Comforted in god at west chester

Arnold Gordenstein

Abstract


The end of the world would be on Thursday. He'd packed
enough socks and underwear to carry him to that time. After
that he'd wash them in the hotel sink. One world at a time.
He'd packed a whole carton of film and powdered chemicals.
He'd rather not make a habit of going to the local camera
stores. Bass River would know who he was eventually and he
preferred postponing that until he'd gotten what he was after.
And if he did that, and solidly, nothing would disturb him, not
even the mail from home, wherever that was.
If the enlarger arrived on time he could have the end of
the world pictures done in time for the Sunday photo supplement.
After that he's stay around for another round of his socks
and underwear while he tried to find out what that strange job
offer was all abaft Ifla:found nictures to match the urges he felt lurking in the back of his brain they might not want him back at the paper anyway. It would be hard to start up there but it would be hard anywhere. That was the beginning of the slide, the death of his eye. At least up there. he might face it as a purely technical problem more squarely than in Boston. And the hardness was part of the process. He was over the crest of his life and there was little left for him to do except look down the other side and see what remained to be done. And what he saw was -- everything still. There were many things he would have wanted to do but they were out of reach now. If he'd lived differently he'd simply someone else now. Regretting what he'd missed was denying what he'd done, which wasn't bad.

Keywords


English Language; English



DOI: https://doi.org/10.5007/%25x

Copyright (c) 1982 Arnold Gordenstein

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