The Thickening Wish
Typically, he walks far enough north so that he sees the bridge and he appears to be so casual as he passes objects, the people, rusticated arcades, and heavy keystones.
Here’s how it is—he had just gotten as far as Childs & Son Excavation Company, which has a colonnaded façade.
His wife, back at home, sat in front of their hole-in-the-wall fireplace.
If her husband is delayed, she’ll prepare for herself a nice shirred egg.
Has he anything in mind when he nears Mitchell’s Sheet Metal and the Nelson Fuel Company?
You have got a lot of nerve! comes to mind. Somebody in his childhood said that frequently, but who was it who said it?
His wife is thinking, I am usually in a rush, but I am not in a rush today.
She stows a spool of thread and a needle threaded with the thread. And didn’t she put away her ring? It had been prized and placid on the bureau top, with its many little rough points—the prongs—that in the course of time had never gone and worn themselves down smoothly.
This is how her husband’s feet move his body—it’s a spring-like action.
His wife hunts for more objects to put away. Many are made of cheap metal—boat-shaped or cube-shaped.
She enjoys their real fireplace, sitting by it, studying the in-and-out curve of it and the projecting stub of its mantel.
She tells herself, “Take all the time to clean up that you need.”
By chance, her husband has not yet come up against the bridge he seeks—but he has seen many towers and domes, porches and arches and doors, and he always enjoys the step-gabled buildings in the old town.
Then at last, he sees the bridge that seems to him to be sinking. The bridge has become a boob, or a drunk, or a bum.
His wife puts an egg into a greased custard cup, dots it with butter, salt and pepper, and a drop of milk. She slides the egg—which had spent nearly the entirety of its life stone-cold and refrigerated—into the hot oven.
Her husband is now uncomprehending. The road he’d been on was pointing toward the bridge, so now how did the road suddenly take a sharp turn away from the bridge and head over toward this warehouse?
His wife begins to eat, but she cannot swallow.
You blockhead, you ass!
And her husband is back at the business of piling up the sights that have been left lying around.
Typically, her husband has had an air of daring while he attempts—at each important stage of the trek—to take everything in.