The Impossibly Read Free Page A

as it occurred, so that it was not quite possible to hear the river if you had not yet heard it to listen for, and John had not, but I had and I lay there listening.
    Life’s years do not fill a hundred, is what he had quoted, earlier, at the restaurant, and I was thinking about this quote, a little, as I lay there listening for the river.
    John had raised his glass and I had raised a forkful of turkey and he had said, Life’s years do not fill a hundred, and I had said, who said that? and he said, no one said that, someone wrote that, so I said, who is that by? and he said, Anonymous.
    We lay there.
    Here was a little hard truth is what I was thinking.
    I see you’re not wearing your glasses, he said.
    During the time we had lived together I had slept with glasses.
    No I’m not, I said.
    But you’re still having those dreams? he asked.
    Yes, I said.
    The same dreams where you see all the …?
    I nodded.
    With the hooks?
    They are no longer hooks.
    What are they?
    I told him.
    That’s festive. You taking anything for that?
    No.
    You want something?
    No.
    You want to hold an event?
    No.
    Well, we’ll hold one anyway.
    It took some organizing. Most of which, John explained, would involve rounding up a base of participants upon which the body of the event could be built. I told him about a couple of recent acquaintances, ones who hadn’t vanished. I also told him about the downstairs neighbor. I don’t know why I did this, and sometimes still feel guilty about it. But at any rate, having greeted my dismal offering with great esprit de corps, he said I could leave it all, a few details excepted, to him. He started with the downstairs neighbor and was gone for some time. This is when I heard the sounds. Did you see the neighbor? I asked when he returned, and he said, that neighbor is not coming. Then he tried in the direction of my acquaintances and, an hour or so later, said that the acquaintances, if he had, in fact, gotten hold of the right ones, would very likely, and probably in company, attend. He then set off to recruit some more.
    I set off for the park.
    As I have already stated, it was late autumn, but this day in late autumn it was not overly cold, and we had agreed to meet where we had always met, even though there was no longer any outdoor café, just a couple of greenish metal chairs set against the base of a chestnut tree.
    Hello.
    Hello.
    She stood a moment. She touched my face. We sat.
    It was, in fact, a little too cold, after all, with the wind, to be just sitting there, so we got up and walked around the park.
    I do not know what it is about habit in those situations that builds up some sort of a diminishing effect as regards the world, so that, slowly and steadily, given that common and accustomed locus of circumstance, and a certain measure of complicity, the world’s effects on one’s person are lessened. I heard once that both actors and soldiers experience a similar phenomenon when they are playing their respective parts. We were most assuredly playing our parts. I can’t stress enough how alone in each other’s presence we had already come to be.
    We were not so alone, however, walking, as the walking together business was new.
    Although the park with its light wind and scattered crowds and bursts of pigeons was lovely.
    My friend is in town, I said.
    Really? she said, so is mine.
    We exchanged names of friends.
    That’s funny, she said.
    She laughed.
    She had a beautiful laugh, just beautiful, like that.
    John and her friend Deau later met at the event and stood in the corner, in the kitchen I think, talking together for a long time. I think, if I remember correctly, John spilled some wine on Deau, or was it the other way around?
    As I say, it was funny, somehow, the name business, and the fact of the effect on me of her laugh.
    Later, in another city, a city on the coast, we walked together down a sloping street toward a harbor, and, this is why I even mention it, she laughed again.
    That