Still With Me (20 page)

Yet he felt no fear and no anger. This violence was meant for his double.

Another blow to the head knocked him out. When he woke up, the three men were talking. Curly nodded toward Stako, who turned to face Jeremy. “Oh, here we go. Are you up? Good morning! Let’s pick up where we left off.”

He slapped Jeremy with record force. Jeremy thought he lost consciousness. But he also realized that the blows weren’t the only source of his suffering. He was about to fall into the chasm of time. He recognized each symptom. His body went limp, and his pain disappeared.

Stako looked at him with a nasty smile. “You’re pretty hard, Delègue. No screams, no reaction at all…It’s in your
interest to speak up, though. Because if I find out why you did all this—if I believe you did one for my brother by getting rid of Vladimir—then I’ll be lenient. If not, I’ll have to make an example of you to show that nobody,
nobody
, can challenge our family with impunity. That’s the way it works around here. I have to show that even after all these years, anyone who fucks us is going to get fucked.”

He interrogated Jeremy with a look. After a few seconds he sighed, resigned, and gave a signal to his men. With incredible brutality, they fell upon Jeremy and beat him without restraint. Jeremy closed his eyes and tried to catch his breath.

When the beating stopped, Stako leaned over him. “So, Delègue? I’ll give you one more chance to talk. You know, the more I see you resist, the more you win my respect, and the more I want to know the truth.”

But already there were a few moments of delay between the movements of Stako’s thick lips and Jeremy’s hearing his words. He felt the chill invade him; his arms and legs grew stiff. He was going to vanish altogether from this gruesome, B-movie scene. Stako’s image faded. He heard the men’s voices flow together.

Then, soon enough, he heard another, more familiar voice. The prayer had begun. He turned his head slowly and saw the old man. He was on the left side of the bed, bent over his book, rocking to the rhythm of his chant.

Jeremy saw a shadow approach. He concentrated all his attention on this form, and so he wouldn’t pass out, tried to suck down a breath of air through the blood running in his throat. He could make out Stako’s silhouette a few feet from him and saw him aim the barrel of his gun. The old man increased the intensity of his prayer, emphasizing each word with a wave of his fist. The prayer he recited was finally right for the circumstances. Jeremy heard the blast and a flash of light blinded him.

“Mr. Delègue, wake up. It’s your big day.”

Jeremy didn’t move. He stayed still, eyes closed, hoping to go back to sleep in an instant and accelerate the pace of these absurd fragments of his life.

“Come on, Mr. Delègue. You’re so lazy. Okay, I’m going to start getting you ready,” the woman’s voice spoke again.

Jeremy wondered what her words meant. He opened his eyes and found himself lying on a bed, completely nude. Leaning over him, a nurse moved a gloved hand over his legs. He tried to lift the sheets to hide his naked body, but his hands refused to move. And when he tried to protest,
a garbled sound left his throat. He was powerless to make even the most minor movements. His body lay inert and as heavy as an old piece of wood.

Terrified, he redoubled his efforts to move, but only his right arm shifted. Eyes bulging, he watched the nurse handle him like an object.

“Oh, calm down, Mr. Delègue. I’m only washing you. So stop the fuss. And don’t bother looking at me like that. He’s a piece of work, this one. He can be calm and charming one minute, and then out of nowhere, you’d swear he wants to kill you.”

Jeremy looked for whomever the nurse was talking to. On the other side of the room, he saw a nurse peacefully washing another old man.

“There. You’re clean. I’m going to put your pajamas on and a housecoat. Maybe you’ll get a visit today.”

Jeremy was horrified. This episode presented him with a new nightmare, more terrifying than any he’d experienced before.

After she finished putting his clothes on, the nurse shaved his beard quickly and brushed his hair.

“You’re looking good now, Mr. Delègue. I’ll show you.” She held a mirror up to his face.

Jeremy automatically closed his eyes. What would he discover? Did he really have to face a reality that offered him nothing but cruelty? Curiosity, however, proved stronger than his own will, and he opened his eyes to face the surface of the glass. He regretted it immediately. An elderly man’s face looked back at him. An old geezer. Wrinkled skin, sunken features, hair almost completely gray. And on his forehead was a round, swollen scar.

This vision was an absolute horror. It showed the years he’d lost but also his lack of future. What could he hope for now—impotent and nailed forever to this bed?

Prisoner in his own body, Jeremy tried to calm himself and think. This outcome—didn’t it represent a total victory over the other Jeremy? He had won his duel. Now he’d have to deal with the consequences.

The nurse leaned closer. “Okay, we’re going to eat now,” she announced, placing a bib around his neck.

After eating, Jeremy was granted the privilege of a walk. Then at the end of lunch a nurse’s aide led him to the cafeteria. She brought him a cake with one lit candle on top.

“Happy birthday, Mr. Delègue,” she sang, proud of his attention. “There wasn’t enough room for seventy candles, so I just put on one. Let’s pretend.”

Jeremy registered this information with complete indifference.
Seventy years old
, he thought. He looked much older. He had made a twenty-two-year jump in his life. Twenty-two years without waking up. So what? He was close to death.

The nurse got the attention of the other retirees in the room. “We’re going to sing for Mr. Delègue. Come on, everyone together.”

