City

by Alessandro Baricco

  “No.”

  “That’s the Stocken parameters.”

  “Oh.”

  “A genius. I wasn’t glad or sorry, and my wife didn’t know what to think, either, to us it didn’t matter, you know? Ruth is my wife’s name. Ruth. She started feeling unwell when we were in Topeka. There were these moments of emptiness, so to speak, when she didn’t remember who she was; afterwards she returned to normal, but it was as if she had done something enormously laborious, and was exhausted. It’s strange what can happen in a brain. In hers everything was sort of upside down. You could see that she was trying to regain her strength, and also her interest in life, but every time she had to start again from the beginning, it wasn’t easy, it was as if she had to put back together all the pieces of something that had been broken. They said it was fatigue, merely a question of fatigue, then they started giving her a lot of tests. Then, I remember, we were no longer happy. We still loved each other, we loved each other very much, but it was hard, with her suffering in between us, it was all a little different. During that period she and Gould were together a lot. I’m not sure that it was ideal for Gould, and now, thinking back on it, I see that for her, too, being with that child couldn’t have been very healthy. He was a child who complicated things for you, in your head. She didn’t need things to get complicated. But it seemed that they got along well together. You know, people are usually afraid of someone like Ruth, they don’t like being with someone who has, let’s say, psychological problems, real problems, I mean. Gould wasn’t afraid. They understood each other, they laughed, they had all sorts of nonsense of their own. It seemed like a game, but I don’t know, I don’t think it could have been very good, for Ruth or for him. I’d say it wasn’t, given how it ended. At a certain point Ruth began to get worse very quickly and then they told me that she should be cut off from everything, and, however painful, she should be persuaded to go into a clinic, with constant care, she was no longer able to live in a normal place. It was a harsh blow. You know, I’ve always worked for the Army, I was never trained to understand, in the Army you learn to perform a task, not to understand. I did what I was told. I took her to a clinic. I worked hard, and as soon as I had time I went to her. I was there, I wanted her to be with me, and I with her. At night I’d come home, often it was so late Gould was asleep. I remember that I wrote him notes. But I never really knew what to write. Every so often I made an effort to get home a little earlier, and then we played a game, Gould and I, or we listened to boxing matches on the radio, because we never had a television, Ruth detested television, and I was mad about boxing, I even fought a little, as a young man, I’ve always enjoyed it. Anyway, there we were, listening. We didn’t talk much. You know, talking to your son is not something you can improvise. Either you have to start very early or it’s a disaster, believe me. In my case it was undeniably a disaster. And then everything fell apart, when the Army transferred me to Port Larenque. Thousands of miles from here. I thought about it for quite a while, and finally I made a decision. I know it will seem ludicrous to you, and even mean, but I decided that I wanted to be with Ruth, I wanted my life with her back, the way it was in the beginning, and I would have done anything to make that happen. I found a clinic not far from the military base and I brought Ruth with me. But I left Gould here. I was sure that it would be better for him to stay here. I know that you will judge me harshly, but I don’t feel any need to justify or explain myself. I would say only that Gould was one world, that child is a world, and Ruth and I were another. And I thought that I had the right to live in my world. That’s how it went. I always made sure that Gould had everything he needed, and that he could grow up studying, because that was the road he was meant to take. I tried to do my duty. What remained of my duty. And it always seemed to me that, whether good or bad, the situation worked. It seems that I was mistaken. But Ruth is better, they let her go out for long periods now, she comes home and every so often truly seems what she used to be. We laugh, and people can spend time with us, they aren’t afraid anymore. Every so often, she looks very beautiful. Once, when she seemed really well, calm, I asked her if she might like to see Gould, we could have him come, someday. She said no. We never spoke of it again.”

  It was as if someone had suddenly turned off his voice. Someone had turned it on, and now had decided to turn it off. He said

  “Excuse me”

  but in truth nothing could be heard. Shatzy understood that he had said

  “Excuse me”

  but who knows: you can never be sure.

  What with one thing and another, it had grown late, and Shatzy wondered what was still to come. She tried to remember if she had something to say. Or to do. It was all rather complicated by that man who was sitting there, motionless on the sofa, staring at his hands, and swallowing, every so often, with an effort. It occurred to her to ask him what was that story that he was a general but wasn’t really, completely—that whole business. Then she decided it wasn’t a good idea. She also reminded herself that it would be better to face the subject of the money. Somehow, money had to be sent, to Gould. She was wondering what approach to take when she heard Gould’s father say

  “What is Gould like now?”

  He had said it with a voice that seemed new, as if it had been returned to him at that moment, washed and ironed. As if he had sent it to the dry cleaner’s.

