march 16–29, 2020 | new york 21
only made it perversely reassuring in the end. It
made even a worst-case scenario feel somehow
surmountable. We did not discuss the towns in
Northern Italy that were already on lockdown;
nor Trump’s insistence that anyone who wanted
a test could have one, amid doctors’ protests
that there were no tests to give.
We washed our hands upon arriving at the
restaurant and proceeded to touch surfaces
with wild abandon—bottles, glasses, doors,
ATMs. Later, at karaoke, a canister of disinfec-
tant wipes sat beside the microphone. But by
the time we were at karaoke, we were already
drunk, minds rinsed clean of our new habits,
restored to the underlying selfish hubris of the
young and healthy. We’d forgotten that before
the competent scientists showed up, there was
just Gwyneth, having dinner and a big night
out. We mostly failed to disinfect the mic.
Saturday, hung-over, I bought a bagel and ate
it in the park, reading Wang Xiuying’s “The
Word From Wuhan” in the London Review of
Books. “I have now been at home for a month,”
Wang wrote. “I order food on my smartphone
and a courier delivers it to the gate of the com-
pound.” A couple in their 20s, a boy and a girl,
sat down on the bench beside me. The boy
picked up a call. “You’re sending a respirator?”
he said. “I thought you said you were sending
masks.” He listened for a little while. “Oh—
when I hear ‘respirator,’ I think ... a machine.”
Plump birds hopped at our feet. Now we knew
what N95 respirators were. After he got off the
phone, the boy summarized the call for his com-
panion, adopting a broad southern accent: “ ‘My
opinion is this coronavirus is to thin out the
population.’ ” He dropped the accent. “He has all
these conspiracy theories.”
I felt bad for the man on the other end of the
call, who seemed to be a grandfather. He could
probably use a respirator more than his grand-
son. In the LRB, Wang described the deadly
obfuscation and blame-shifting of authorities in
China. On the bench, the couple talked about
the Democratic primary. I harbored a vague
fantasy of the coronavirus as a clarifying moral
force in the election. Maybe voters would start
seeing other people’s health care in newly
urgent terms; maybe sick leave for service
workers would become a matter of enlightened
self-interest. Or maybe we’d just spend the
months to come thinking about the health of
men in their 70s shaking hands in crowds,
while the current administration engaged in
deadly obfuscation and blame-shifting.
I walked from the park to the bookstore my
husband runs. He was on his break, and while
I was there, his sister called. Their brother had
been in Japan a couple weeks before, and now
he had a fever. He wanted to be tested, and he
kept getting turned away. He was fine—wouldbe fine, was already starting to feel better—but
what was he supposed to tell everyone around
him? All he could do for now was stay home.
“Social distancing”: another term that had lately
entered the collective vocabulary. Working in
retail, my husband spends his days in a large
public space, interacting and handling nonpo-
rous objects with a steady stream of strangers.
“When this hits,” he said, “I’m done.” But when
could we really say that it had hit? It wouldn’t
be all at once, like a storm, even if the canned
goods were conjuring memories of hurricanes
Sandy and Irene. For now, the bookstore was
busy and my husband wasn’t sick. He’d seen a
bump in sales for Ling Ma’s pandemic novel,
Severance, and sold a couple copies of Albert
Camus’s The Plague.
Sunday night was a birthday dinner. The
small talk had advanced: Now the jokes weren’t
about hugs; the jokes were about leaving town.
Uptown, Columbia was suspending the next
two days of classes. On my way home, the sub-
way announcements on the C train included
coronavirus warnings, reminders to wash
hands and cover coughs.
Monday was the day my office got shut down.
Someone elsewhere in the building had tested
positive, and now the whole place was getting
cleaned. The previous week, closings and can-
celed plans felt like an “abundance of caution”;
this week, they felt inevitable. People now
seemed surprised that public schools remained
open. No one expected to find Purell stocked at
Duane Reade. That same day, Governor Cuomo
announced plans to address the latter situation:
hand sanitizer manufactured using prison
labor. “I detect lilac, hydrangea, tulips,” Cuomo
said, smelling the sanitizer.
The New York City public schools presented
a more complicated challenge. Private schools
Spence and Collegiate had shut down the week
before for campus cleanings; now Horace
Mann and Brearley announced closures. But
hundreds of thousands of poor and homeless
students depended on public schools for food:
If school closed, how would they eat? The new
crisis exposed an ongoing crisis. Abundance of
caution was just like any other kind of abun-
dance: something only the affluent could afford.
Disease affected everyone, but the stakes were
not the same. If things got very bad, we learned,
disaster plans called for Rikers Island inmates
to dig graves and bury bodies.
