Page 399 - A Little Life: A Novel

statue, which Willem had taken with him when he moved to Perry Street,
but which had now found its way back to him.
The days slipped by and he let them. In the morning he swam, and he and

Willem ate breakfast. The physical therapist came and had him practice
squeezing rubber balls, short lengths of rope, toothpicks, pens. Sometimes
he had to pick up multiple objects with one hand, holding them between his
fingers, which was difficult. His hands shook more than ever, and he felt
sharp prickles vibrating through his fingers, but she told him not to worry,
that it was his muscles repairing themselves, his nerves resetting
themselves. He had lunch, he napped. While he napped, Richard came to

watch him and Willem went out to run errands and go downstairs to the
gym and, he hoped, do something interesting and indulgent that didn’t
involve him and his problems. People came to see him in the afternoon: all
the same people, and new people, too. They stayed an hour and then Willem
made them leave. Malcolm came with JB and the four of them had an
awkward, polite conversation about things they had done when they were in

college, but he was glad to see JB, and thought he might like to see him
again when he was less cloudy-headed, so he could apologize to him and
tell him he forgave him. As he was leaving, JB told him, quietly, “It’ll get
better, Judy. Trust me, I know,” and then added, “At least you didn’t hurt
anyone in the process,” and he felt guilty, because he knew he had. Andy
came at the end of the day and examined him; he unwrapped his bandages
and cleaned the area around his stitches. He still hadn’t looked at his

stitches—he couldn’t bring himself to—and when Andy was cleaning them,
he looked elsewhere or closed his eyes. After Andy left, they ate dinner, and
after dinner, after the boutiques and few remaining galleries had shuttered
for the night and the neighborhood was deserted, they walked, making a
neat square around SoHo—east to Lafayette, north to Houston, west to
Sixth, south to Grand, east to Greene—before returning home. It was a

short walk, but it left him exhausted, and he once fell on the way to the
bedroom, his legs simply sliding out from beneath him. Julia and Harold
took the train down on Thursdays and spent all day Friday and Saturday
with him, and part of Sunday as well.
Every morning, Willem asked him, “Do you want to talk to Dr.
Loehmann today?” And every morning he answered, “Not yet, Willem.
Soon, I promise.”