The long walk

They felt as if they’d just built the city and were running a cursory eye over it, to make sure that it was standing, full at the hips. They began within earshot of the M, under the unblinking eye of the golden lady atop the Municipal Building. They admired the Brooklyn Bridge: how the cables touched here and moved on, like runners in a relay race. Near the Winter Garden they asked a man mooring his yacht how much the yacht had cost, and the man, taking them for kids, answered merely, “A lot.” In the Village Kasia saw trees in the distance and asked Il’ya if he knew what park it was. He answered, “Isn’t there a forest at the edge of every village?” They made a foray into that forest. They emerged on Union Square, to find Critical Mass underway: dozens of howling cyclists had swarmed, like cats coming out of the alleys to harmonize. “The city is under siege,” said Il’ya. “The city is took,” paraphrased Kasia. They followed the crowd to Little Italy, where the windows brimmed with strapping youths in white undershirts.

They did not tire. As the night tucked its blanket under the buildings of the city, they hunted for a seller of oranges, and engaged him in chatter. Il’ya put the fruit into Kasia’s hands to remind her of fire and light. In Columbus Circle they stood over the lit panels in the sidewalk. Believers tipped their hats to these haloes from below. In Whole Foods they reveled in the barrels of coffee beans, in the array of colorful bottles. They ate fistfuls of bread and chunks of cheese and then they returned home by a different way: they took a long cut through Central Park. The sprung orange Gates were abloom in the moonlight, heralding spring. The statues were wet from the spray of fountains. Two starlings gossiped in the crook of Juliette’s arm. They crossed into a play performed by a roving Shakespearean troupe. They mistook the play for The Tempest; it turned out to be Much Ado About Nothing. They contributed applause and furthered their own heartbeats as well as those of the actors.  Kasia’s harried braids teemed with remnants of winter and spring’s burgeoning smells.