Page 573 - A Little Life: A Novel

himself; he liked the independence, the solitude—but now Willem’s
assistant has hired a driver for him, a small, serious man named Mr. Ahmed,
and on his way to and from the office, he sleeps. Mr. Ahmed also picks up

his nurse, a woman named Patrizia who rarely speaks but is very gentle, and
every day at one p.m., she meets him at Rosen Pritchard. His office there is
all glass and looks out onto the floor, and he lowers the shades for privacy
and takes off his jacket and tie and shirt, and lies down on the sofa in his
undershirt and covers himself with a blanket, and Patrizia cleans the
catheter and checks the skin around it to make sure there are no signs of
infection—no swelling, no redness—and then inserts the IV and waits as

the medicine drips into the catheter and slides into his veins. As they wait,
he works and she reads a nursing journal or knits. Soon this too becomes
normal: every Friday he sees Andy, who debrides his wounds and then
examines him, sending him to the hospital after their session for X-rays so
he can track the infection and make sure it isn’t spreading.
They cannot go away on the weekends because he needs to have his

treatment, but in early October, after four weeks of antibiotics, Andy
announces that he’s been talking to Willem, and if he doesn’t mind, he and
Jane are going to come up to stay with them in Garrison for the weekend,
and he’ll administer the drip himself.
It is wonderful, and rare, being out of the city, being back at their house,
and the four of them enjoy one another’s company. He even feels well
enough to give Andy an abbreviated tour of the property, which Andy has

visited only in springtime or summer, but which is different in autumn: raw,
sad, lovely, the barn’s roof plastered with fallen yellow gingko leaves that
make it look as if it’s been laid with sheets of gold leaf.
Over dinner that Saturday night, Andy asks him, “You do realize we’ve
now known each other for thirty years, right?”
“I do,” he smiles. He has in fact bought Andy something—a safari

vacation for him and his family, to go on whenever he wants—for their
anniversary, although he hasn’t told him about it yet.
“Thirty years of being disobeyed,” Andy moans, and the rest of them
laugh. “Thirty years of dispensing priceless medical advice gleaned from
years of experience and training at top institutions, only to have it ignored
by a corporate litigator, who’s decided his understanding of human biology
is superior to my own.”