What can an old man do to me anyway? With his prayers and suffering and oblivion. Jeremy waited, smiling.
SIX
The few rays of sunlight that crept through the bars of the window dissolved easily in the white neon light. A man stared at Jeremy from a steel bed exactly like his own, tray on his knees, slowly chewing a piece of bread. The man’s eyes were cold and heavy. His impressive musculature testified to an animal force that was capable of surfacing at any moment in order to seize its prey. His face was thick, and his features looked to have been shaped by a hail of fists.
“Why you looking at me like that?” the man asked in a hoarse drawl.
Jeremy said nothing. He hadn’t considered this problem during the brief and buoyant moments when he’d developed the plan that led him here. The satisfaction he’d felt when he initially woke up dissolved into utter discouragement.
“I’m talking to you,” the man grunted.
Despite the menacing tone, Jeremy remained immersed in his most recent thoughts: What year was this? What had he done? What had happened to Victoria and the kids? What outlandish scenario waited for him this time? It was only the setting that for the first time didn’t surprise him.
The man got up suddenly, and Jeremy thought that he was about to pounce on him. But instead, he headed for the door and placed his tray on the shelf that was attached to it.
“Shit, man. Fuck you. You’re a weird fucking dude. They’re right. You’re unhinged. You’re not like anybody else. Look at your plate. We’re all starving to death; we’d kill for bread and butter, and you don’t touch your food. You sleep like you’re on a vacation at the beach, grinning like a fucking idiot.”
Jeremy sat up, looked at his breakfast, and felt a familiar hunger pierce his stomach. He got up, gaining the sink in a single step, and washed his face and hands. He looked for a mirror, but there was none. He sat back down to eat. The man was lying on his bed, arms behind his head, observing Jeremy coolly. The coffee was cold, but Jeremy drank it with satisfaction. He ate the two slices of bread, too thin to satisfy his appetite. He thought while he chewed. How could he continue his investigation when he was locked up in this cell? He only had a few hours. Not that he thought he’d be able to solve anything, but he hoped at least to find a kernel of meaning that would finally start the healing process, to justify his behavior to Victoria and maybe, maybe…
Jeremy was like a death row inmate: resigned to the power of the machine bent on killing him but still hopeful for divine intervention. He still had a few leads to follow, a few moves left. And he had to find some way, even here, of giving it his all.
“So what’s the program?” the man asked.
Jeremy had all but forgotten him. What could he say? He had to stall, make this man reveal his intentions.
“In your opinion?” Jeremy ventured.
“In my opinion? Since when do you ask for my opinion?” the man retorted, sitting up on his elbow. “I’m not the one who thinks around here. But if you want my opinion, we have to get it over with.”
The man had spoken with conviction. Jeremy frowned. He didn’t even want to consider the meaning of the declaration. He needed more information.
“And how do you see things?”
“How do I see things?” the man repeated, surprised to be questioned further. “You want to make sure I learned the lesson? Okay, well, we’re going to the gym and we’re gonna get him, but in a way that makes it look like an accident. I’m going to arrange to have a hundred-fifty-pound barbell fall on his throat. One hundred and fifty pounds! To put him in the ground!” he added, laughing.
The man glanced at Jeremy to see if he appreciated his humor. Horrified by what his cellmate had said and caught off guard, Jeremy feigned an awkward laugh. He suspected the man was not the type to permit even the least denial of friendship.
In prison and an accomplice to murder! What madness! This guy is crazy. But thank God, he seems to respect me. He might even be afraid of me. It’s the only good news so far. That means the other Jeremy figured out how to make a place for himself here—in this cell, at least. Since it seems like in this prison he has enemies, one of which he hopes to kill. Incredible!
Jeremy tried a new tack. “Listen, I don’t know. Maybe we should find another way. I have my doubts.”
The man jerked up into a seated position on his bed, menacingly. Jeremy was impressed by the feline suppleness this mass of muscle and fat achieved.
