Page 675 - A Little Life: A Novel

“There’s nothing to say,” he says.
He sees Dr. Loehmann every Monday and Thursday. On Monday nights,
he returns to work after his appointment. But on Thursdays he is made to

see Harold and Julia, and with them he is horrifically rude as well: and not
just rude but nasty, spiteful. He behaves in ways that astonish him, in ways
he has never dared before in his life, not even when he was a child, in ways
that he would have been beaten for by anyone else. But not by Harold and
Julia. They never rebuke him, they never discipline him.
“This is disgusting,” he says that night, pushing away the chicken stew
Harold has made. “I won’t eat this.”

“I’ll get you something else,” Julia says quickly, getting up. “What do
you want, Jude? Do you want a sandwich? Some eggs?”
“Anything else,” he says. “This tastes like dog food.” But he is speaking
to Harold, staring at him, daring him to flinch, to break. His pulse leaps in
his throat with anticipation: He can see Harold springing from his chair and
hitting him in the face. He can see Harold crumpling with tears. He can see

Harold ordering him out of his house. “Get the fuck out of here, Jude,”
Harold will say. “Get out of our lives and never come back.”
“Fine,” he’ll say. “Fine, fine. I don’t need you anyway, Harold. I don’t
need any of you.” What a relief it will be to learn that Harold had never
really wanted him after all, that his adoption was a whim, a folly whose
novelty tarnished long ago.
But Harold does none of those things, just looks at him. “Jude,” he says

at last, very quietly.
“Jude, Jude,” he mocks him, squawking his own name back to Harold
like a jay. “Jude, Jude.” He is so angry, so furious: there is no word for what
he is. Hatred sizzles through his veins. Harold wants him to live, and now
Harold is getting his wish. Now Harold is seeing him as he is.
Do you know how badly I could hurt you? he wants to ask Harold. Do

you know I could say things that you would never forget, that you would
never forgive me for? Do you know I have that power? Do you know that
every day I have known you I have been lying to you? Do you know what I
really am? Do you know how many men I have been with, what I have let
them do to me, the things that have been inside me, the noises I have made?
His life, the only thing that is his, is being possessed: By Harold, who wants
to keep him alive, by the demons who scrabble through his body, dangling