by Paul Auster
“Yes,” Stone said, mulling over Flower’s last comment, “it’s a difficult one, all right. But that doesn’t mean we won’t think of something.” He lapsed into thought for ten or twenty seconds, and then his face gradually began to brighten. “Of course,” he said, “there’s always the wall.”
“The wall?” Flower said. “What do you mean by that?”
“The wall,” Stone repeated. “Someone has to build it.”
“Ah …,” Flower said, catching on at last. “The wall! A brilliant idea, Willie. By God, I think you’ve really surpassed yourself this time.”
“Honest work for an honest wage,” Stone said.
“Exactly,” Flower said. “And little by little the debt will be paid off.”
But Pozzi was not having any of it. The instant he realized what they were proposing, his mouth literally dropped open in astonishment. “You’ve got to be kidding,” he said. “If you think I’m going to do that, you’re out of your minds. There’s no way. There’s absolutely no fucking way.” Then, starting to lift himself out of his chair, he turned to Nashe and said, “Come on, Jim, let’s get out of here. These two guys are full of shit.”
“Take it easy, kid,” Nashe said. “There’s no harm in listening. We’ve got to work out something, after all.”
“No harm!” Pozzi shouted. “They belong in the nuthouse, can’t you see that? They’re one-hundred-percent bonkers.”
Pozzi’s agitation had a curiously calming effect on Nashe, as if the more vehemently the kid acted, the more clearheaded Nashe found it necessary to become. There was no doubt that things had taken a strange turn, but Nashe realized that he had somehow been expecting it, and now that it was happening, there was no panic inside him. He felt lucid, utterly in control of himself.
“Don’t worry about it, Jack,” he said. “Just because they make us an offer, that doesn’t mean we have to accept. It’s a question of manners, that’s all. If they have something to tell us, then we owe them the courtesy of hearing them out.”
“It’s a waste of time,” Pozzi muttered, sinking back into his chair. “You don’t negotiate with madmen. Once you start to do that, your brain gets all fucked up.”
“I’m glad you brought your brother along with you,” Flower said, letting out a sigh of disgust. “At least there’s one reasonable man we can talk to.”
“Shit,” Pozzi said. “He’s not my brother. He’s just some guy I met on Saturday. I barely even know him.”
“Well, whether you’re related to him or not,” Flower said, “you’re lucky to have him here. For the fact is, young man, you’re staring at a heap of trouble. You and Nashe owe us ten thousand dollars, and if you try to walk out without paying, we’ll call the police. It’s as simple as that.”
“I already said we’d listen to you,” Nashe interrupted. “You don’t have to make threats.”
“I’m not making threats,” Flower said. “I’m just presenting you with the facts. Either you show some cooperation and we work out an amicable arrangement, or we take more drastic measures. There are no other alternatives. Willie has come up with a solution, a perfectly ingenious solution in my opinion, and unless you have something better to offer, I think we should get down to brass tacks.”
“The specifics,” Stone said. “Hourly wage, living quarters, food. The practical details. It’s probably best to get those things settled before we start.”
“You can live right out there in the meadow,” Flower said.
“There’s a trailer on the premises already—what they call a mobile home. It hasn’t been used for some time, but it’s in perfectly good condition. Calvin lived there a few years ago while we were building his cottage for him. So there’s no problem about putting you up. All you have to do is move in.”
“It has a kitchen,” Stone added. “A fully equipped kitchen. A refrigerator, a stove, a sink, all the modern conveniences. A well for water, electrical hookup, baseboard heating. You can do your cooking there and eat whatever you want. Calvin will keep you stocked with supplies, whatever you ask him for he’ll bring. Just give him a shopping list every day, and he’ll go into town and get what you need.”
