Falling Man_ A Novel - Don Delillo [51]
He stood near the front of the large room watching them work out. They were in their twenties and thirties, arrayed in ranks on the stair climbers and elliptical trainers. He walked along the near aisle, feeling a bond with these men and women, not sure quite why. They strained against weighted metal sleds and rode stationary bikes. There were rowing machines and spidery isotonic devices. He paused at the entrance to the weight room and saw powerlifters fixed between safety bars, grunting up out of their squats. He saw women at the speed bags nearby, throwing hooks and jabs, and others doing footwork drills, skipping rope, one leg tucked up, arms crossed.
An escort was with him, young man in white, on the staff of the fitness center. Keith stood at the rear of the great open space, people everywhere in motion, blood pumping. They quick-walked on the treadmills or ran in place, never seeming regimented, never rigidly linked. It was a scene charged with purpose and a kind of elemental sex, rooted sex, women arched and bent, all elbows and knees, neck veins jutting. But there was something else as well. These were the people he knew, if he knew anyone. Here, together, these were the ones he could stand with in the days after. Maybe that’s what he was feeling, a spirit, a kinship of trust.
He walked down the far aisle, escort trailing, waiting for Keith to ask a question. He was looking the place over. He would need to do serious gymwork once he started his job, days away now. It was no good spending eight hours at the office, ten hours, then going straight home. He would need to burn things off, test his body, direct himself inward, working on his strength, stamina, agility, sanity. He would need an offsetting discipline, a form of controlled behavior, voluntary, that kept him from shambling into the house hating everybody.
Her mother was asleep again. Lianne wanted to go home but knew she couldn’t. It was only five minutes ago that Martin had walked out the door, abruptly, and she didn’t want Nina to wake up alone. She went to the kitchen and found some fruit and cheese. She stood at the sink washing a pear and heard something in the living room. She turned off the faucet and listened and then went into the room. Her mother was talking to her.
“I have dreams when I’m not quite asleep, not all the way down, and I’m dreaming.”
“We need to have some lunch, both of us.”
“I almost feel I can open my eyes and see what I’m dreaming. Makes no sense, does it? The dream is not so much in my mind as all around me.”
“It’s the pain medication. You’re taking too much, for no reason.”
“The physical therapy causes pain.”
“You’re not doing the physical therapy.”
“This must mean I’m not taking the medication.”
“That’s not funny. One of those drugs you take is habit-forming. At least one.”
“Where’s my grandson?”
“Exactly where he was last time you asked. But that’s not the question. The question is Martin.”
“It’s hard to imagine that a day will come anytime soon when we stop arguing about this.”
“He was very intense.”
“You haven’t seen him when he’s intense. It’s a lingering thing, goes back years, well before we knew each other.”
“Which is twenty years, yes.”
“Yes.”
“But before that, what?”
“He was involved in the times. All that turmoil. He was active.”
“Bare walls. The art investor with bare walls.”
“Nearly bare. Yes, that’s Martin.”
“Martin Ridnour.”
“Yes.”
“Did you tell me once that’s not his real name?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe,” Nina said.
“If I heard it, then it came from you. Is that his real name?”
“No.”
“I don’t think you told me his real name.”
“Maybe I don’t know his real name.”
“Twenty years.”
“Not continuously. Not even for prolonged periods. He’s somewhere, I’m somewhere else.”
“He has a wife.”
“She’s somewhere else too.”
“Twenty years. Traveling with