Remember the field

By SOHO JOE

The city vibrated with the rush hour din of horns, the million flashing lights, the swarm of beings moving expertly past each other, like bees in a hive. In 36-point type the Daily News blared out the daily horror, whatever it happened to be. Heading toward the Lexington line, I crossed Pershing Square against the traffic and spilled down the narrow staircase into the subway tunnel. There, below the street, a bongo/xylophone team played over the screeching breaks of the express and the squawk of the broken speaker announcing trains. The city hath its charms, but this isn’t one of them.

I found a seat on the Number 6 next to a woman reading the Daily News. “Pennsylvania Pachyderm Crushes Handler,” it said. A blind man with an accordion came through asking for money. My body was touching three people I didn’t know and would not attempt to now. I remembered the catalog in my pack as if it were a lifejacket in a storm, and I pulled it out. I had never even heard of it before last weekend. Starbucks, yes. Banana Republic. Au Bon Pain. Walgreen’s. All the other in-your-face national chains. But Husqvarna? The copy said they’d been in business since 1689. Where have I been?

The bright red tractors looked like so many Christmas toys. I paged over to the Crown YTH1542, the model I wanted. Fifteen horsepower, overhead valves, oil filter.

“You’re gonna need overhead valves if you wanna hook up a plow,” the guy had said on the phone.

I imagined riding it slowly over the open field, no one in sight, birds chirping, the smell of cut grass filling the air. The train stopped. “Step all the way into the car,” the digital voice said. The doors closed, and we sped frantically on.

What about the optional mulch kit, I thought. I should get that too. The black walnut leaves made a thick carpet on the grass this fall. “Union Square!” said the train voice. The tiles in the station bore the familiar meaningless calligraphy of the graffiti artists. The commuter next to me never looked up: “Terrorists Threaten Western Civilization.”

I thought again of the field, the grass, the roots dormant now in the cool earth. In a few months, earth, oblivious to the madness on its surface, will tilt on its axis, and the grass will start to grow again. With any luck, I’ll be there, with my rebuilt Husqvarna, with its 42" cutting width and six height adjustments and cupholder. The lady next to me turned the page. “Lawyer Steals from Indigent Clients!” the newspaper said. The train lurched forward.