The State of the World

CJ WATCHED THE NEWS on a 1975 portable Toshiba color TV. It had been a birthday gift from Helen when it was new and considered “the latest technology,” a set for his upstairs office in the sprawling Victorian house they were buying in Northwest Portland. They had a larger set in the den (not the living room) but CJ spent a good deal of time in his office, a converted bedroom, where he read, wrote, and prepared classes. Helen thought a second TV in there would let him watch news shows that didn't interest her. Her husband, she knew, was more of a news junky than she was.

When CJ sold the house after Helen's death, he got rid of most of what they owned. But he brought the portable TV with him to a downtown apartment.

The first time Matt saw his friend's new apartment, he kidded him about the TV.

“It's a goddamn antique. It belongs in the Smithsonian.”

“It still works fine,” said CJ.

“Amazing. It's so small. My computer screen is larger.”

“I don't need to see the starving children in Africa any larger, believe me.”

Matt said, “Whatever.”

CJ smiled.

“That's my point,” he said. “You respond honestly, humanly, to horror and what happens? Your response is dismissed. It's not the horror but the response that upsets you! The most sensitive among us are locked up in loony bins.”

“So you've told me. You ready to get out of here?”

They left the apartment to go to breakfast, and the state of the world was, if not forgotten, ignored for the rest of the morning.

From Sodom, Gomorrah and Jones