“What? What do you mean, you don’t know? You want them to come for you? Because that’s what’ll happen, man. You got yourself caught with his family’s dope, remember? And it was a major stash. And you clocked Stako’s brother. You have your doubts? These guys, they don’t doubt anything. They’re going to fuck you, no question. What’s this pansy-ass bullshit? I respect you because you’re the hardest, most determined motherfucker who got busted and who’s rotting in this pit. So don’t disappoint me.”
The man had risen to his feet and was pacing across the cell, fists clenched, muscles bulging, eyes locked on Jeremy. Anger made him terrifying. Jeremy had to respect the intelligence of his double for figuring out how to ally himself with such an imposing man. He also realized he needed to try to adopt the mannerisms of the person he was supposed to be.
Jeremy remained seated, eyes fixed on his disciple, clenching his teeth as a way to give his voice an edge. “Don’t talk to me in that tone. It’s not a question of letting the matter drop. We’re going to get the fucker. What I don’t know is when and how. I have to think about it. There may be other ways.”
Jeremy was surprised by his own performance. The urgency and danger of the situation made him throw himself wholeheartedly into the act.
“For example?” the giant asked in a more conciliatory tone.
“I don’t know yet. I told you; I need to think.”
“Okay…” The man seemed suspicious.
“Are you questioning me?” Jeremy asked. His voice was firm, his threat clear.
“No…I mean…I’m thinking about what you said yesterday…”
“What does that mean?”
“I mean, you told me that on your birthday, you could act funny. I had to watch you and…” The man stopped talking and looked at Jeremy as if he’d noticed him for the first time in his cell. “Why don’t you remember what you told me yesterday?”
Jeremy had to think quickly. The man eyed him, waiting for a logical answer. His cellmate had just revealed a few facts that he had to address quickly. The other Jeremy had covered his bases by leaving this mastodon to watch over him. He’d planned a murder for that very day and guarded himself against the person he would become. Strategically, it was well played. But tactically weak; his cellmate wasn’t astute enough to investigate.
“Good. Good. Great. I’m glad you remember what I told you about my…issues…on my birthday. I know I can count on you. But it won’t happen this year. If I was having an attack, you’d know right away.”
The man grumbled. For now, it was enough to defuse him. Jeremy knew he should take advantage of the window of opportunity. He knew he was playing a dangerous game.
“Okay, here’s what I want to have happen. I heard that the gym would be busy for the next few days. The guards are planning to raid for a shipment of weed. That can’t happen at the same time…”
“How do you know that? You never leave the cell.”
Jeremy was moving across a minefield left by his double.
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“The guards? It’s true those guys fucking love you. Okay, so what’s your plan?”
“We’re going to wait. See how things go. Figure out other options, just in case. Then we’ll make our move.”
“Okay…But you know you’re taking a risk. They’re after you. And they’re not going to wait.”
“I’ll take the risk.”
“What are your other plans?”
“I’ll tell you when I’m ready. I need to think some more.”
“You’ll have your chance. I got work now. But we need to talk this through when I get back.”
Jeremy was relieved to be rid of his cellmate’s menacing presence. He would finally be alone, not having to improvise in a role that demanded his full attention. He could get back to what mattered.
When the man had left the cell, Jeremy got up, took a deep breath, and started pacing the narrow room nervously. What could he do now? How was he going to take the next step in his research?
If the trap had closed on the better parts of himself, that wasn’t something he could regret. He’d set the trap for better or worse, and he’d given Victoria and the kids some respite. Jeremy was still mulling over his thoughts when the door slid open for a tall, lanky guard. On his pale, emaciated face, the dark circles under his eyes and his black moustache looked like a death mask.
“So, Jeremy, how’s it going today?”
“It’s going.”
“Did you see Paris yesterday? Taking two goals from Marseille. On their home field too. The shame.”
Jeremy made do with a head nod that was inexpressive enough for any interpretation.
What kind of relationship did he have with this guard? Was there some way to take advantage of this kindness?
“Want me to leave Team?”
Jeremy took the magazine and gave it a furtive glance. May 8, 2018.
Six years. He’d been there six years.
Jeremy refused to get emotional. In order to think and act, he had to stay as calm as possible. He had an idea.
“Can I ask you something?” Following the guard’s lead, Jeremy spoke informally. The guard didn’t seem to notice.
