Page 575 - A Little Life: A Novel

might end, trying not to worry himself, but in dark, quiet moments, he
replays what Andy said to him on one of his recent checkups: “Heart:
perfect. Lungs: perfect. Vision, hearing, cholesterol, prostate, blood sugar,

blood pressure, lipids, kidney function, liver function, thyroid function: all
perfect. Your body’s equipped to work as hard as it can for you, Jude; make
sure you let it.” He knows that isn’t the complete measure of who he is—
circulation, for example: not perfect; reflexes: not perfect; anything south of
his groin: compromised—but he tries to take comfort in Andy’s
reassurances, to remind himself that things could be worse, that he is,
essentially, still a healthy person, still a lucky person.

Late November. Willem finishes Desperate Characters. They have
Thanksgiving at Harold and Julia’s uptown, and although they have been
coming into the city every other weekend to see him, he can sense them
both trying very hard not to say anything about his appearance, not to
bother him about how little he’s eating at dinner. Thanksgiving week also
marks his final week of antibiotic treatments, and he submits to another

round of blood work and X-rays before Andy tells him he can stop. He says
goodbye to Patrizia for what he hopes is the last time; he gives her a gift to
thank her for her care.
Although his wounds have shrunk, they haven’t shrunk as much as Andy
had hoped, and on his recommendation, they stay in Garrison for
Christmas. They promise Andy it will be a quiet week; everyone else will
be out of town anyway, so it will be only the two of them and Harold and

Julia.
“Your two goals are: sleeping and eating,” says Andy, who is going to
visit Beckett in San Francisco for the holidays. “I want to see you five
pounds heavier by the first Friday in January.”
“Five pounds is a lot,” he says.
“Five,” Andy repeats. “And then ideally, fifteen more after that.”

On Christmas itself, a year to the day he and Willem had walked along
the spine of a low, wavy mountainside in Punakha, one that took them
behind the king’s hunting lodge, a simple wooden structure that looked like
it might be full of Chaucerian pilgrims, not the royal family, he tells Harold
he wants to take a walk. Julia and Willem have gone horseback riding at an
acquaintance’s nearby ranch, and he is feeling stronger than he has in a long
time.

“I don’t know, Jude,” says Harold, warily.