Читать книгу Zany! - Jim Gold - Страница 16

WHAT A MORNING! A day for optimism filled with energy of repair: a tikkun olam morning. Shots of wild illumination, straight from Central Radiance Itself, pounded the sluggish spinal column of the somnambulant Zany. His eyelids fluttered. Incipient wakefulness stood within reach.

The house had been reassembled. Zany sat in his armchair.

But, that morning, sitting felt very different. From rear end to brain, a rare form of ancient enthusiasm had begun to percolate. Flowing up and down his spine, then moving into his throat, it made his vocal cords resonate with vigor; sparks coated his tongue. “Today is my day!” he proclaimed. “Hope and desire rising. This morning I’ll get up, advance to the staircase, and, with luck, even make it to the second floor! Militating against my sleeping soul are subtle powers. I feel them stirring in my heart.”

He shook his finger at the wall, rose from his armchair, took three steps forward, and looked boldly out the window. A cloudless sky mirrored the blue in his eyes; a blast of Eroica Beethovian energy jostled his being. Releasing a puff of velvet carbon dioxide, he smiled. “Ah, such satisfaction! I feel calm and peaceful. My innards are turning; a vague wildness simmers within. Today is rise-up day. I shall walk.” Zany patted his chest. “Perhaps the fire helped after all. That pop, crackle, crunch, the pounding tympani of the kitchen ceiling collapsing, trumpets blaring, clashing cymbals of Wagnerian magnificence smashing the table to smithereens: In retrospect, how I loved it!” His eyes gleamed. “Yes! I’m ready! I want to meet my neighbors.”