Page 462 - A Little Life: A Novel

past seven months he had decided that he was going to repair Jude, that he
was going to fix him, when really, he didn’t need fixing. Jude had always
taken him at face value; he needed to try to do the same for him.

“I ordered breakfast,” Jude said. “I thought you might want some
privacy. Do you want to take a shower?”
“Thanks,” he said, “but I think I’ll wait until after we eat.” He took a
breath. He could feel his anxiety fade; he could feel himself returning to
who he was. “But would you sing with me?” Every morning for the past
two months, they had been singing with each other in preparation for Duets.
In the film, his character and the character’s wife led an annual Christmas

pageant, and both he and the actress playing his wife would be performing
their own vocals. The director had sent him a list of songs to work on, and
Jude had been practicing with him: Jude took the melody, and he took the
harmony.
“Sure,” Jude said. “Our usual?” For the past week, they’d been working
on “Adeste Fideles,” which he would have to sing a cappella, and for the

past week, he’d been pitching sharp at the exact same point, at “Venite
adoremus,” right in the first stanza. He’d wince every time he did it,
hearing the error, and Jude would shake his head at him and keep going,
and he’d follow him until the end. “You’re overthinking it,” Jude would say.
“When you go sharp, it’s because you’re concentrating too hard on staying
on key; just don’t think about it, Willem, and you’ll get it.”
That morning, though, he felt certain he’d get it right. He gave Jude the

bunch of herbs, which he was still holding, and Jude thanked him, pinching
its little purple flowers between his fingers to release its perfume. “I think
it’s a kind of perilla,” he said, and held his fingers up for Willem to smell.
“Nice,” he said, and they smiled at each other.
And so Jude began, and he followed, and he made it through without
going sharp. And at the end of the song, just after the last note, Jude

immediately began singing the next song on the list, “For Unto Us a Child
Is Born,” and after that, “Good King Wenceslas,” and again and again,
Willem followed. His voice wasn’t as full as Jude’s, but he could tell in
those moments that it was good enough, that it was maybe better than good
enough: he could tell it sounded better with Jude’s, and he closed his eyes
and let himself appreciate it.
They were still singing when the doorbell chimed with their breakfast,

but as he was standing, Jude put his hand on his wrist, and they remained