“We’ll provide you with work clothes, of course,” Flower said, “and if there’s anything else you want, all you have to do is ask. Books, newspapers, magazines. A radio. Extra blankets and towels. Games. Whatever you decide. We don’t want you to be uncomfortable, after all. In the final analysis, you might even enjoy yourselves. The work won’t be too strenuous, and you’ll be outdoors in this beautiful weather. It will be a working holiday, so to speak, a short, therapeutic respite from your normal lives. And every day you’ll see another section of the wall go up. That will be immensely satisfying, I think: to see the tangible fruits of your labor, to be able to step back and see the progress you’ve made. Little by little, the debt will be paid off, and when the time comes for you to go, not only will you walk out of here free men, but you’ll have left something important behind you.”
“How long do you think it will take?” Nashe said.
“That depends,” Stone answered. “You’ll get so much per hour. Once your total earnings come to ten thousand dollars, you’ll be free to go.”
“What if we finish the wall before we’ve earned ten thousand dollars?”
“In that case,” Flower said, “we’ll consider the debt paid in full.”
“And if we don’t finish, what are you planning to pay us?”
“Something commensurate with the task. A normal wage for workers on this kind of job.”
“Such as?”
“Five, six dollars an hour.”
“That’s too low. We won’t even consider it for less than twelve.”
“This isn’t brain surgery, Mr. Nashe. It’s unskilled labor. Piling one stone on top of another. It doesn’t require much study to do that.”
“Still, we’re not going to do it for six dollars an hour. If you can’t do any better than that, you might as well call the police.”
“Eight, then. My final offer.”
“It’s still not good enough.”
“Stubborn, aren’t you? And what if I went up to ten? What would you say to that?”
“Let’s figure it out, and then we’ll see.”
“Fine. It won’t take but a second. Ten dollars apiece comes to twenty dollars an hour for the two of you. If you put in an average of ten hours of work—just to keep the figures simple—then you’ll be earning two hundred dollars a day. Two hundred into ten thousand is fifty. Which means it will take you approximately fifty days. If it’s late August now, that comes out to some time in the middle of October. Not so long. You’ll be finished just as the leaves are beginning to turn.”
Bit by bit, Nashe found himself giving in to the idea, gradually accepting the wall as the only solution to his predicament. Exhaustion might have played a part in it—the lack of sleep, the inability to think anymore—but somehow he thought not. Where was he going to go, anyway? His money was gone, his car was gone, his life was in a shambles. If nothing else, perhaps those fifty days would give him a chance to take stock, to sit still for the first time in over a year and ponder his next move. It was almost a relief to have the decision taken out of his hands, to know that he had finally stopped running. The wall would not be a punishment so much as a cure, a one-way journey back to earth.
The kid was beside himself, however, and all during the conversation he kept emitting disgruntled, petulant noises, aghast at Nashe’s acquiescence and the insane haggling over money. Before Nashe had a chance to shake hands on a deal with Flower, Pozzi grabbed hold of his arm and announced that he had to talk to him in private. Then, not bothering to wait for a response, he yanked Nashe out of his chair and dragged him into the hall, slamming the door shut with his foot.
“Come on,” he said, still pulling on Nashe’s arm. “Let’s go. It’s time to leave.”
But Nashe shrugged off Pozzi’s hand and stood his ground. “We can�
�t leave,” he said. “We owe them money, and I’m not in the mood to get hauled off to jail.”
“They’re just bluffing. There’s no way they’d get the fuzz involved in this.”
“You’re wrong, Jack. Guys with money like that can do anything they want. The minute those two called, the cops would jump. We’d be picked up before we were half a mile from here.”
“You sound scared, Jimbo. Not a good sign. It makes you look ugly.”
“I’m not scared. I’m just being smart.”
“Crazy, you mean. Keep it up, pal, and pretty soon you’ll be as crazy as they are.”
“It’s less than two months, Jack, no big deal. They’ll feed us, give us a place to live, and before you know it, we’ll be gone. Why worry about it? We might even have some fun.”
“Fun? You call lifting stones fun? It sounds like a goddamn chain gang to me.”
