Speechless
Working on the markets this morning.

Mr. Stuttaford is a writer living in New York.
September 11, 2001 4:40 p.m.

e are used, those of us who work in the financial markets, to watching the news as it breaks. The information snakes across our screens, impassive, unrelenting, flowing in the orange of a Bloomberg headline, or the boldface red of Reuters' breaking news. With luck, it is something quick, something timely, something to give a trader the edge, enough perhaps, to make that extra Buck. There are televisions too, mounted, on the walls of our Midtown office, hanging , even, from the ceiling, relaying garrulous, greedy CNBC, and the nonstop chatter of a world going about its business.

And then the chatter stopped. On the TV screens, we could see the smoke, billowing murderous and black, out of that first brutally wounded tower, a dismaying repeat, it seemed then, of an earlier tragedy. The messages went out to Downtown, to the people we knew were there. Some said that they might evacuate their building, others were not so sure. It looked as if, they hoped, everything would be OK.

There was still at that point a remnant, just, of normality, an impression, almost, of maneagable horror. What we were witnessing, it appeared, was another bloody chapter in the long terrorist war, cruel, spectacularly savage (could that really be true about a plane, we wondered) but not something so different from what New York City, and the world, had been through before.

So the routine news continued to flow, retail sales, CBOT December wheat, but there was no real return to work, just a few half-hearted glimpses at the dealing screen, with the gaze returning again and again to CNBC, to the images of that first tower, and then, suddenly, drawn by a fireball, to the other. More smoke, more flames, and fluttering down from the windows of the outraged building, scraps of paper, Hell's tickertape, the last trace of all those shattered offices.

Safe in Midtown, we watched the World Trade Center's end, we watched the destruction of the building we knew so well, the site, for us, of countless meetings, the workplace, we worried, of too many friends.

Later, we could see that the European stock markets had fallen, but, it was not something, really, that we wanted to discuss.