The weather in the city was beautiful that
day: In any other year, a March 9 like this would
be the first night to drink outdoors. Leaving my
house, I passed a woman with a sleeveless floral
dress. Leaving the pharmacy, I passed a woman
with three bottles of rubbing alcohol.
Tuesday, I went down to the coffee shop,
where a sign had appeared on the counter:SUNDAY, MARCH 1
A Manhattan health-care worker
becomes the first public case of the
no vel coronavirus in New York City.MONDAY, MARCH 2
A Manhattan lawyer who lives in New
Rochelle becomes the state’s second
case. Nine people connected with him
will soon test positive.After surviving its worst week
since the 2008 financial crash,
the Dow posts its biggest single-
day point gain in history.TUESDAY, MARCH 3
Ralph Lauren cancels his fall/winter
fa shion show.The Federal Reserve slashes interest
rates by half a point.WEDNESDAY, MARCH 4
The House reaches an $8. 3 billion
emergency-funding deal.Brian Keyser, who owns Casellula
Cheese & Wine Café in Hell’s Kitchen,
takes an electronic thermometer to
work. Staff will have to have their
temperature taken before starting a
shift. “It’s probably overkill,” says Keyser,
“but better safe than sorry.”The release of the new James Bond
movie, No Time to Die, is postponed
un til November.THURSDAY, MARCH 5
3 confirmed cases in New York City.Health-care workers face a shortage
of the N95 respirator masks. Michael
Einhorn, president of Dealmed, a
Br ooklyn-based medical-supply
company: “I’ve spoken to two hospital
CEOs and one very high-ranking
ex ecutive looking for N95 masks. Our
ca ll volume is up around 400 percent.
We do have a very limited supply,
but it’s only for our current customers.
We take that decision very seriously.
What’s more important, dialysis centers
or a hospital? I’ve been through
se veral of these cycles, none of those
compare at all to the coronavirus.”FRIDAY, MARCH 6
At least 2,700 city residents are in
some form of quarantine.● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ●THE FIRST
13 DAYSScenes observed
from a safe
social distance.Y ___ DD ___ AD ___ PD ___ EICTRANSMITTED________ COPY ___ DD ___ AD ___ PD ___ EIC0620FEA_Corona_lay [Print]_36899495.indd 21 3/13/20 9:54 PMmarch16–29, 2020 | newyork 21only made it perversely reassuring in theend.It
made even a worst-case scenario feelsomehow
surmountable. We did not discuss thetownsin
Northern Italy that were already on lockdown;
nor Trump’s insistence that anyone whowanted
a test could have one, amid doctors’protests
that there were no tests to give.
We washed our hands upon arrivingat the
restaurant and proceeded to touchsurfaces
withwildabandon—bottles,glasses,doors,
ATMs. Later, at karaoke, a canister ofdisinfec-
tant wipes sat beside the microphone.Butby
the time we were at karaoke, we werealready
drunk, minds rinsed clean of our newhabits,
restored to the underlying selfish hubrisofthe
young and healthy. We’d forgotten thatbefore
the competent scientists showed up,therewas
just Gwyneth, having dinner and abignight
out. We mostly failed to disinfect themic.
Saturday, hung-over, I bought a bagelandate
it in the park, reading Wang Xiuying’s “The
Word From Wuhan” in the LondonReviewof
Books. “I have now been at home fora month,”
Wang wrote. “I order food on my smartphone
and a courier delivers it to the gate ofthecom-
pound.” A couple in their 20s, a boy anda girl,
sat down on the bench beside me.Theboy
picked up a call. “You’re sending a respirator?”
he said. “I thought you said you weresending
masks.” He listened for a little while.“Oh—
when I hear ‘respirator,’ I think ... amachine.”
Plump birds hopped at our feet. Nowweknew
what N95 respirators were. After he gotoff the
phone, the boy summarized the call forhiscom-
panion, adopting a broad southern accent:“ ‘My
opinion is this coronavirus is to thinoutthe
population.’ ” He dropped the accent. “Hehasall
these conspiracy theories.”
I felt bad for the man on the otherendofthe
call, who seemed to be a grandfather.He could
probably use a respirator more than hisgrand-
son. In the LRB, Wang described thedeadly
obfuscation and blame-shifting of authoritiesin
China. On the bench, the couple talkedabout
the Democratic primary. I harboreda vague
fantasy of the coronavirus as a clarifyingmoral
force in the election. Maybe voters wouldstart
seeing other people’s health careinnewly
urgent terms; maybe sick leave forservice
workers would become a matter of enlightened
self-interest. Or maybe we’d just spendthe
months to come thinking about thehealthof
men in their 70s shaking hands incrowds,
while the current administration engagedin
deadly obfuscation and blame-shifting.
