—Again, sir: why does a man abandon his homeland, change his name, and start his life afresh halfway across the world?—Why, because of grief, sir, the death of a beloved wife, which propelled him out of himself. Because of grief, and the need to leave it behind, and the leaving behind of it achieved by the shedding of the self.—Plausible. And yet one is not wholly convinced. And yet it remains to ask again: what of the preparations for departure, which predated the tragedy? An explanation for that must be given, surely?—You search for a subtext, then? You suspect shenanigans, skulduggery, jiggery-pokery?—Innocent until proven guilty. No charges against this patriarch in the 2G Spectrum scam. This, one concedes. And surely a fellow on the run from the law would, having rendered himself pseudonymous, affect a low profile? Surely such a fellow would not bruit himself abroad in his newfound land? Whereas this fellow, increasingly, and persistently, and with ever-increasing brio, does he not, bruits.—Sir, he does. Which may, as you say, denote innocence. But one thinks, also, of the parable of the scorpion and the frog. The scorpion acts according to its nature even when it is suicidal to do so. Additionally, or by way of confirmation, he is of brazen character, this fellow. He is sure, one feels, of his own invincibility, secure in the certainty of his own invulnerability. If indeed there are laws he has broken, or, how should one put this, people he has alienated—for one’s most dangerous adversaries are not necessarily law-abiding themselves—then he is certain he is beyond their reach. The reach of dangerous adversaries is not limitless. They may be dangerous on their own turf, but it is not easy for them to stretch beyond it, and they do not try to do so.—Or so I speculate. This is not my area of expertise.—But it is clear that Nero feels increasingly secure, and armored by this growing self-belief he goes forth a-scorpioning, blaring and foghorning, establishing, as they say nowadays, his brand.—A word with many meanings, sir, including these: an identifying mark formerly burned on criminals or slaves. A habit, trait, or quality that causes someone public shame or disgrace. A torch. A sword.—We shall see which of those, in this case, applies.
To continue: It had become clear by the election year of 2012 that Nero Golden did not intend to lead a quiet life. Of all the four-and-twenty-blackbird dainty-dishes into which he had stuck a finger during the course of his previous life it was the construction and development business that came most naturally to him and remained strongest in him, and so it was that the word GOLDEN, a golden word, colored gold, in brightly illuminated gold neon, and all in capital letters of gold, began to be seen on hard-hat sites around town, and out of town also, and the name’s owner began to be spoken of as a new power player in that most closed of elites, the small number of families and corporations who controlled the building of this golden city, New York.
—Families, sir? When you say families are you meaning to say, if I may put this delicately, famiglie?—No, sir, or not entirely. The industry in 2012 was much cleaner than previously. In the 1990s the construction companies all belonged to the mob and their bids were absurdly inflated. Now the Five Families’ influence was diminished. On some of Nero Golden’s sites the workers included nonunion. Twenty years earlier these workers would have been killed.—So you speak now of reputable persons: Doronin, Sumaida, Khurana, Silverstein, Stern, Feldman, the aristocrats of real estate.—Not entirely, sir, as I said. The mob abides. Now that it’s all over and all is out in the open we can point to Nero Golden’s covert dealings with such associates as the Philadelphia descendants of Petruchio “Chicken Little” Leone, and Atlantic City’s Arcimboldo “Little Archie” Antonioni, and in Miami Federico “Crazy Fred” Bertolucci. We may also mention that in New York City, several of the Golden towers were built by Ponti & Quasimodo Concrete Co.—“P&Q”—an operation in which there was a strong interest taken by Francesco “Fat Frankie” Palermo, an allegedly senior figure in the Genovese crime family.—This is known?—Now, at the end of l’affaire Golden, it is known. What is more, Nero Golden was clearly quite comfortable in his dealings with these individuals and the families behind them.—Comfortable.—Sir: revealingly at ease.
Two last questions: Did Chicken Little, Little Archie, Crazy Fred and Fat Frankie wear, upon their ample chins, designer stubble? And did they own, and in the evening sometimes wear, bad tuxedoes?—Sir: they did.
Here is Nero Golden, lifting his ban on the media, showing a photographer from a glossy free magazine around his beautiful home. (No more secrecy now; instead, everything on display.) Here is Nero Golden, showing another such magazine around his beautiful wife. He speaks of his wife as his inspiration, as his lodestar, as the source of his “renewal.” I am an old man, he says, and maybe for men such as myself it’s time to wind down, go on the boat, pick up the golf clubs, winter in Florida, pass the baton. This until recently I was ready to do, even though my sons, God knows, show little interest in the family business. My youngest, can you believe it, he works now for a girls’ youth club on the LES, he’s doing good works, and this is fine, but maybe I need him too, a little attention, please. And then, an artist, and then Petya. So it is. But such concerns do not worry me any longer because I am as a man reborn. A woman will do this for you. A woman like Mrs. Golden, she is the elixir of life, she turns a man’s hair black again, she tightens his abdomen, she puts miles back into his legs, and his mind, yes, his business mind also, she sharpens it like a knife. Look at her! Can you doubt me? Did you see her Playboy photos? Of course not ashamed, why would one be ashamed? To own one’s body, to care for it and make it excellent, to see no disgrace in beauty, that is liberation. She is the ideal of the liberated woman and also the ideal of the wife. Both sides of the coin. Yes: a lucky man. For sure. She’s the jackpot, no doubt.
REGARDING LOVE: A TRAGEDY