Page 107 - A Little Life: A Novel

touched, or, most important, what had happened to his legs or back: she
knew already. Around her he had felt none of the constant anxiety, nor
watchfulness, that he seemed condemned to feel around everyone else; the

vigilance was exhausting, but it eventually became simply a part of life, a
habit like good posture. Once, she had reached out to (he later realized)
embrace him, but he had reflexively brought his hands up over his head to
protect himself, and although he had been embarrassed, she hadn’t made
him feel silly or overreactive. “I’m an idiot, Jude,” she’d said instead. “I’m
sorry. No more sudden movements, I promise.”
But now she was gone, and no one knew him. His records were sealed.

His first Christmas, Leslie had sent him a card, addressed to him through
the student affairs office, and he had kept it for days, his last link to Ana,
before finally throwing it away. He never wrote back, and he never heard
from Leslie again. It was a new life. He was determined not to ruin it for
himself.
Still, sometimes, he thought back to their final conversations, mouthing

them aloud. This was at night, when his roommates—in various
configurations, depending on who was in the room at the time—slept above
and next to him. “Don’t let this silence become a habit,” she’d warned him
shortly before she died. And: “It’s all right to be angry, Jude; you don’t have
to hide it.” She had been wrong about him, he always thought; he wasn’t
what she thought he was. “You’re destined for greatness, kid,” she’d said
once, and he wanted to believe her, even though he couldn’t. But she was

right about one thing: it did get harder and harder. He did blame himself.
And although he tried every day to remember the promise he’d made to her,
every day it became more and more remote, until it was just a memory, and
so was she, a beloved character from a book he’d read long ago.

“The world has two kinds of people,” Judge Sullivan used to say. “Those
who are inclined to believe, and those who aren’t. In my courtroom, we
value belief. Belief in all things.”

He made this proclamation often, and after doing so, he would groan
himself to his feet—he was very fat—and toddle out of the room. This was
usually at the end of the day—Sullivan’s day, at least—when he left his
chambers and came over to speak to his law clerks, sitting on the edge of
one of their desks and delivering often opaque lectures that were