Page 193 - A Little Life: A Novel

exhausted, to the ground, and his left side was permanently stained blue and
purple and brown with bruises. He didn’t do that now, but he remembered
the sensation, the satisfying slam of his body against the wall, the awful

pleasure of hurling himself against something so immovable.
On Friday he saw Andy, who wasn’t approving (he hadn’t gained any
weight), but also didn’t lecture him (nor had he lost any), and the next day
he flew to Boston. He didn’t tell anyone he was going, not even Harold.
Julia, he knew, was at a conference in Costa Rica; but Harold, he knew,
would be home.
Julia had given him a set of keys six years ago, when he was arriving for

Thanksgiving at a time when both she and Harold happened to have
department meetings, so he let himself into the house and poured a glass of
water, looking out at the back garden as he drank. It was just before noon,
and Harold would still be at his tennis game, so he went to the living room
to wait for him. But he fell asleep, and when he woke, it was to Harold
shaking his shoulder and urgently repeating his name.

“Harold,” he said, sitting up, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry; I should’ve called.”
“Jesus,” Harold said, panting; he smelled cold and sharp. “Are you all
right, Jude? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, nothing,” he said, hearing before he said it how absurd his
explanation was, “I just thought I’d stop by.”
“Well,” said Harold, momentarily silent. “It’s good to see you.” He sat in
his chair and looked at him. “You’ve been something of a stranger these

past few weeks.”
“I know,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
Harold shrugged. “No apologies necessary. I’m just glad you’re okay.”
“Yes,” he said. “I’m okay.”
Harold tilted his head. “You don’t look too good.”
He smiled. “I’ve had the flu.” He gazed up at the ceiling, as if his lines

might be written there. “The forsythia’s falling down, you know.”
“I know. It’s been a windy winter.”
“I’ll help you stake it, if you want.”
Harold looked at him for a long moment then, his mouth slightly moving,
as if he was both trying and not trying to speak. Finally he said, “Yeah.
Let’s go do that.”
Outside it was abruptly, insultingly cold, and both of them began

sniffling. He positioned the stake and Harold hammered it into the ground,