Paul Auster - Invisible

Don’t say that, I answered. I live just a few blocks from here. You can come to my apartment anytime you want.

I’ll try, Adam. I’ll do my best, but don’t expect too much from me. I’m not as strong as you think I am.

I don’t understand.

Rudolf. Once he comes back, I think he’s going to throw me out.

If he does, you can move in with me.

And live with two college boys in a dirty apartment? I’m too old for that.

My roommate isn’t so bad. And the place is fairly clean, all things considered.

I hate this country. I hate everything about it except you, and you aren’t enough to keep me here. If Rudolf doesn’t want me anymore, I’ll pack up my things and go home to Paris.

You talk as if you want it to happen, as if you’re already planning to break it off yourself.

I don’t know. Maybe I am.

And what about me? Haven’t these days meant anything to you?

Of course they have. I’ve loved being with you, but we’ve run out of time now, and the moment you walk out of here, you’ll understand that you don’t need me anymore.

That’s not true.

Yes, it is. You just don’t know it yet.

What are you talking about?

Poor Adam. I’m not the answer. Not for you-probably not for anyone.

It was a dismal end to what had been such a momentous time for me, and I left the apartment feeling shattered, perplexed, and perhaps a little angry as well. For days afterward, I kept going over that final conversation, and the more I analyzed it, the less sense it made to me. On the one hand, Margot had teared up at the moment of my departure, confessing that she was afraid she would never see me again. That would suggest she wanted our fling to go on, but when I proposed that we begin meeting at my apartment, she had become hesitant, all but telling me it wouldn’t be possible. Why not? For no reason-except that she wasn’t as strong as I thought she was. I had no idea what that meant. Then she had started talking about Born, which quickly devolved into a muddle of contradictions and conflicting desires. She was worried that he was going to kick her out, but a second later that seemed to be exactly what she wanted. Even more, perhaps she was going to take the initiative and leave him herself. Nothing added up. She wanted me and didn’t want me. She wanted Born and didn’t want Born. Each word that came out of her mouth subverted what she had said a moment earlier, and in the end there was no way to know what she felt. Perhaps she didn’t know herself. That struck me as the most plausible explanation-Margot in distress, Margot pulled apart by equal and opposite forces-but after spending those five nights with her, I couldn’t help feeling hurt and abandoned. I tried to keep my spirits up-hoping she would call, hoping she would change her mind and come rushing back to me-but deep down I knew it was finished, that her fear of never seeing me again was in fact a prophecy, and that she was gone from my life for good.

Meanwhile, Born was back in New York, but a full week had gone by and I still hadn’t heard from him. The longer his silence went on, the more I realized how much I was dreading his call. Had Margot told him what she and I had been up to during his absence? Were the two of them still together, or was she already back in France? After three or four days, I found myself hoping that he had forgotten about me and that I would never have to see him again. There would be no magazine, of course, but I hardly cared about that now. I had betrayed him by sleeping with his girlfriend, and even if he had more or less encouraged me to do it, I wasn’t proud of what I had done-especially after Margot had told me that I didn’t need her anymore, which meant, I now understood, that she didn’t need me anymore. I had created a mess for myself, and coward that I probably was, I would have preferred to hide under my bed than have to face either one of them.

But Born hadn’t forgotten me. Just when I was beginning to think the story was over, he called early one evening and asked me to drop by his apartment for a chat. That was the word he used- chat -and I was amazed by how chipper he sounded on the phone, positively bursting with energy and good cheer.

Sorry for the delay, he said. A thousand pardons, Walker, but I’ve been busy, busy, juggling this and that, a thousand things, for which I beg a thousand pardons, but time is a-wasting, and the moment has come to sit down and talk business. I owe you a check for the first issue, and after we’ve had our little chat, I’ll take you out for dinner somewhere. It’s been a while, and I believe we have some catching up to do.

I didn’t want to go, but I went. Not without trepidation, not without a flutter of panic twitching in my stomach, but in the end I felt I had no choice. By some miracle, the magazine appeared to be alive, and if he wanted to talk to me about it, if he was in fact ready to start writing checks to support the cause, I didn’t see how I could turn down his invitation. I believe we have some catching up to do . Like it or not, I was about to find out if Born knew what had been going on behind his back-and, if he did know, exactly what he had done about it.

He was dressed in white again: the full suit, the shirt open at the collar, but clean and unrumpled this time, the perfect hidalgo. Freshly shaven, his hair combed, looking nattier and more pulled together than I had ever seen him. A warm smile when he opened the door, a firm shake of the hand as I entered the apartment, a friendly pat on the shoulder as he led me toward the liquor cabinet and asked me what I wanted to drink, but no Margot, no sign of her anywhere, and while that didn’t necessarily mean anything, I was beginning to suspect the worst. We sat down near the French windows overlooking the park, I on the sofa, he in a large chair opposite, facing each other across the coffee table, Born grinning with contentment, so pleased with himself, so terribly happy as he told me that his trip to Paris had been a resounding success and the knotty problem that had been bedeviling his colleagues was now untangled at last. Then, after a few desultory questions about my studies and the books I had been reading lately, he leaned back in his chair and said, apropos of nothing: I want to thank you, Walker. You’ve done me an important service.

Thank me? For what?

For showing me the light of truth. I feel greatly in your debt.

I still don’t know what you’re talking about.

Margot.

What about her?

She betrayed me.

How? I asked, trying to play dumb but feeling ridiculous, crumpling up with shame as Born continued to smile at me.

She slept with you.

She told you that?

Whatever her faults might be, Margot never lies. If I’m not mistaken, you spent five straight nights with her-right here in this apartment.

I’m sorry, I said, looking down at the floor, too embarrassed to meet Born’s gaze.

Don’t be sorry. I fairly pushed you into it, didn’t I? If I had been in your shoes, I probably would have done the same thing. It was obvious that Margot wanted to sleep with you. Why would a healthy young man turn down an opportunity like that?

If you wanted her to do it, then why do you feel betrayed?

Ah, but I didn’t want her to do it. I was only pretending.

And why would you pretend?

To test her loyalty, that’s why. And the tramp fell for the bait. Don’t worry, Walker. I’m well rid of her, and I have you to thank for getting her out the door.

Where is she now?

Paris, I presume.

Did you push her out, or did she leave because she wanted to?

That’s difficult to say. Probably a little of both. Let’s call it a separation by mutual consent.

Poor Margot…

A wonderful cook, a wonderful fuck, but at bottom just another mindless slut. Don’t feel sorry for her, Walker. She isn’t worth it.