The Dismal Science Read Online Free PDF Page A

butter and cream in the potatoes was actually just olive oil.
    Vincenzo cracked only two eggs into the new skillet, because apparently vegans didn’t eat eggs either. When Leonora finally showed up, he had already finished his breakfast and was reading about the Bolivian election in the Journal . She poured herself a mug of coffee from the new coffeemaker.
    She opened the refrigerator, pulled out a box of rice milk, and said, “Did I mention that the Rainforest Coalition is going to be at the Bank today?”
    â€œYou did, yes—thank you. They do incredible protests.”
    â€œYou know them?”
    â€œOf course—the last time they came, I had to park in Georgetown and walk. I wore blue jeans and a T-shirt so that I could get through, but they had heard that we do that, so they all wore suits. You couldn’t believe it! Thousands of hippies in suits—it was amazing . That afternoon I went to their website and donated one hundred dollars out of respect for their techniques. The message, I’m afraid, is a little tiresome.”
    She rolled her eyes, put some granola into a bowl, and filled it with rice milk. She sat at the kitchen table, looking at him earnestly. “The thing is, Dad, I was thinking of stopping by before I catch the train.”
    â€œOh?” Vincenzo shrugged. He’d suspected that that was what she was thinking about, but still it stung. Hoping to put the issue down lightly, he said, “I don’t know if I like that, but I suppose I could just tell the police to aim their fire hoses at the girl with the lip ring.”
    She mustered a dutiful smile, then said, “You wouldn’t really mind, would you?”
    He shrugged, looked out the window at the collapsing fence in the backyard. “Maybe, I—I don’t know.” It seemed remarkable that she didn’t know that he’d really mind. And it seemed remarkable that she could take his breath away like that. He put two slices of bread into the new electric toaster, pressed the button, and watched the slices slowly descend.
    â€œIt’s nothing personal,” she said.
    â€œOh?” Wishing he could resist, but finding himself unable, he said, “Well, yes, it is something personal.” He shrugged again. It had become a favorite gesture for him, the shrug. It was versatile, the implication open to interpretation. “My work means a lot to me.” He stared at the glowing wires inside the toaster.
    â€œYou really don’t want me to be there.”
    As if thinking about this, he squinted and looked out the back window again, then said, “Could you come in for lunch?”
    â€œThat would sort of defeat the purpose. You know, if halfway through the day, I put down my sign and went inside for a veggie burger with Dad.”
    â€œI see.”
    â€œDo you? I think you’re taking it personally. This isn’t about you.”
    â€œYou think?”
    â€œYes.” She stared at him, unblinking. After a moment, she pressed her lips into the tense smile that she used to indicate that she was ready to drop the subject, but was nonetheless sure that she was right, anyway. Then, seeing that his certitudematched hers, she said, “You know, there will be no other children of Bank employees out there today.”
    This seemed to support his argument. “Because they know better,” he said.
    â€œNo—my point is that this isn’t something children do to get even with their parents. If it was, there’d be dozens of us. This really isn’t about you.”
    He just nodded slowly, and continued looking at her intently.
    At last, she said, “I’ll just go back to New York.”
    This was when he was supposed to assure her that it was fine for her to attend the protest, but he couldn’t bring himself to do that. So he said nothing. She sighed. He looked at the toaster.
    â€œI like the new kitchen supplies,” she eventually said