  “What is Gould like now?”

  “Grown up.”

  “Aside from that, I mean.”

  “Grown up nicely, I think.”

  “Does he laugh, sometimes?”

  “Of course he laughs, why?”

  “I don’t know. There was a time when he didn’t laugh much.”

  “We’ve had some great laughs, if that’s what worries you.”

  “Good.”

  “Side-splitting, really.”

  “Good.”

  “He has hands like yours.”

  “Yes?”

  “Yes, he has the same fingers.”

  “Funny.”

  “Why?, he’s your son, right?”

  “Yes, naturally, I meant it’s funny that there’s a boy, somewhere in the world, who goes around with your hands, hands like yours. It’s a strange thing. Would you like that?”

  “Yes.”

  “It will happen. When you have children.”

  “Yes.”

  “You should make children, instead of Westerns.”

  “What?”

  “Or children along with the Westerns.”

  “Maybe it’s an idea.”

  “Think about it.”

  “Yes.”

  “Have friends?”

  “Me?”

  “No, I meant . . . Gould.”

  “Gould? Well . . .”

  “He must need friends.”

  “Well . . . he has Diesel and Poomerang.”

  “I mean real friends.”

  “They love him very much, truly.”

  “Yes, but they’re not real.”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Of course it matters.”

  “I find them very sympathetic.”

  “Ruth said that, too.”

  “You see?”

  “Yes, but they don’t exist, Miss Shell. He invented them.”

  “Yes, but . . .”

  “It’s not normal, is it?”

  “It is a bit odd, but there’s no harm in it, they’re good for him.”

  “You don’t find them frightening?”

  “Me? No.”

  “You don’t find it frightening that a child spends all his time with two friends who don’t exist?”

  “No, why?”

  “It frightened me, I remember it was one of the things about Gould that frightened me. Diesel and Poomerang. I was afraid of them.”

  “Are you kidding? They wouldn’t hurt a fly, and they could make you die laughing. I swear I miss them, aside from Gould, I mean, but I liked it better when those two were around.”

&n
bsp; “You mean the giant and the mute have also vanished?”

  “Yes, they went with him.”

  Gould’s father began to laugh softly, shaking his head.

  He said

  “It’s crazy.”

  and then he said again

  “It’s crazy.”

  “Don’t worry, General, Gould will manage.”

  “I hope so.”

  “You must just have faith in him.”

  “Of course.”

  “But he will manage. That kid is strong. He may not seem like it, but he’s strong.”

  “You really think so?”

  “Yes.”

  “He has so much potential, so much talent, there’s the risk that he’s throwing it all away.”

  “He’s simply doing what he wants to do. And he’s not a fool.”

  “He has always liked studying. At Couverney they were going to pay him to do it, there was no reason to run away. Doesn’t it seem to you strange for him to disappear just now?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Is it possible that he didn’t explain anything to you, on the telephone?”

  “He didn’t explain much.”

  “He must have said something.”

  “About the money.”

  “And nothing else?”

  “I don’t know, he wasn’t feeling well.”

  “It was a phone booth, on the street?”

  “At one point he said something about the fact that he had kicked a ball.”

  “Fantastic.”

  “I didn’t understand him very well, though.”

  “You didn’t understand him?”

  “No.”

  Gould’s father began to smile again, shaking his head. But without saying

  “Nuts.”

  This time he said

  “You really won’t help me find him?”

  “You won’t look for him, General.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  “And how do you know?”

  “I wasn’t sure before, but I am now.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, now that I’ve seen you I’m sure of it.”

  “. . .”

  “You won’t look for him.”

  Gould’s father got up, and began to wander around the room. He went over to the television. It looked like wood, but then, who knows, it might very well have been plastic that looked like wood.

  “Did you buy it?”

  “No, Poomerang stole it from a Japanese guy.”

  “Oh.”

  Gould’s father took the remote and turned it on. Nothing happened. He tried to push the buttons, but still nothing happened.

  “Tell me something, Miss Shell. Truthfully.”

  “What?”

  “Weren’t you afraid living with a child like Gould?”

  “Only once.”

  “Once when?”

  “Once when he began to talk about his mother. He said that his mother had gone insane, and he began to tell the whole story. It wasn’t so much what he said; it was his voice that was frightening. It was like the voice of an old man. Of someone who had known everything forever, and who also knew how things would end up. An old man.”

  “. . .”

  “He needed someone who would help him be a little child.”

  “. . .”

  “He didn’t believe that you could be a child in real life without someone taking advantage of you and killing you, or something like that.”

  “. . .”

