right,” he said. “Here’s Viri.”
    “They had no Cinzano. I got you a sweet vermouth—” he didn’t finish; Arnaud was embracing him. “Wait, wait, you’re spilling my drink! You’re going to wrinkle my shirt!” he cried.
    “You know, you’re strong,” he said when he was released.
    “He’s strong as a bull,”