Coe Review

She opened her mouth cavernously, but instead of a scream—a squeak,
a last bit of air escaping from a balloon. It doesn't! It doesn't!
Then she went back into her snarl. But you'll get yours. They'll reproduce
that Lao research, improve it, perfect it. Of course it'll only be the rich at first. Whoever
patents the thing will charge a mint, never mind ethics. The rich will become immortal
before the poor get a decent bite to eat.
That sounded more like the old Ruth, and I turned to look at the window
to hide a real smile: Ruth, railing against the wealthy, never mind her own
status as lifelong trust fund baby.
She went on, though. By the time you're old, people will be living twice as long
as you. Then see how you feel. Like that soldier, the one who gets killed only two days
before the war ends. Can you imagine it? Lying in a field bleeding to death knowing that
if you'd just held on two days you could go on for decades more. Instead you'll be rotting
away within weeks when everyone else is celebrating. Going home heroes. Settling back in.
And you're dead. You're dead. Your body's rotten. Your brain's wormy. You're gone,
for the next ten years, the next hundred, forever.
I wanted to tell her to stop. I couldn't, though, because we both knew
she would stop soon enough. I had to let her make the words come out into
the room, while she could still make something in the world before it made
her into nothing.
I warned you about her. I warned you about me, too, though I don't
think you heard that warning.
And now here we are.
You met me in a bar. You listened, you looked. You kept looking when
you were supposed to be listening. You felt something pulling you toward
me, or so you've said. So you listened to me talk about Maria and went with
me to visit Ruth and then you took me back to the bar. Well, here we are.
And it's getting late.
Now you look abashed again, boyish, eager to explain. Look, just because
I went with you to see your mom and all doesn't mean that I'm expecting anything.
Good. I don't expect anything any more, either.
Then grinning, sly. Hey, 25 and 45 aren't so different.
No, they're not. Not for me, certainly.
I mean—you've had a day and so have I. I just—want to take you out, that's all.
Out to see the city, out to show you the world.
But I've seen the world, at least enough now to know what I want from
32 Redwood