Anne Tyler - Noahs Compass

Tyler, Anne - Noah's Compass

by Tyler, Anne

Noahs Compass: A Novel

Noahs Compass: A Novel

Noahs Compass: A Novel

ALSO BY ANNE TYLER

Digging to America

The Amateur Marriage

Back When We Were Grownups

A Patchwork Planet

Ladder of Years

Saint Maybe

Breathing Lessons

The Accidental Tourist

Dinner at the Homesick Restaurant

Morgans Passing

Earthly Possessions

Searching for Caleb

Celestial Navigation

The Clock Winder

A Slipping-Down Life

The Tin Can Tree

If Morning Ever Comes

Noahs Compass: A Novel

Noahs Compass: A Novel

In the sixty-first year of his life, Liam Pennywell lost his job.

It wasnt such a good job, anyhow. Hed been teaching fifth grade in a second-rate private boys school. Fifth grade wasnt even what hed been trained for. Teaching wasnt what hed been trained for. His degree was in philosophy. Oh, dont ask. Things seemed to have taken a downward turn a long, long time ago, and perhaps it was just as well that he had seen the last of St. Dyfrigs dusty, scuffed corridors and those interminable after-school meetings and the reams of niggling paperwork.

In fact, this might be a sign. It could be just the nudge he needed to push him on to the next stagethe final stage, the summing-up stage. The stage where he sat in his rocking chair and reflected on what it all meant, in the end.

He had a respectable savings account and the promise of a pension, so his money situation wasnt out-and-out desperate. Still, he would have to economize. The prospect of economizing interested him. He plunged into it with more enthusiasm than hed felt in yearsgave up his big old-fashioned apartment within the week and signed a lease on a smaller place, a one-bedroom-plus-den in a modern complex out toward the Baltimore Beltway. Of course this meant paring down his possessions, but so much the better. Simplify, simplify! Somehow he had accumulated far too many encumbrances. He tossed out bales of old magazines and manila envelopes stuffed with letters and three shoe boxes of index cards for the dissertation that he had never gotten around to writing. He tried to palm off his extra furniture on his daughters, two of whom were grownups with places of their own, but they said it was too shabby. He had to donate it to Goodwill. Even Goodwill refused his couch, and he ended up paying 1-800-GOT-JUNK to truck it away. What was left, finally, was compact enough that he could reserve the next-smallest-size U-Haul, a fourteen-footer, for moving day.

On a breezy, bright Saturday morning in June, he and his friend Bundy and his youngest daughters boyfriend lugged everything out of his old apartment and set it along the curb.

(Bundy had decreed that they should develop a strategy before they started loading.) Liam was reminded of a photographic series that hed seen in one of those magazines he had just thrown away. National Geographic? Life? Different people from different parts of the world had posed among their belongings in various outdoor settings. There was a progression from the contents of the most primitive tribesmans hut (a cooking pot and a blanket, in Africa or some such) to a suburban American familys football-field-sized assemblage of furniture and automobiles, multiple TVs and sound systems, wheeled racks of clothing, everyday china and company china, on and on and on. His own collection, which had seemed so scanty in the gradually emptying rooms of his apartment, occupied an embarrassingly large space along-side the curb. He felt eager to whisk it away from public view. He snatched up the nearest box even before Bundy had given them the go-ahead.

Bundy taught phys ed at St. Dyfrig. He was a skeletal, blue-black giraffe of a man, frail by the looks of him, but he could lift astonishing weights. And Damiana limp, wilted seventeen-year-oldwas getting paid for this. So Liam let the two of them tackle the heavy stuff while he himself, short and stocky and out of shape, saw to the lamps and the pots and pans and other light objects. He had packed his books in small cartons and so those he carried too, stacking them lovingly and precisely against the left inner wall of the van while Bundy single-handedly wrestled with a desk and Damian tottered beneath an upside-down Windsor chair balanced on top of his head. Damian had the posture of a consumptivenarrow, curved back and buckling knees. He resembled a walking comma.

The new apartment was some five miles from the old one, a short jaunt up North Charles Street. Once the van was loaded, Liam led the way in his car. He had assumed that Damian, who was below the legal age for driving a rental, would ride shotgun in the van with Bundy, but instead he slid in next to Liam and sat in a jittery silence, chewing on a thumbnail and lurking behind a mane of lank black hair. Liam couldnt think of a single thing to say to him.

When they stopped for the light at Wyndhurst he contemplated asking how Kitty was, but he decided it might sound odd to inquire about his own daughter. Not until they were turning off Charles did either of them speak, and then it was Damian. Swingin bumper sticker, he said.

Since there were no cars ahead of them, Liam knew it had to be his own bumper sticker Damian meant. (BUMPER STICKER, it reada witticism that no one before had ever seemed to appreciate.) Why, thanks, he said. And then, feeling encouraged: I also have a T-shirt that says T-SHIRT. Damian stopped chewing his thumbnail and gaped at him. Liam said, Heh, heh, in a helpful tone of voice, but still it seemed that Damian didnt get it.

The complex Liam was moving to sat opposite a small shopping mall. It consisted of several two-story buildings, flat-faced and beige and bland, placed at angles to each other under tall, spindly pines. Liam had worried about privacy, seeing the network of paths between buildings and the flanks of wide, staring windows, but during the whole unloading process they didnt run into a single neighbor. The carpeting of brown pine needles muffled their voices, and the wind in the trees above them made an eerily steady whispering sound. Cool,

Damian said, presumably meaning the sound, since he had his face tipped upward as he spoke. He was under the Windsor chair again. It loomed like an oversized bonnet above his forehead.

Liams unit was on the ground floor. Unfortunately, it had a shared entrancea heavy brown steel door, opening into a dank-smelling cinderblock foyer with his own door to the left and a flight of steep concrete steps directly ahead. Second-floor units cost less to rent, but Liam would have found it depressing to climb those stairs every day.

He hadnt given much thought beforehand to the placement of his furniture. Bundy set things down any old where but Damian proved unexpectedly finicky, shoving Liams bed first one way and then another in search of the best view. Like, youve got to see out the window first thing when you open your eyes, he said, or how will you know what kind of weather it is? The bed was digging tracks across the carpet, and Liam just wanted to leave it where it stood. What did he care what kind of weather it was? When Damian started in on the deskit had to be positioned where sunlight wouldnt reflect off the computer screen, he saidLiam told him, Well, since I dont own a computer, where the desk is now will be fine. That about wraps things up, I guess.

Dont own a computer! Damian echoed.

So let me just get you your money, and you can be on your way.

But how do you, like, communicate with the outside world?

Liam was about to say that he communicated by fountain pen, but Bundy said, chuckling, He doesnt. Then he clapped a hand on Liams shoulder. Okay, Liam, good luck, man.

Liam hadnt meant to dismiss Bundy along with Damian. He had envisioned the two of them sharing the traditional moving-day beer and pizza. But of course, Bundy was providing Damians ride back. (It was Bundy whod picked up the U-Haul, bless him, and now hed be returning it.) So Liam said, Well, thank you, Bundy. Ill have to have you over once Im settled in. Then he handed Damian a hundred and twenty dollars in cash. The extra twenty was a tip, but since Damian pocketed the bills without counting them, the gesture felt like a waste.