Hanya Yanagihara - A Little Life

And then it was January, and Willem had left for Texas to film Duets , and he had spent the weeks alone readying himself, and the night after Willem came home — he was still astonished that Willem had come back to him at all; astonished and ecstatic, so happy he had wanted to lean his head out the window and scream for no other reason but the improbability of it all — he had told Willem that he was ready.

Willem had looked at him. “Are you sure?” he’d asked him.

He wasn’t, of course. But he knew that if he wanted to be with Willem, he would have to do it eventually. “Yes,” he said.

“Do you want to, really?” Willem asked next, still looking at him.

What was this, he wondered: Was this a challenge? Or was this a real question? It was better to be safe, he thought. So “Yes,” he said. “Of course I do,” and he knew by Willem’s smile that he’d chosen the correct answer.

But first he’d had to tell Willem about his diseases. “When you have sex in the future, you’d better make sure you always disclose beforehand,” one of the doctors in Philadelphia had told him, years ago. “You don’t want to be responsible for passing these on to someone else.” The doctor had been stern, and he had never forgotten the shame he had felt, nor the fear that he might share his filth with another. And so he had written down a speech for himself and recited it until he had it memorized, but the actual telling had been much more difficult than he had expected, and he had spoken so quietly that he’d had to repeat himself, which was somehow even worse. He had given this talk only once before, to Caleb, who had been silent and then had said in his low voice, “Jude St. Francis. A slut after all,” and he had made himself smile and agree. “College,” he had managed to say, and Caleb had smiled back at him, slightly.

Willem too had been silent, watching him, and had asked, “When did you get these, Jude?” and then, “I’m so sorry.”

They had been lying next to each other, Willem on his side, facing him, he on his back. “I had a lost year in D.C.,” he said at last, although that hadn’t been true, of course. But telling the truth would mean a longer conversation, and he wasn’t ready to have that conversation, not yet.

“Jude, I’m sorry,” Willem had said, and had reached for him. “Will you tell me about it?”

“No,” he’d said, stubbornly. “I think we should do it. Now.” He had already prepared himself. Another day of waiting wasn’t going to change things, and he would only lose his nerve.

So they had. A large part of him had hoped, expected even, that things would be different with Willem, that he would, finally, enjoy the process. But once it had begun, he could feel every bad old sensation returning. He tried to direct his attention to how this time was clearly better: how Willem was more gentle than Caleb had been, how he didn’t get impatient with him, how it was, after all, Willem, someone he loved. But when it was over, there was the same shame, the same nausea, the same desire to hurt himself, to scoop out his insides and hurl them against the wall with a bloody thwack.

“Was it okay?” Willem asked, quietly, and he turned and looked at Willem’s face, which he loved so much.

“Yes,” he said. Maybe, he thought, it would be better the next time. And then, the next time, when it had been the same, he thought it might be better the time after that. Every time, he hoped things would be different. Every time, he told himself it would be. The sorrow he felt when he realized that even Willem couldn’t save him, that he was irredeemable, that this experience was forever ruined for him, was one of the greatest of his life.

Eventually, he made some rules for himself. First, he would never refuse Willem, ever. If this was what Willem wanted, he could have it, and he would never turn him away. Willem had sacrificed so much to be with him, and had brought him such peace, that he was determined to try to thank him however he could. Second, he would try — as Brother Luke had once asked him — to show a little life, a little enthusiasm. Toward the end of his time with Caleb, he had begun reverting to what he had done all his life: Caleb would turn him over, and pull down his pants, and he would lie there and wait. Now, with Willem, he tried to remember Brother Luke’s commands, which he had always obeyed— Roll over; Now make some noise; Now tell me you like it —and incorporate them when he could, so he would seem like an active participant. He hoped his competency would somehow conceal his lack of enthusiasm, and as Willem slept, he made himself remember the lessons that Brother Luke taught him, lessons he had spent his adulthood trying to forget. He knew Willem was surprised by his fluency: he, who had always remained silent when the others had bragged about what they’d done in bed, or what they hoped to; he, who could and did tolerate every conversation his friends had about the subject but had never engaged in them himself.

The third rule was that he would initiate sex once for every three times Willem did, so it didn’t seem so uneven. And fourth, whatever Willem wanted him to do, he would do. This is Willem , he would remind himself, again and again. This is someone who would never intentionally hurt you. Whatever he asks you to do is within reason .

But then he would see Brother Luke’s face before him. You trusted him, too , the voice nagged him. You thought he was protecting you, too .

How dare you , he would argue with the voice. How dare you compare Willem to Brother Luke .

What’s the difference? the voice snapped back. They both want the same thing from you. You’re the same thing to them in the end .

Eventually his fear of the process diminished, though not his dread. He had always known that Willem enjoyed sex, but he had been surprised and dismayed that he seemed to enjoy it so much with him. He knew how unfair he was being, but he found himself respecting Willem less for this, and hating himself more for those feelings.

He tried to focus on what had improved about the experience since Caleb. Although it was still painful, it was less painful than it had been with anyone else, and surely that was a good thing. It was still uncomfortable, although again, less so. And it was still shameful, although with Willem, he was able to comfort himself with the knowledge that he was giving at least a small bit of pleasure to the person he cared about most, and that knowledge helped sustain him every time.

He told Willem that he had lost the ability to have erections because of the car injury, but that wasn’t true. According to Andy (this was years ago), there was no physical reason why he couldn’t have them. But at any rate, he couldn’t, and hadn’t for years, not since he was in college, and even then, they had been rare and uncontrollable. Willem asked if there was something he could do — a shot, a pill — but he told him that he was allergic to one of the ingredients in those shots and pills, and that it didn’t make a difference to him.

Caleb hadn’t been so bothered by this inability of his, but Willem was. “Isn’t there something we can do to help you?” he asked, again and again. “Have you talked to Andy? Should we try something different?” until finally he snapped at Willem to stop asking him, that he was making him feel like a freak.

“I’m sorry, Jude; I didn’t mean to,” Willem said after a silence. “I just want you to enjoy this.”

“I am,” he said. He hated lying so much to Willem, but what was the alternative? The alternative meant losing him, meant being alone forever.

Sometimes, often, he cursed himself, and how limited he was, but at other times, he was kinder: he recognized how much his mind had protected his body, how it had shut down his sexual drive in order to shelter him, how it had calcified every part of him that had caused him such pain. But usually, he knew he was wrong. He knew his resentment of Willem was wrong. He knew his impatience with Willem’s affection for foreplay — that long, embarrassing period of throat-clearing that preceded every interaction, the small physical gestures of intimacy that he knew were Willem’s way of experimenting with the depths of his own ability for arousal — was wrong. But sex in his experience was something to be gotten through as quickly as possible, with an efficiency and brusqueness that bordered on the brutal, and when he sensed Willem was trying to prolong their encounters he began offering direction with a sort of decisiveness that he later realized Willem must mistake for zeal. And then he would hear Brother Luke’s triumphant declaration in his head— I could hear you enjoying yourself —and cringe. I don’t , he had always wanted to say, and he wanted to say it now: I don’t . But he didn’t dare. They were in a relationship. People in relationships had sex. If he wanted to keep Willem, he had to fulfill his side of the bargain, and his dislike for his duties didn’t change this.