Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close (27 page)

'I'm sorry,' I wrote, 'I don't speak. That was my grandson who just left. Could you tell me what he was doing here?' The woman told me, 'What a strange family you are.' I thought, Family we are.

'I just got off the phone with his mother.' I wrote, 'Why was he here?' She said, 'For the key.' I asked, 'What key?' She said, 'For the lock.'

'What lock?'

'Don't you know?' For eight months I followed him and talked to the people he talked to, I tried to learn about him as he tried to learn about you, he was trying to find you, just as you'd tried to find me, it broke my heart into more pieces than my heart was made of, why can't people say what they mean at the time? One afternoon I followed him downtown, we sat across from each other on the subway, the old man looked at me, was I staring, was I reaching my arms out in front of me, did he know that I should have been the one sitting next to Oskar? They went into a coffee store, on the way back I lost them, it happened all the time, it's hard to stay close without making yourself known, and I wouldn't betray her. When I got back to the Upper West Side I went into a bookstore, I couldn't go to the apartment yet, I needed time to think, at the end of the aisle I saw a man who I thought might be Simon Goldberg, he was also in the children's section, the more I looked at him, the more unsure I was, the more I wanted it to be him, had he gone to work instead of to his death? My hands shook against the change in my pockets, I tried not to stare, I tried not to reach my arms out in front of me, could it be, did he recognize me, he'd written, 'It is my great hope that our paths, however long and winding, will cross again.' Fifty years later he wore the same thick glasses, I'd never seen a whiter shirt, he had a hard time letting go of books, I went up to him. 'I don't speak,' I wrote, 'I'm sorry.' He wrapped his arms around me and squeezed, I could feel his heart beating against my heart, they were trying to beat in unison, without saying a word he turned around and rushed away from me, out of the store, into the street, I'm almost sure it wasn't him, I want an infinitely long blank book and the rest of time…The next day, Oskar and the old man went to the Empire State Building, I waited for them on the street. I kept looking up, trying to see him, my neck was burning, was he looking down at me, were we sharing something without either of us knowing it? After an hour, the elevator doors opened and the old man came out, was he going to leave Oskar up there, so high up, so alone, who would keep him safe? I hated him. I started to write something, he came up to me and grabbed me by the collar. 'Listen,' he said, 'I don't know who you are, but I've seen you following us, and I don't like it. Not a bit. This is the only time I'm going to tell you to stay away.' My book had fallen to the floor, so I couldn't say anything. 'If I ever see you again, anywhere near that boy – ' I pointed at the floor, he let go of my collar, I picked up the book and wrote, 'I'm Oskar's grandfather. I don't speak. I'm sorry.'

'His grandfather?' I flipped back and pointed at what I'd been writing, 'Where is he?'

'Oskar doesn't have a grandfather.' I pointed at the page. 'He's walking down the stairs.' I quickly explained everything as best I could, my handwriting was becoming illegible, he said, 'Oskar wouldn't lie to me.' I wrote, 'He didn't lie. He doesn't know.' The old man took a necklace from under his shirt and looked at it, the pendant was a compass, he said, 'Oskar is my friend. I have to tell him.'

'He's my grandson. Please don't.'

'You're the one who should be going around with him.'

'I have been.'

'And what about his mother?'

'What about his mother?' We heard Oskar singing from around the corner, his voice was getting louder, the old man said, 'He's a good boy,' and walked away. I went straight home, the apartment was empty. I thought about packing my bags, I thought about jumping out a window, I sat on the bed and thought, I thought about you. What kind of food did you like, what was your favorite song, who was the first girl you kissed, and where, and how, I'm running out of room, I want an infinitely long blank book and forever, I don't  know how much time passed, it didn't matter, I'd lost all of my reasons to keep track. Someone rang the bell, I didn't get up, I didn't care who it was, I wanted to be alone, on the other side of the window. I heard the door open and I heard his voice, my reason, 'Grandma?' He was in the apartment, it was just the two of us, grandfather and grandson. I heard him going from room to room, moving things, opening and closing, what was he looking for, why was he always looking? He came to my door, 'Grandma?' I didn't want to betray her, I turned off the lights, what was I so afraid of? 'Grandma?' He started crying, my grandson was crying. 'Please. I really need help. If you're in there, please come out.' I turned on the light, why wasn't I more afraid? 'Please.' I opened the door and we faced each other, I faced myself, 'Are you the renter?' I went back into the room and got this daybook from the closet, this book that is nearly out of pages, I brought it to him and wrote, 'I don't speak. I'm sorry.' I was so grateful to have him looking at me, he asked me who I was, I didn't know what to tell him, I invited him into the room, he asked me if I was a stranger, I didn't know what to tell him, he was still crying, I didn't know how to hold him, I'm running out of room. I brought him over to the bed, he sat down, I didn't ask him any questions or tell him what I already knew, we didn't talk about unimportant things, we didn't become friends, I could have been anyone, he began at the beginning, the vase, the key, Brooklyn, Queens, I knew the lines by heart. Poor child, telling everything to a stranger, I wanted to build walls around him, I wanted to separate inside from outside, I wanted to give him an infinitely long blank book and the rest of time, he told me how he'd just gone up to the top of the Empire State Building, how his friend had told him he was finished, it wasn't what I'd wanted, but if it was necessary to bring my grandson face to face with me, it was worth it, anything would have been. I wanted to touch him, to tell him that even if everyone left everyone, I would never leave him, he talked and talked, his words fell through him, trying to find the floor of his sadness, 'My dad,' he said, 'My dad,' he ran across the street and came back with a phone, 'These are his last words.'

