Page 82 - A Little Life: A Novel

its railing so he could start untangling the implement. He had his legs
twined around one of the railing’s iron spindles, but his position was
precarious, and Willem watched him sway a little, trying to keep his

balance, his fingers moving slowly from numbness and cold.
“Get me down there,” he said to Malcolm and JB, ignoring Malcolm’s
fluttery protests, and then he went over the edge himself, calling down to
Jude before he did so his arrival wouldn’t upset his equilibrium.
The drop was scarier, and the landing harder, than he had thought it
would be, but he made himself recover quickly and went over to where
Jude was and wrapped his arms around his waist, tucking his leg around a

spindle to brace himself. “I’ve got you,” he said, and Jude leaned out over
the edge of the railing, farther than he could have done on his own, and
Willem held on to him so tightly that he could feel the knuckles of Jude’s
spine through his sweater, could feel his stomach sink and rise as he
breathed, could feel the echo of his fingers’ movements through his muscles
as he twisted and unkinked the twigs of wire that were fastening the

window into its stile. And when it was done, Willem climbed onto the
railing and into the bedroom first, and then reached out again to pull Jude in
by his arms, careful to avoid his bandages.
They stood back on the inside, panting from the effort, and looked at
each other. It was so deliciously warm inside this room, even with the cold
air gusting in, that he at last let himself feel weak with relief. They were
safe, they had been spared. Jude grinned at him then, and he grinned back—

if it had been JB before him, he would’ve hugged him out of sheer stupid
giddiness, but Jude wasn’t a hugger and so he didn’t. But then Jude raised
his hand to brush some of the rust flakes out of his hair, and Willem saw
that on the inside of his wrist his bandage was stained with a deep-burgundy
splotch, and recognized, belatedly, that the rapidity of Jude’s breathing was
not just from exertion but from pain. He watched as Jude sat heavily on his

bed, his white-wrapped hand reaching behind him to make sure he would
land on something solid.
Willem crouched beside him. His elation was gone, replaced by
something else. He felt himself weirdly close to tears, although he couldn’t
have said why.
“Jude,” he began, but he didn’t know how to continue.
“You’d better get them,” Jude said, and although each word came out as a

gasp, he smiled at Willem again.