“It can’t kill us. Not fifty days of it. Besides, the exercise will probably do us some good. Like lifting weights. People pay good money to do that in health clubs. We’ve already paid our membership fee, so we might as well take advantage of it.”
“How do you know it will be only fifty days?”
“Because that’s the agreement.”
“And what if they don’t stick to the agreement?”
“Look, Jack, don’t worry so much. If we run into any problems, we’ll take care of them.”
“It’s a mistake to trust those fuckers, I’m telling you.”
“Then maybe you’re right, maybe you should go now. I’m the one who got us into this mess, so the debt is my responsibility.”
“I’m the one who lost.”
“You lost the money, but I’m the one who cut for the car.”
“You mean you’d stay here and do it alone?”
“That’s what I’m saying.”
“Then you really are crazy, aren’t you?”
“What difference does it make what I am? You’re a free man, Jack. You can walk out now, and I won’t hold it against you. That’s a promise. No hard feelings.”
Pozzi looked at Nashe for a long moment, wrestling with the choice he had just been given, searching Nashe’s eyes to see if he had meant what he had said. Then, very slowly, a smile began to form on the kid’s face, as if he had just understood the punch line to an obscure joke. “Shit,” he said. “Do you really think I’d leave you alone, old man? If you did that work yourself, you’d probably drop dead of a heart attack.”
Nashe had not been expecting it. He had assumed that Pozzi would jump at his offer, and during those moments of certainty, he had already begun to imagine what it would be like to live out in the meadow alone, trying to resign himself to that solitude, coming to a point of such resolve that he was almost beginning to welcome it. But now that the kid was in, he felt glad. As they walked back into the room to announce their decision, it fairly stunned him to realize how glad he was.
They spent the next hour putting it all in writing, drawing up a document that stated the terms of their agreement in the clearest possible language, with clauses that covered the amount of the debt, the conditions of repayment, the hourly wage, and so on. Stone typed it out twice, and then all four of them signed at the bottom of both copies. After that, Flower announced that he was going off to look for Murks and make the necessary arrangements concerning the trailer, the work site, and the purchase of supplies. It would take several hours, he said, and in the meantime they were welcome to have breakfast in the kitchen if they were hungry. Nashe asked a question about the design of the wall, but Flower told him not to trouble himself about that. He and Stone had already finished the blueprints, and Murks knew exactly what had to be done. As long as they followed Calvin’s instructions, nothing could go wrong. On that confident note, the fat man left the room, and Stone led Nashe and Pozzi to the kitchen, where he asked Louise to cook up some breakfast for them. Then, mumbling a brief, awkward good-bye, the thin man vanished as well.
The maid clearly resented having to prepare the meal, and as she went about the business of beating eggs and frying bacon, she took out her displeasure by refusing to address a word to either one of them—muttering a string of invective under her breath, acting as if the task were an insult to her dignity. Nashe realized how thoroughly things had changed for them. He and Pozzi had been stripped of their status, and henceforth they would no longer be treated as invited guests. They had been reduced to the level of hired hands, tramps who come begging for leftovers at the back door. It was impossible not to notice the difference, and as he sat there waiting for his food, he wondered how Louise had caught on so quickly to their demotion. The day before, she had been perfectly polite and respectful; now, just sixteen hours later, she could barely hide her contempt for them. And yet neither Flower nor Stone had said a word to her. It was as if some secret communiqué had been broadcast silently through the house, informing her that he and Pozzi no longer counted, that they had been relegated to the category of nonpersons.
But the food was excellent, and they both ate with considerable appetite, wolfing down extra helpings of toast along with numerous cups of coffee. Once their stomachs were full, however, they lapsed into a state of drowsiness, and for the next half hour they struggled to keep their eyes open by smoking more of Pozzi’s cigarettes. The long night had finally caught up with them, and neither one seemed capable of talking anymore. Eventually, the kid dozed off in his chair, and for a long time after that Nashe just stared into space, seeing nothing as his body gave in to a deep and languorous exhaustion.
