The Book of Jonah Read Online Free PDF Page A

with the Hasid, or because of Aaron’s speech, or because of what Patrick had seen him doing—or from some combination of all the events across the entire evening—Jonah found he wanted some reassurance that there was more going on that night than an open bar and calculated networking. He took a sip of his Scotch and said to Philip, “Seriously, though. Don’t you think QUEST makes those schools better?”
    Philip gave him an amused, quizzical frown—and in his imitation of an American accent (which veered sharply toward the Texan), he repeated, “Seriously?”
    This skepticism wasn’t surprising, either. Seriousness had never figured prominently in their friendship. “Indulge me,” Jonah said.
    Philip tapped the tip of his broad, somehow regal nose, making a show of thinking. At this point Jonah realized he should not have sought reassurance as to the hopes of saving New York’s schools from a man with a career in city politics. “When you consider this notion of applying the tactics of the financial industry to schools, you ought to remember what happened to the financial industry. More fundamentally, I would not rely too heavily on improved standardized test scores as an indicator of improved education. It would seem to me that filling in bubble sheets is a bit of a skill unto itself, maybe not so different from being good at Halo. That hasn’t helped New York students much, either.” He took a long sip of his drink, put the glass gently on the bar. “White liberal guilt is really all this is in aid of, I am afraid. White liberal guilt and another bullet point on Aaron’s résumé. You want to see a school in need? Come to Africa.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “But then perhaps I am compromised by my irritation at the founder’s sudden bout of Puritanism. Do you, Counselor, believe QUEST does any real good?”
    Jonah thought for a moment—and then held his forefinger and thumb apart as if he were presenting an invisible jelly bean. “A smidge,” Jonah said. “Even if the tools are imperfect, even if the motives are, let’s say, mixed—it’s still more effort and attention than these schools usually get. It’s better than nothing for your poor black future constituents in Harlem, who deserve something, even if they do have access to clean drinking water.”
    Philip smiled, and then let out with one of his great, sustained, diaphragm-supported laughs—his most distinctively Kenyan feature, Jonah felt, even beyond his accent. “I concede to the smidge,” he declared. “It is a smidge more than we would do otherwise, it is a smidge more than not doing anything at all.”
    â€œIt’s the twenty-five percent tip for the cab driver,” said Jonah. “It’s holding the door of the elevator for someone crossing the lobby.”
    â€œIt is helping an elderly lady get her bags from the overhead compartment,” said Philip.
    They toasted to the smidge. It was an idea coated in irony, of course—but it had a core of comfort, too. As they lowered their glasses, Philip asked, “And where is the lovely Sylvia Quinn this evening?”
    â€œChicago,” he answered. “Work.”
    â€œAnything interesting?”
    â€œInteresting enough that she can’t tell me anything about it.”
    â€œShe is an impressive woman,” Philip said. “You are a lucky man.”
    Jonah sighed uneasily. “Patrick Hooper saw me and Zoey out the other night,” he told him. He added, “Not doing anything, I don’t think, just—out.”
    Philip gave him a sad sort of smile. “That is still going on, then?”
    â€œThe worst part is I told Sylvia I’d move in with her,” he said, feeling guiltier than usual at verbalizing this.
    â€œSo much for the smidge.”
    Jonah made small half-turns of his glass on the bar, watched the liquid