Page 518 - A Little Life: A Novel

“If you want to stay with him, I’d go home and talk to him,” he says,
slowly. “And if you don’t want to stay with him—I’d go home and talk to
him anyway.” He pauses. “Willem, I’m really sorry.”

“I know,” he says. And then, as Andy’s saying goodbye, he stops him.
“Andy,” he says, “tell me honestly: Is he mentally ill?”
There’s a very long silence, until Andy says, “I don’t think so, Willem.
Or rather: I don’t think there’s anything chemically wrong with him. I think
his craziness is all man-made.” He is silent. “Make him talk to you,
Willem,” he says. “If he talks to you, I think you’ll—I think you’ll
understand why he is the way he is.” And suddenly, he needs to get home,

and he is dressing and hurrying out the door, hailing a cab and getting into
it, getting out and getting into the elevator, opening the door and letting
himself into the apartment, which is silent, disconcertingly silent. On the
way over, he had a sudden image, one that felt like a premonition, that Jude
had died, that he had killed himself, and he runs through the apartment
shouting his name.

“Willem?” he hears, and he runs through their bedroom, with their bed
still made, and then sees Jude in the far left corner of their closet, curled up
on the ground, facing the wall. But he doesn’t think about why he’s there,
he just drops to the floor next to him. He doesn’t know if he has permission
to touch him, but he does so anyway, wrapping his arms around him. “I’m
sorry,” he says to the back of Jude’s head. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry. I
didn’t mean what I said—I would be distraught if you hurt yourself. I am

distraught.” He exhales. “And I never, ever should have gotten physical
with you. Jude, I’m so sorry.”
“I’m sorry, too,” Jude whispers, and they are silent. “I’m sorry about
what I said. I’m sorry I lied to you, Willem.”
They are quiet for a long time. “Do you remember the time you told me
you were afraid that you were a series of nasty surprises for me?” he asks

him, and Jude nods, slightly. “You aren’t,” he tells him. “You aren’t. But
being with you is like being in this fantastic landscape,” he continues,
slowly. “You think it’s one thing, a forest, and then suddenly it changes, and
it’s a meadow, or a jungle, or cliffs of ice. And they’re all beautiful, but
they’re strange as well, and you don’t have a map, and you don’t
understand how you got from one terrain to the next so abruptly, and you
don’t know when the next transition will arrive, and you don’t have any of

the equipment you need. And so you keep walking through, and trying to