Murks arrived a few minutes past ten, bursting into the kitchen with a clatter of work boots and jangling keys. The noise immediately brought Nashe back to life, and he was out of his chair before Murks reached the table. Pozzi slept on, however, oblivious to the commotion around him.
“What’s the matter with him?” Murks said, gesturing with his thumb at Pozzi.
“He had a rough night,” Nashe said.
“Yeah, well, from what I heard, things didn’t go too good for you either.”
“I don’t need as much sleep as he does.”
Murks pondered the remark for a moment, and then he said, “Jack and Jim, huh? And which one are you, fella?”
“Jim.”
“I guess that makes your friend Jack.”
“Good thinking. After that, the rest is easy. I’m Jim Nashe, and he’s Jack Pozzi. It shouldn’t take long for you to get the hang of it.”
“Yeah, I remember. Pozzi. What’s he, some kind of Spaniard or something?”
“More or less. He’s a direct descendant of Christopher Columbus.”
“No kidding?”
“Would I make up something like that?”
Again, Murks fell silent, as if trying to absorb this curious bit of information. Then, looking at Nashe with his pale blue eyes, he abruptly changed the subject. “I took your stuff out of the car and put it in the jeep,” he said. “The bags and all those tapes. I figured you might as well have it with you. They said you’re going to be here for a while.”
“And what about the car?”
“I drove it over to my place. If you want, you can sign the registration papers tomorrow. There’s no rush.”
“You mean they gave the car to you?”
“Who else? They didn’t want it, and Louise just bought a new car last month. It seems like a good one to me. Handles real nice.”
Murks’s statement hit him like a fist in the stomach, and for a moment or two Nashe actually felt himself fighting back tears. It had not occurred to him to think about the Saab, and now, all of a sudden, the sense of loss was absolute, as if he had just been told his closest friend was dead. “Sure,” he said, making a great effort not to show his feelings. “Just bring the papers around to me tomorrow.”
“Good. We’ll be plenty busy today anyway. There’s lots to do. Got to get you boys settled in first, and then I’ll show you the plans and walk you around the place. You wouldn’t believe how many sto
nes there are. It’s about like a mountain is what it is, an honest-to-goodness mountain. I ain’t never seen so many stones in all my life.”
6
There was no road from the house to the meadow, so Murks drove the jeep straight through the woods. He was apparently an old hand at it, and he charged along at a frenetic pace—maneuvering around the trees with abrupt, hairpin turns, bouncing recklessly over stones and exposed roots, yelling at Nashe and Pozzi to duck clear of hanging branches. The jeep made a tremendous racket, and birds and squirrels scattered as they approached, bolting helter-skelter through the leaf-covered darkness. After Murks had roared along in this way for fifteen minutes or so, the sky suddenly brightened, and they found themselves on a grassy verge studded with low-lying bushes and thin shoots. The meadow was just ahead of them. The first thing Nashe noticed was the trailer—a pale green structure propped up on several rows of cinder blocks—and then, all the way at the other end of the field, he saw the remains of Lord Muldoon’s castle. Contrary to what Murks had told them, the stones did not form a mountain so much as a series of mountains—a dozen haphazard piles jutting up from the ground at different angles and elevations, a chaos of towering rubble strewn about like a set of children’s blocks. The meadow itself was much larger than Nashe had expected. Surrounded by woods on all four sides, it seemed to cover an area roughly equivalent to three or four football fields: it was an immense territory of short, stubbled grass, as flat and silent as the bottom of a lake. Nashe turned around and looked for the house, but it was no longer visible. He had imagined that Flower and Stone would be standing at a window watching them through a telescope or a pair of binoculars, but the woods were mercifully in the way. Just knowing that he would be hidden from them was something to be thankful for, and in those first moments after climbing from the jeep, he began to sense that he had already won back a measure of his freedom. Yes, the meadow was a desolate place; but there was also a certain forlorn beauty to it, an air of remoteness and calm that could almost be called soothing. Not knowing what else to think, Nashe tried to take heart from that.