Page 627 - A Little Life: A Novel

window. He has a clear view to the Hudson, and above the river he can see
the sky turning white. For a long time he stands and stares at the dirty gray
river, at the wheeling flocks of birds. He returns to his work. He can feel,

these past few months, that he has changed, that people are frightened of
him. He has never been a jolly presence in the office, but now he can tell he
is mirthless. He can feel he has become more ruthless. He can feel he has
become chillier. He and Sanjay used to have lunch together, the two of them
griping about their colleagues, but now he cannot talk to anyone. He brings
in business. He does his job, he does more than he needs to—but he can tell
no one enjoys being around him. He needs Rosen Pritchard; he would be

lost without his work. But he no longer derives any pleasure from it. That’s
all right, he tries to tell himself. Work is not for pleasure, not for most
people. But it had been for him, once, and now it no longer is.
Two years ago, when he was healing from his surgery and so tired, so
tired that Willem had to lift him in and out of bed, he and Willem had been
talking one morning. It must have been cold outside, because he remembers

feeling warm and safe, and hearing himself say, “I wish I could just lie here
forever.”
“Then do,” Willem had said. (This was one of their regular exchanges:
his alarm would sound and he would get up. “Don’t go,” Willem would
always say. “Why do you need to get up anyway? Where are you always
rushing off to?”)
“I can’t,” he said, smiling.

“Listen,” Willem had said, “why don’t you just quit your job?”
He had laughed. “I can’t quit my job,” he said.
“Why not?” Willem had asked. “Besides total lack of intellectual
stimulation and the prospect of having me as your sole company, give me
one good reason.”
He had smiled again. “Then there is no good reason,” he said. “Because I

think I’d like having you as my sole company. But what would I do all day,
as a kept man?”
“Cook,” Willem said. “Read. Play the piano. Volunteer. Travel around
with me. Listen to me complain about other actors I hate. Get facials. Sing
to me. Feed me a constant stream of approbations.”
He had laughed, and Willem had laughed with him. But now he thinks:
Why didn’t I quit? Why did I let Willem go away from me for all those

months, for all those years, when I could have been traveling with him?