The message was cut off, you sounded so calm, you didn't sound like someone who was about to die, I wish we could have sat across a table and talked about nothing for hours, I wish we could have wasted time, I want an infinitely blank book and the rest of time. I told Oskar it was best not to let his grandma know we'd met, he didn't ask why, I wonder what he knew, I told him if he ever wanted to talk to me, he could throw pebbles at the guest room window and I would come down to meet him on the corner, I was afraid I'd never get to see him again, to see him seeing me, that night was the first time your mother and I made love since I returned, and the last time we ever made love, it didn't feel like the last time, I'd kissed Anna for me last time, seen my parents for the last time, spoken for the last time, why didn't I learn to treat everything like it was the last time, my greatest regret is how much I believed in the future, she said, 'I want to show you something,' she led me to the second bedroom, her hand was squeezing YES, she opened the door and pointed at the bed, 'That's where he used to sleep,' I touched the sheets, I lowered myself to the floor and smelled the pillow, I wanted anything of you that I could have, I wanted dust, she said, 'Years and years ago. Thirty years. I lay on the bed, I wanted to feel what you felt, I wanted to tell you everything, she lay next to me, she asked, 'Do you believe in heaven and hell?' I held up my right hand, 'Neither do I,' she said, 'I think after you live it's like before you lived, her hand was open, I put YES into it, she dosed her fingers around mine, she said, 'Think of all the things that haven't been born yet. All the babies. Some never will be born. Is that sad?' I didn't know if it was sad, all the parents that would never meet, all the miscarriages, I closed my eyes, she: said, 'A few days, before the bombing, my father took me out to the shed. He gave me a sip of whiskey and let me try his pipe. It made me feel so adult, so special. He asked me what I knew about sex. I coughed and coughed. He laughed and laughed and became serious. He asked if I knew how to pack a suitcase, and if I knew never to accept the first offer, and if I could start a fire if I had to. I loved my father very much. I loved him very, very much. But I never found a way to tell him. I turned my head to the side, I rested it on her shoulder, she put her hand on my cheek, just like my mother used to, everything she did reminded me of 'someone else, 'It's a shame,' she said, 'that life is so precious.' I turned onto my side and put my arm around her, I'm running out of room, my eyes were closed and I kissed her, her lips were my mother's lips, and Anna's lips, and your lips, I didn't know how to be with her and be with her. 'It makes us worry so much, she said, unbuttoning her shirt, I unbuttoned mine, she took off her pants, I took off mine, 'We worry so much,' I touched her and touched everyone, 'It's all we do,' we made love for the last time, I was with her and with everyone, when she got up to go to the bathroom there was blood on the sheets, I went back to the guest room to sleep, there are so many things you'll never know. The next morning I was awoken by a tapping on the window, I told your mother I was going for a walk, she didn't ask anything, what did she know, why did she let me out of her sight?

Oskar was waiting for me under the streetlamp, he said, 'I want to die up his grave.'

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A SIMPLE SOLUTION TO AN IMPOSSIBLE PROBLEM

The day after the renter and I dug up Dad's grave, I went to Mr. Black's apartment. I felt like he deserved to know what happened, even if he wasn't actually a part of it. But when I knocked, the person who answered wasn't him. 'Can I help you?' a woman asked. Her glasses were hanging from a chain around her neck, and she was holding a folder with lots of paper coming out of it. 'You're not Mr. Black.'

'Mr. Black?'

'Mr. Black who lives here. Where is he?'

'I'm sorry, I don't know.'

'Is he OK?'

'I assume so. I don't know.'

'Who are you?'

'I'm a realtor.'

'What's that?'

'I'm selling the apartment.'

'Why?'

'I suppose the owner wants to sell it. I'm just covering today.'

'Covering?'

'The realtor who represents this property is sick.'

'Do you know how I can find the owner?'

'I'm sorry, I don't.'

'He was my friend.'

She told me, 'They're coming by sometime this morning to take everything away.'

'Who's they?'

