Page 403 - A Little Life: A Novel

shine, almost as if the skin had been burned, and now he made a fist,
watching them tighten in response.
That night he woke screaming, which had been happening as he

readjusted to life, to an existence with dreams; on the drugs, there were no
dreams, not really, or if there were, they were so strange and pointless and
meandering that he soon forgot them. But in this dream he was in one of the
motel rooms, and there was a group of men, and they were grabbing at him,
and he was desperate, trying to fight them. But they kept multiplying, and
he knew he would lose, he knew he would be destroyed.
One of the men kept calling his name, and then put his hand on his cheek,

and for some reason that made him more terrified, and he pushed his hand
away, and then the man poured water on him and he woke, gasping, to see
Willem next to him, his face pale, holding a glass in his hand. “I’m sorry,
I’m sorry,” Willem said, “I couldn’t get you out of it, Jude, I’m sorry. I’m
going to get you a towel,” and came back with a towel and the glass filled
with water, but he was shaking too badly to hold it. He apologized again

and again to Willem, who shook his head and told him not to worry, that it
was all right, that it was just a dream. Willem got him a new shirt, and
turned around as he changed and then took the wet one to the bathroom.
“Who’s Brother Luke?” asked Willem, as they sat there together in
silence and waited for his breathing to return to normal. And then, when he
didn’t answer, “You kept screaming ‘Help me, Brother Luke, help me.’ ” He
was quiet. “Who is he, Jude? Was he someone from the monastery?”

“I can’t, Willem,” he said, and he yearned for Ana. Ask me one more
time, Ana, he said to her, and I’ll tell you. Teach me how to do it. This time
I’ll listen. This time I’ll talk.
That weekend they went to Richard’s house upstate and took a long walk
through the woods that backed the property. Later, he successfully
completed the first meal he’d cooked since he was released. He made

Willem’s favorite, lamb chops, and although he’d needed Willem’s help
carving the chop itself—he still wasn’t agile enough to do it on his own—
he did everything else by himself. That night he woke again, screaming, and
again there was Willem (though without the glass of water this time), and
him asking about Brother Luke, and why he kept begging for his help, and
again, he wasn’t able to answer.
The next day he was tired, and his arms ached, and his body ached as

well, and on their walk, he said very little, and Willem didn’t say much