A FEW days ago, I mustered up the nerve to visit the Empire State Building,
only recently reopened after the attack on the World Trade Center.
I鈥檇 been to the 86th floor before to see the breathtaking views of Manhattan,
but this time I鈥檓 edgy. As the elevator shoots upward, I find I鈥檝e lost my
freedom from fear. In return, I鈥檝e gained a sense of solidarity, born of
nightmare. But it is already unravelling.
Inevitably, New Yorkers are withdrawing from the simple sharing of grief.
Now, there seems to be no single interpretation of what happened鈥攏ot even
a common experience.
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In fact, grieving has taken on a whole new geography. People who live
downtown are convinced they鈥檙e living in a different city from those who live
uptown, because so many of them saw the whole thing鈥攑lanes, collapsing
towers, men and women jumping head first to their deaths. And they saw it from
their windows, their streets, as I did, unmediated by television.
South of 14th Street, close to what is now called 鈥済round zero鈥� and where I
live, reminders are everywhere. The sidewalks are loaded with debris, people
seem to have fewer qualms about plastering apartment buildings with fliers of
the missing, vigils and memorials remain alive with candles burning and fresh
flowers arriving daily. The red, white and blue that make up the 13 stripes and
50 stars are always in view.
Yet by the fourth week, many fliers no longer have telephone numbers or
contact names on them. With all hope vanished, they are simply there to praise
and distinguish the dead. The flags, along with the patriotism, diminish by the
day.
Slowly, people are reverting to the New York persona: detached, unflappable,
exuberant. But with a difference.
Anxious about another attack, they rush to pharmacies for the antibiotic
Ciprofloxacin, hoping it will save them from biological weapons, and gas masks
have sold by the thousands. But the days go by and nothing new happens. Streets
are again full of life: the river of yellow taxis flows steadily, Broadway shows
are on again, Times Square is full, people are shopping, eating, drinking.
Still, there is disquiet about possible action against an unseen, ruthless
enemy. Should I get a gas mask? And there is an unspoken guilt as we struggle to
go on with our lives while somehow honouring the thousands who died.
Fear presses against everyone in the city these days. This is something we do
share, along with a fiery vision that feels like a dream, but isn鈥檛.
On the observation deck, I join the crowd looking south into the city鈥檚 heart
of darkness. Maybe they weren鈥檛 our favourite buildings, but there鈥檚 a yawning
gap there now鈥攁 hole as big as the one in our hearts.