  “He thought he was lucky to be a genius because it was a way of saving his life.”

  “. . .”

  “A way of not seeming a child.”

  “. . .”

  “I don’t know. I think it was his dream, to be a child.”

  “. . .”

  “I mean: I think it is his dream. I think now that he is grown-up, he will finally be able to be a child, for his whole life.”

  It turned out that they stayed up late, talking about wars and Westerns, or sitting quietly, with the radio on, playing ordinary music. Finally Gould’s father said that he would like to sleep there, if she didn’t mind. Shatzy said that he could do what he wanted, it was his house, and then she didn’t mind, in fact she would be glad if he stayed. She said she could make the bed in Gould’s room, but he gestured vaguely in the air and said he preferred not to, he would sleep on the sofa, it wasn’t a problem, the sofa would do very well.

  “It’s not too comfortable.”

  “It will do very well, believe me.”

  So he slept on the sofa. The blue one. Shatzy slept in her room. First she sat on the bed, with the light on, for quite a while. Then she went to sleep.

  The next morning they made an arrangement about the money. Then Gould’s father asked Shatzy what she was thinking of doing. He meant to say did she want to stay there, or what.

  “I don’t know, I think I should stay here for a while.”

  “I would feel better if you would.”

  “Yes.”

  “If for some reason Gould should think of coming back, it would be better if he found someone here.”

  “Yes.”

  “You can telephone me whenever you like.”

  “All right.”

  “I’ll call you.”

  “Yes.”

  “And if you have any good ideas, tell me right away, OK?”

  “Of course.”

  Then Gould’s father said she was a smart girl. And he thanked her, because she was a smart girl. He also said something else. And finally he asked if there was anything he could do for her.

  Shatzy didn’t answer immediately. But later, when he was just about to leave, she said that there was one thing he could do for her. She asked him if some day he would take her to meet Ruth. She didn’t explain why, she just said that.

  “Take you to meet Ruth?”

  Gould’s father was silent for a moment. Then he said yes.

  28

  On the prairie the wind bends landscapes and souls to the west, curving Closingtown like a weary old judge returning home after yet another death sentence. Music.

  The music was always the same, Shatzy did it with her voice.

  Night outside. In the Dolphin sisters’ living room, the two of them and the stranger, the one they shot when he came into town.

  Logically it was a little odd, but if you tried to tell Shatzy she shrugged her shoulders and kept going.

  The stranger’s name was Phil Wittacher. Stress on the i. Wittacher.

  Phil Wittacher was not a man who relocated willingly. Let’s say that he moved only if he was paid more, and in advance. He had received an extremely polite letter from Closingtown: and a thousand dollars for the trouble of reading it. It was a good starting point. The letter said that if he wanted another nine thousand dollars he was to show up at the only red house in town.

  The only red house in Closingtown belonged to the Dolphin sisters.

  Which was why they were sitting there, in the living room, chatting. All three.

  “Why me?” asks the stranger.

  “If we consider our problem, you seem, in every respect, the person most suitable to resolve it, Mister Wittacher,” says Julie Dolphin.

  “We need the best, and that’s you, boy,” says Melissa Dolphin.

  They were the same but not the same, said Shatzy. It happens, with twins: physically two drops of water, but then it’s like a single soul divided in two, with all the white in one part and the black in the other. Julie was the white. Melissa the black. Hard to imagine one without the other.

  They probably wouldn’t even exist, the one without the other, said Shatzy.

  On the outside of the cup that Julie Dolphin brings to her lips is a curious landscape drawn in blue. A verbena tisane.

  “It will not have escaped you that this town simulates a normality that is completely illusory: every day something happens here that one might euphemistically call irritating.”

>   “The towns of the West are all the same, Miss Dolphin.”

  “Bullshit,” says Melissa Dolphin.

  The stranger smiles.

  “I don’t think I understand.”

  “You will. But I’m afraid we must beg you to have the kindness to listen to some stories. Can we ask you to return tomorrow, at sunset? It will be our pleasure to tell them to you.”

  Phil Wittacher was not a man who liked to take a long time about something. If a job was to be done, he preferred to get going.

  Julie Dolphin placed on the table a bundle of banknotes that looked as if they had been ironed.

  “We are sure that these will help you to consider the inconvenient possibility of staying in town long enough to understand the problem, Mister Wittacher.”

  Two thousand dollars.

  The stranger makes a little bow, takes the money, and sticks it in his pocket.

  He gets up. A stiff leather suitcase, like a kind of violin case, is leaning against the chair. Phil Wittacher is never separated from it.

  “With what we’re paying, maybe we could take a look?” says Melissa Dolphin.