All the people—old, lucid, lost, happy, sad, crippled, and paralyzed—started singing. Jeremy looked at them in horror. Life was mocking him. He wanted to ignore it, resolved to be indifferent until his death, but life kept harassing him, clever and cruel. He was a young man of twenty years imprisoned in the body of an old invalid. All around him absent faces, well-meaning or hallucinating, sang to him about the time that had passed. So he started to laugh, hysterical laughter, choked by a throat he couldn’t open. A mad laughter, a lunatic’s laughter he couldn’t explain.

I’m among the living dead. Right where I belong. I don’t have a family anymore. I’m alone. How unhappy the one who
destroyed my life must be! Stuck in a wheelchair, he eats with a tiny spoon and sings with madmen!

Jeremy was calm. A nurse had led him to a patio, and the sun caressed his skin. He appreciated this moment of solitude in a gentle breeze. He wanted to die right then, soothed by this feeling of well-being. He closed his eyes, hoping to go to sleep and hasten his end.

“Happy birthday,” came a voice that Jeremy recognized immediately. Simon was standing in front of him with a gift box in his hands.

The mixture of surprise and joy at seeing him, and his embarrassment over the circumstances, confused Jeremy. He panicked. What did his son want with him? Why did he look so kind? Had he already seen him in this pitiful condition?

Simon sat facing him. He seemed embarrassed and pursed his lips like he was holding back an uncertain expression.

Jeremy tried to talk but could only extract one stifled syllable from his mouth.

Not knowing what to say or do, Simon showed him the present and placed it on Jeremy’s knees, smiling. “I’ll open it for you if you want.”

Jeremy was happy to hear how casually he spoke to him now.

Simon tore open the package and brought out a cap and scarf. He hesitated before placing the scarf around his father’s neck. Next he placed the cap on his head and stood back to examine his work. “I think it looks pretty good.”

Jeremy bobbed his head slightly in thanks and gently raised his arm. He was delighted to see Simon so caring. He tried to breathe gently to say a few words. But once again, he could only emit a series of grotesque noises.

“You want to talk to me? The nurses told me you can write with your right hand. They gave me paper and a pen.”

So he still had one way to communicate left. Jeremy took the sheet of paper and pen and wrote: “Why did you come to see me?”

Simon took the paper and read the question. He didn’t lift his head right away. He thought a moment, a sad grin twisting his lips. “Because it’s your birthday. And today, maybe you’re my father.”

The words shocked Jeremy. With a single movement, he took back the paper. “Have you come before, since the last time we met?”

Simon nodded. “Yes, often. And on every one of your birthdays. You’ve never asked questions.”

The two men exchanged a deep look that let so many words, so many affectionate gestures, so many regrets, and so much joy circulate between them.

“On each of my visits, I hoped for a sign. A look that would help me understand whether I had in front of me the man I left in that hotel room. The first five years, you refused to see me. Then I forced my presence on you, but you remained cold, unapproachable. I saw your eyes moving, trying to understand what I was doing there. I knew every time you weren’t your normal self. That inside your frozen body you were that other person. It wasn’t like today. It’s strange, but somehow I knew right away.”

Jeremy’s eyes misted over. His son had found him, cared for him.

Simon took his hand. “What did you do to become like this?” he asked quietly. “There wasn’t any other way?”

“Maybe, but I didn’t have a choice. Tell me about yourself, your life, your brother. And your mother.”

“You think it’s a good idea?” Simon asked, raising an eyebrow.

Jeremy replied affirmatively. “Mom and Thomas don’t know how you got this way. I never told them about the time we met, the day you got out of prison, or what I heard about the attack the next day when I went back to your hotel. I made up a story about a car accident. For them, you’re pinned to a wheelchair somewhere in Florida. I had to put you farther away so they could imagine you somewhere else, harmless but still enjoying life, in a manner of speaking. If I told them the truth, Mom would’ve blamed herself. She would’ve thought you put yourself in this condition to save her. And she could never live happily knowing you were so close and in such bad shape.

“I’m the one who got you placed here. I saw specialists. I did research to see if there’s ever been a case of amnesia like yours, but I never found one. The doctors didn’t give me much reason to hope you’d ever recover your true personality. But I didn’t give up on you.”

Jeremy squeezed Simon’s hand. An unfit father, he was lucky to have such an exceptional son. A son who always kept hope alive that he’d find his father again, even paralyzed.

“Oh, yeah,” Simon went on. “I forgot to tell you that both Thomas and I are married. And we both have kids. I have a son and a daughter. My son is twelve years old. His name is Martin…like your father. Julie is six. I have photos.”

Simon got out his wallet and flipped it open. Jeremy saw two adorable children hugging each other on a beach.

“They’re cute, aren’t they?” Simon continued. “Thomas, he has a five-year-old son, Sacha. He lives in Lyon. He’s the administrative director for the French branch of some important American company. Me, I’m just an artist. I paint. My canvases sell all right. Geez, what else to say? You know, it’s not easy to sum up so many years in just a few words.”

The photos, Simon’s commentary, and the obvious joy he took in sharing with his father overwhelmed Jeremy. He had a family. Grandchildren even. By mastering his double, he’d helped to make the good things in their lives possible. “I’m happy for you. But tell me about your mother. It’s okay. I hope that she’s happy.”

Simon mumbled, embarrassed, “She never remarried, but she’s lived with the same man for fifteen years. His name’s Jacques. He’s a lawyer. She doesn’t work anymore. She’d rather take care of the grandkids. She’s a wonderful grandmother.”