Gods of Manhattan Read Online Free Page B
into it.
"S'a good sammich." he grinned, in between chews.
Johann simply stared.
"You get out now! You get out of my shop!" screeched Alma, purple with fury. The futurehead smirked through a mouthful of the Rabbi's bread and beef, and moved to the door. He'd won the battle. He'd walked in and taken what he wanted, and now he would leave.
"Wait." said Johann, softly.
The young man turned, looked at him, and bit into the sandwich again.
"You can have my sandwich."
The young man narrowed his eyes.
"No, you can have it. You can come in here and cause trouble and spit on a clean floor, if that's what you enjoy. You can steal from an old man, take what you haven't earned. You can do what you like." Johann felt the blood rushing to his cheeks and heard the anger in his own voice. "You can! You can dress like you're in the Hidden Empire, like good people never fought and bled and died to make you safe from them! You can do all of that, because you're taller than we are. It's just a matter of height. You're taller than we are, and stronger than we are, and you look more threatening than we do! And in your world that is the only thing that matters! That, I understand! That is the path you have chosen for yourself - good luck to you! Mazel tov!"
He paused, gathering his fury, his fists clenched. Then he reached out and grabbed a hold of the upside-down lightning bolt, the safety pins popping away as he pulled and the ragged patch of blue cloth came away in his hands. "But you will not disgrace this while you do it!"
The boy blinked, shock written over his face. Johann's fist shook. "Now get out. Get out of here."
The futurehead threw Johann's sandwich onto the floor, spat, and left, the door slamming violently behind him.
The bell rang furiously for a second, then came to a stop.
"Oy..." Johann breathed. He felt drained. He hadn't meant to lose his temper that way.
"Give me that." Alma smiled, taking the square of cloth from his hands, then pinning it up behind the counter. "It'll make a good conversation piece. You want me to call the cops?"
Johann shook his head. "No... no, I just lost my temper with him." He let out a sigh, feeling his heart hammering in his chest. "I'm too old for such nonsense. For a three-dollar sandwich! And what have I achieved? For you, a conversation piece and a dirty floor. For me, almost a heart attack, maybe worse if that schmuck had taken a swing at me... ah, let me help you clean this up."
Alma smiled. "I won't hear of such a thing, Rabbi. You sit yourself down and catch your breath and I'll make you up a fresh one."
"No, no..." Johann sighed. "I couldn't eat it now. I'll head back to my apartment and take some soup when my stomach is settled."
"Then take your three dollars back, at least."
"Three extra dollars would throw my whole budget off. I'd become extravagant. You keep it, or give it away to a hungry orphan." He shuffled towards the door, swinging it open and listening to the sound. "Wait, wait - promise me one thing, Alma, if you think you owe me something for acting like an old fool."
Alma raised an eyebrow.
"Don't ever change that bell."
Four blocks later, Johann found himself chuckling over the incident. The look on the young man's face! He'd think twice in the future, perhaps, about bullying old men. And perhaps he wouldn't. Still, it was nice to dream.
Johann's eyes flicked up to the solitary gas lamp that lit the dark alley, his little shortcut home. Someone had cut little stars and moons from coloured paper and stuck them on the glass, so that they threw great coloured shapes onto the ground below. The effect was quite charming. A square of cardboard propped against the wall told the rest of the story. Breakers had, sometime the night before, made the alley an impromptu dancehall, at least until the residents had run them off.
Breakers and bikers, futureheads and Warhol-girls. And that lightning bolt on blue cloth watching over them all. Manhattan was a strange
"S'a good sammich." he grinned, in between chews.
Johann simply stared.
"You get out now! You get out of my shop!" screeched Alma, purple with fury. The futurehead smirked through a mouthful of the Rabbi's bread and beef, and moved to the door. He'd won the battle. He'd walked in and taken what he wanted, and now he would leave.
"Wait." said Johann, softly.
The young man turned, looked at him, and bit into the sandwich again.
"You can have my sandwich."
The young man narrowed his eyes.
"No, you can have it. You can come in here and cause trouble and spit on a clean floor, if that's what you enjoy. You can steal from an old man, take what you haven't earned. You can do what you like." Johann felt the blood rushing to his cheeks and heard the anger in his own voice. "You can! You can dress like you're in the Hidden Empire, like good people never fought and bled and died to make you safe from them! You can do all of that, because you're taller than we are. It's just a matter of height. You're taller than we are, and stronger than we are, and you look more threatening than we do! And in your world that is the only thing that matters! That, I understand! That is the path you have chosen for yourself - good luck to you! Mazel tov!"
He paused, gathering his fury, his fists clenched. Then he reached out and grabbed a hold of the upside-down lightning bolt, the safety pins popping away as he pulled and the ragged patch of blue cloth came away in his hands. "But you will not disgrace this while you do it!"
The boy blinked, shock written over his face. Johann's fist shook. "Now get out. Get out of here."
The futurehead threw Johann's sandwich onto the floor, spat, and left, the door slamming violently behind him.
The bell rang furiously for a second, then came to a stop.
"Oy..." Johann breathed. He felt drained. He hadn't meant to lose his temper that way.
"Give me that." Alma smiled, taking the square of cloth from his hands, then pinning it up behind the counter. "It'll make a good conversation piece. You want me to call the cops?"
Johann shook his head. "No... no, I just lost my temper with him." He let out a sigh, feeling his heart hammering in his chest. "I'm too old for such nonsense. For a three-dollar sandwich! And what have I achieved? For you, a conversation piece and a dirty floor. For me, almost a heart attack, maybe worse if that schmuck had taken a swing at me... ah, let me help you clean this up."
Alma smiled. "I won't hear of such a thing, Rabbi. You sit yourself down and catch your breath and I'll make you up a fresh one."
"No, no..." Johann sighed. "I couldn't eat it now. I'll head back to my apartment and take some soup when my stomach is settled."
"Then take your three dollars back, at least."
"Three extra dollars would throw my whole budget off. I'd become extravagant. You keep it, or give it away to a hungry orphan." He shuffled towards the door, swinging it open and listening to the sound. "Wait, wait - promise me one thing, Alma, if you think you owe me something for acting like an old fool."
Alma raised an eyebrow.
"Don't ever change that bell."
Four blocks later, Johann found himself chuckling over the incident. The look on the young man's face! He'd think twice in the future, perhaps, about bullying old men. And perhaps he wouldn't. Still, it was nice to dream.
Johann's eyes flicked up to the solitary gas lamp that lit the dark alley, his little shortcut home. Someone had cut little stars and moons from coloured paper and stuck them on the glass, so that they threw great coloured shapes onto the ground below. The effect was quite charming. A square of cardboard propped against the wall told the rest of the story. Breakers had, sometime the night before, made the alley an impromptu dancehall, at least until the residents had run them off.
Breakers and bikers, futureheads and Warhol-girls. And that lightning bolt on blue cloth watching over them all. Manhattan was a strange
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