Page 71 - A Little Life: A Novel

agreed to see again, and now, even though Andy was an orthopedic
surgeon, he still treated Jude for anything that went wrong, from his back to
his legs to flu and colds. They all liked Andy, and trusted him, too.

“You can take him home,” Andy said. He was angry. With a snap, he
peeled off his gloves, which were crusty with blood, and pushed back his
stool. On the floor was a long, messy paint-swipe streak of red, as if
someone had tried to clean up something sloshed and had given up in
exasperation. The walls had red on them as well, and Andy’s sweater was
stiff with it. Jude sat on the table, looking slumped and miserable and
holding a glass bottle of orange juice. His hair was glued together in

clumps, and his shirt appeared hard and shellacked, as if it was made not
from cloth but from metal. “Jude, go to the waiting room,” Andy instructed,
and Jude did, meekly.
Once he was gone, Andy shut the door and looked at Willem. “Has he
seemed suicidal to you?”
“What? No.” He felt himself grow very still. “Is that what he was trying

to do?”
Andy sighed. “He says he wasn’t. But—I don’t know. No. I don’t know; I
can’t tell.” He went over to the sink and began to scrub violently at his
hands. “On the other hand, if he had gone to the ER—which you guys
really should’ve fucking done, you know—they most likely would’ve
hospitalized him. Which is why he probably didn’t.” Now he was speaking
aloud to himself. He pumped a small lake of soap onto his hands and

washed them again. “You know he cuts himself, don’t you?”
For a while, he couldn’t answer. “No,” he said.
Andy turned back around and stared at Willem, wiping each finger dry
slowly. “He hasn’t seemed depressed?” he asked. “Is he eating regularly,
sleeping? Does he seem listless, out of sorts?”
“He’s seemed fine,” Willem said, although the truth was that he didn’t

know. Had Jude been eating? Had he been sleeping? Should he have
noticed? Should he have been paying more attention? “I mean, he’s seemed
the same as he always is.”
“Well,” said Andy. He looked deflated for a moment, and the two of them
stood quietly, facing but not looking at each other. “I’m going to take his
word for it this time,” he said. “I just saw him a week ago, and I agree,
nothing seemed unusual. But if he starts behaving strangely at all—I mean

it, Willem—you call me right away.”