references I noticed were from the title of the piece, and the conductorâs baton. Like I said, I donât remember seeing that painting so I canât comment on that, but I did get the musical reference. I just thought it was kind of obvious, and it didnât really speak to me.â
He thought for a moment. âYou know, you could have a point. If you havenât seen the Rembrandt painting, it would have a totally different meaning. I spend so much time in academic circles that I guess I wasnât even aware that someone wouldnât get the reference. On the other hand, is it the artistâs responsibility to censor or limit his work because the audience may or may not have the same experiences or reference points? Or do I ignore that and be true to my own knowledge? I have to think about that,â he said, putting the straw in his mouth and going for another hit.
âHey, Lawrence. Whereâs your accent from? I canât place it.â I finally wanted to get to the bottom of this.
âOh, itâs Hebrew,â he answered.
âYouâre from Israel? You know thereâs a tree somewhere in Israel with my name on it.â
âYeah,â he said. âYour name means âtreeâ in Hebrew.â
âNoâ¦I mean, yeah, I know that, but back in the â70s or something, my grandma gave money to some organization that would plant a tree in Israel and put your name on it. She got one for me and one for my brother.â
âYeah. I remember when they were doing that.â He started laughing. âThatâs pretty funny, though. Your tree just says âtreeâ on it.â
âYeah.â I started laughing too. âIâve never thought about how ridiculous that is.â I motioned for Lawrence to pass me the tinfoil and I took another hit. âMan, this stuff is good,â I said. âIsnât this shit pretty addictive, though?â
âNot if you smoke it. Iâve been smoking it now for thirteen years,â he said.
I was skeptical about that.
âReally, so nothing happens when you leave town?â I asked.
âMy nose seems to run a little when Iâm flying somewhere, but Iâm not sure if itâs the chiva,â he said, referring to the street name for heroin, âor the crappy air on those planes.â
âHuh. Thatâs interesting because I would have thoughtâ¦â
He seemed pretty convinced, so I decided to let it go. At this point it was late. The Casanova was long closed and an incredible, warm, tired feeling had come over me.
âHey, man, thanks for coming over. I think Iâm about to pass out, though.â I was suddenly very out of it, like everything was happening in slow motion.
âNo problem, I had a good time hanging out. Iâll stop by again some time,â he said, getting up to leave.
I walked him to the door, and without taking off my clothes, went straight to bed. Lying there, teetering on the border of sleep, I became aware that something was definitely different now. There were still the muffled sounds from the residency hotel, the distant car alarms, and the rumbling of buses driving by, but there was also a strange sort of silence I had never noticed before.
three
The adventures and misdeeds of the boy and his brother on a dirt lot in New Mexico
H EY, ORYâ¦KYLE. Wake up, guys,â my mom was saying. I struggled to open my eyes. The transition to the real world was always jarring, but I could tell something was weird. The first thing I noticed was that the light was different from when Mom usually got us out of bed: it was coming from a lightbulb rather than outside. It was pitch-dark out, and a glance at the digital clock said it was 5:00 a.m. Kyle was already sitting up, and I managed to do the same.
âOkay, guys, how would you like to take a trip to Santa Fe, New Mexico?â She said it as if we had won some sort of game-show prize, and