I walked from the park to the bookstoremy
husband runs. He was on his break,andwhile
I was there, his sister called. Their brotherhad
been in Japan a couple weeks before,andnow
he had a fever. He wanted to be tested,andhe
kept getting turned away. He was fine—would
be fine, was already starting to feel better—but
what was he supposed to tell everyone around
him? All he could do for now was stay home.
“Social distancing”: another term that had lately
entered the collective vocabulary. Working in
retail, my husband spends his days in a large
public space, interacting and handling nonpo-
rous objects with a steady stream of strangers.
“When this hits,” he said, “I’m done.” But when
couldwereallysaythat it hadhit?It wouldn’t
be all at once, like a storm, even if thecanned
goods were conjuring memories of hurricanes
Sandy and Irene. For now, the bookstore was
busy and my husband wasn’t sick. He’d seen a
bump in sales for Ling Ma’s pandemic novel,
Severance, and sold a couple copies of Albert
Camus’s The Plague.
Sunday night was a birthday dinner. The
small talk had advanced: Now the jokes weren’t
about hugs; the jokes were about leaving town.
Uptown, Columbia was suspending the next
two days of classes. On my way home,the sub-
way announcements on the C train included
coronavirus warnings, reminders to wash
hands and cover coughs.
Monday was the day my office got shut down.
Someone elsewhere in the building had tested
positive, and now the whole place was getting
cleaned. The previous week, closings and can-
celed plans felt like an “abundance of caution”;
this week, they felt inevitable. People now
seemed surprised that public schools remained
open. No one expected to find Purell stocked at
Duane Reade. That same day, Governor Cuomo
announced plans to address the latter situation:
hand sanitizer manufactured using prison
labor. “I detect lilac, hydrangea, tulips,” Cuomo
said, smelling the sanitizer.
The New York City public schools presented
a more complicated challenge. Private schools
Spence and Collegiate had shut down the week
before for campus cleanings; nowHorace
Mann and Brearley announced closures. But
hundreds of thousands of poor and homeless
students depended on public schools for food:
If school closed, how would they eat? The new
crisis exposed an ongoing crisis. Abundance of
caution was just like any other kind of abun-
dance: something only the affluent could afford.
Disease affected everyone, but the stakes were
not the same. If things got very bad, welearned,
disaster plans called for Rikers Islandinmates
to dig graves and bury bodies.
The weather in the city was beautiful that
day: In any other year, a March 9 like this would
be the first night to drink outdoors. Leaving my
house, I passed a woman with a sleeveless floral
dress. Leaving the pharmacy, I passed a woman
with three bottles of rubbing alcohol.
Tuesday, I went down to the coffee shop,
where a sign had appeared on the counter:SUNDAY,MARCH 1
A Manhattanhealth-careworker
becomesthe first publiccaseof the
no velcoronavirusin NewYorkCity.MONDAY,MARCH 2
A Manhattanlawyerwho livesin New
Rochellebecomesthe state’ssecond
case.Nine peopleconnectedwithhim
willsoontestpositive.Aftersurvivingits worstweek
since the 2008financialcrash,
theDow postsits biggestsingle-
daypointgainin history.TUESDAY,MARCH 3
RalphLaurencancelshis fall/winter
fa shionshow.TheFederalReserveslashesinterest
ratesby halfa point.WEDNESDAY,MARCH 4
TheHousereachesan $8.3 billion
emergency-fundingdeal.BrianKeyser,who ownsCasellula
Cheese& Wine Caféin Hell’sKitchen,
takesan electronicthermometerto
work.Staffwillhaveto havetheir
temperaturetakenbeforestartinga
shift.“It’sprobablyoverkill,”saysKeyser,
“butbettersafe thansorry.”Thereleaseof the newJamesBond
movie,NoTime to Die, is postponed
un til November.THURSDAY,MARCH 5
3 confirmedcasesin NewYorkCity.Health-careworkersfacea shortage
ofthe N95respiratormasks.Michael
Einhorn,presidentof Dealmed,a
Br ooklyn-basedmedical-supply
company:“I’vespokento twohospital
CEOsandone veryhigh-ranking
ex ecutivelooking forN95masks.Our
ca ll volumeis up around 400 percent.
Wedohavea verylimitedsupply,
but it’s only forourcurrentcustomers.
Wetakethat decisionveryseriously.
What’smoreimportant,dialysiscenters
ora hospital?I’vebeenthrough
se veralof thesecycles,noneof those
compareat all to the coronavirus.”FRIDAY,MARCH 6
Atleast 2,700city residentsarein
some formof quarantine.● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ●THE FIRST
13 DAYSScenes observed
from a safe
social distance.