Page 464 - A Little Life: A Novel
P. 464

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                THE  FIRST  TIME  Willem  left  him—this  was  some  twenty  months  ago,  two
                Januarys  ago—everything  went  wrong.  Within  two  weeks  of  Willem’s
                departure to Texas to begin filming Duets, he’d had three episodes with his
                back (including one at the office, and another, this one at home, that had
                lasted a full two hours). The pain in his feet returned. A cut (from what, he
                had  no  idea)  opened  up  on  his  right  calf.  And  yet  it  had  all  been  fine.
                “You’re so damn cheerful about all of this,” Andy had said, when he was

                forced  to  make  his  second  appointment  with  him  in  a  week.  “I’m
                suspicious.”
                   “Oh,  well,”  he’d  said,  even  though  he  could  hardly  speak  because  the
                pain was so intense. “It happens, right?” That night, though, as he lay in
                bed, he thanked his body for keeping itself in check, for controlling itself

                for so long. For those months he secretly thought of as his and Willem’s
                courtship,  he  hadn’t  used  his  wheelchair  once.  His  episodes  had  been
                seldom, and brief, and never in Willem’s presence. He knew it was silly—
                Willem knew what was wrong with him, he had seen him at his worst—but
                he was grateful that as the two of them were beginning to view each other
                in a different way, he had been allowed a period of reinvention, a spell of
                being able to impersonate an able-bodied person. So when he was returned

                to his normal state, he didn’t tell Willem about what had been happening to
                him—he was so bored by the subject that he couldn’t imagine anyone else
                wouldn’t be as well—and by the time Willem came home in March, he was
                more  or  less  better,  walking  again,  the  wound  once  again  mostly  under
                control.
                   Since  that  first  time,  Willem  has  been  gone  for  extended  periods  four

                additional times—twice for shooting, twice for publicity tours—and each
                time,  sometimes  the  very  day  Willem  left,  his  body  had  broken  itself
                somehow. But he had appreciated its sense of timing, its courtesy: it was as
                if his body, before his mind, had decided for him that he should pursue this
                relationship,  and  had  done  its  part  by  removing  as  many  obstacles  and
                embarrassments as possible.
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