'They. I don't know. Contractors. Garbage men. They.'

'Not moving men?'

'I don't know.'

'They're throwing his things away?'

'Or selling them.' If I'd been incredibly rich, I would have bought everything, even if I just had to put it in storage. I told her, 'Well, I left something in the apartment. It's something of mine, so they can't sell it or give it away. I'm going to get it. Excuse me.'

I went to the index of biographies. I knew I couldn't save the whole thing, obviously, but there was something I needed. I pulled out the B drawer and nipped through the cards. I found Mr. Black's. I knew it was the right thing to do, so I took it out and put it in the pouch of my overalls.

But then, even though I'd gotten what I wanted, I went to the S drawer. Antonin Scalia, G. L. Scarborough, Lord Leslie George Scarman, Maurice Sceve, Anne Wilson Schaef, Jack Warner Schaefer, Iris Scharmel, Robert Haven Schauffler, Barry Scheck, Johann Schemer, Jean de Schelandre…And then I saw it: Schell.

At first I was relieved, because I felt like everything I'd done had been worth it, because I'd made Dad into a Great Man who was bio-graphically significant and would be remembered. But then I examined the card, and I saw that it wasn't Dad.

I wish I had known that I wasn't going to see Mr. Black again when we shook hands that afternoon. I wouldn't have let go. Or I would have forced him to keep searching with me. Or I would have told him about how Dad called when I was home. But I didn't know, just like I didn't know it was the last time Dad would ever tuck me in, because you never know. So when he said, 'I'm finished. I hope you understand,' I said, 'I understand,' even though I didn't understand. I never went to find him on the observation deck of the Empire State Building, because I was happier believing he was there than finding out for sure.

I kept looking for the lock after he told me he was finished, but it wasn't the same.

I went to Far Rockaway and Boerum Hill and Long Island City.

I went to Dumbo and Spanish Harlem and the Meatpacking District.

I went to Flatbush and Tudor City and Little Italy.

I went to Bedford-Stuyvesant and Inwood and Red Hook.

I don't know if it was because Mr. Black wasn't with me anymore, or because I'd been spending so much time making plans with the renter to dig up Dad's grave, or just because I'd been looking for so long without finding anything, but I no longer felt like I was moving in the direction of Dad. I'm not even sure I believed in the lock anymore.

The last Black I visited was Peter. He lived in Sugar Hill, which is in Hamilton Heights, which is in Harlem. A man was sitting on the stoop when I walked up to the house. He had a little baby on his knee, who he was talking to, even though babies don't understand language, obviously. 'Are you Peter Black?'

'Who's asking?'

'Oskar Schell.' He patted the step, which meant I could sit next to him if I wanted, which I thought was nice, but I wanted to stand. 'That's your baby?'

'Yes.'

'Can I pet her?'

'Him.'

'Can I pet him?'

'Sure,' he said. I couldn't believe how soft his head was, and how little his eyes were, and his fingers. 'He's very vulnerable,' I said. 'He is,' Peter said, 'but we keep him pretty safe.'

'Does he eat normal food?'

'Not yet. Just milk for now.'

'Does he cry a lot?'

'I'd say so. Definitely feels like a lot.'

'But babies don't get sad, right? He's just hungry or something.'

'We'll never know.' I liked watching the baby make fists. I wondered if he could have thoughts, or if he was more like a nonhuman animal. 'Do you want to hold him?'

'I don't think that's a very good idea.'

'Why not?'

'I don't know how to hold a baby.'

'If you want to, I'll show you. It's easy.'

'OK.'

'Why don't you sit down?' he said. 'Here you go. Now put one of your hands under here. Like that. Good. Now put the other around his head. That's right. You can kind of hold it against your chest. Right. Like that. You've got it. Just like that. He's as happy as can be.'

'This is good?'

'You're doing great.'

'What's his name?'

'Peter.'

'I thought that was your name.'

'We're both Peter.' It made me wonder for the first time why I wasn't named after Dad, although I didn't wonder about the renter's name being Thomas. I said, 'Hi, Peter. I'll protect you.'

When I got home that afternoon, after eight months of searching New York, I was exhausted and frustrated and pessimistic, even though what I wanted to be was happy.

I went up to my laboratory, but I didn't feel like performing any experiments. I didn't feel like playing the tambourine, or spoiling Buckminster, or arranging my collections, or looking through
Stuff That Happened to Me

.

Mom and Ron were hanging out in the family room, even though he wasn't part of our family. I went to the kitchen to get some dehydrated ice cream. I looked over at the telephone. The new phone. It looked back at me. Whenever it would ring, I'd scream, 'The phone's ringing!' because I didn't want to touch it. I didn't even want to be in the same room with it.

I pressed the Message Play button, which I hadn't done since the worst day, and that was on the old phone.