“As long as it’s not for the keys.” He laughed in a way that was meant to be shared, but stopped short when he saw the serious look on Jeremy’s face.
“I’d like to see a…a rabbi…like a Jewish priest, or whatever.”
“A rabbi? Since when do you care about God? Are you being serious?” the guard asked with a smile.
“Yes.”
“Shit, you crack me up. You’re so unpredictable. What do you want with a priest? And don’t try to tell me you want to confess or something like that.”
“I just have a few questions to ask.”
“Hmm. Okay, if you say so. You’re a strange one. The Jewish priest…He’s here Wednesday morning. I’ll write you in for tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? No, I want to see him today,” Jeremy snapped.
“Whoa, Jeremy, calm down. You might be somebody around here, but there are rules, schedules…”
“There’s really no way around it?” Jeremy tried again, more politely.
“No. None.”
Jeremy was desperate. He had to find a religious scholar before nightfall.
“And another rabbi? Can I see some other rabbi today?”
“You’re not scheduled for a visit. Never have been.”
“Can you write me in?” What did he have to lose by asking?
“Of course,” the guard replied. “But…honestly, I don’t get it. I mean, shit, what’s up with you? You’ve always turned down the priest’s visits, and now you can’t wait twenty-four hours? You’re a special case, Jeremy. Very special.”
“It only adds to my charm,” Jeremy replied, letting out a laugh that the guard quickly joined.
With this man on his side, Jeremy was advancing his pawns. “I’d like you to call a rabbi I know and ask him to come.”
“What? Are you kidding? You want me to go pick him up too? Ha! Jeremy, don’t press your luck. I’m not your lackey. With our…association, I’m already doing enough for you.”
“By slipping me copies of Team? That’s how you help me? I’m asking for a real favor.”
Flustered, the guard thought for a moment. “Okay, you have his number?” he asked, resigned.
“No. Call the synagogue on Pavée Street in the fourth arrondissement and ask for the rabbi’s secretary. I don’t know his name. Tell him I’m the man who came to see him on May 8, 2012. The one taken away by the police. Tell him I want to see him today, that I need to speak with him. That it’s urgent.”
The rabbi’s assistant might not work there anymore, but Jeremy had to try—follow his intuition, play his last card.
“That’s all the information you have? Okay, I’ll see what I can do. If you don’t hear from me, it’s because it didn’t work.”
After the guard left, Jeremy paced his cell. Thirty-seven. I’m thirty-seven years old. He repeated this over and over again to make it real.
He rubbed his cheeks, the corners of his eyes, thinking he could almost feel a new tenderness to his skin. Then he touched his chest, lifted his T-shirt, and discovered shapes he didn’t recognize: a slight bulge of the abdomen, a roundness to his hips. For the first time, he was aware of aging. And yet he felt like he had just turned twenty a few days earlier.
Jeremy opened the small closet next to his bed. It only took a few seconds to inspect its meager contents: a few pieces of clothing, liquid soap, a pair of shoes, and two sports magazines. He looked for a connection to the outside world, the past, the present. He had started to grow accustomed to these little hunts in search of lost meaning. In the pocket of a jacket hanging from the door, he found three letters. The most recent was dated March 12, 2017. He noted, first with annoyance, that none were from Victoria. Then he rejoiced; his plan had worked. She had distanced herself from him, doing what was best for her. The three letters were from Clotilde. Clotilde, whom he didn’t know. Clotilde, whom he didn’t love. Victoria’s friend. His best friend’s wife. And Jeremy’s mistress.
Jeremy,
I decided to write after thinking a lot about what happened. The way you behaved on your birthday…I was really upset. You weren’t yourself. Or anyway, not the person I know and love. I realized that when they told me you confessed to dealing drugs. Why did you do that? What were those drugs doing in your apartment? Pierre, on the other hand, was less surprised when he heard you were arrested. He thought it was the “inevitable end to your long descent.” He’s still nostalgic for the friend you were and that he lost.
He worries a lot about Victoria. She’s a little lost. Your incarceration destroyed her. She says the one who tried to find her on that infamous May 8, 2012, was in fact the Jeremy she loved. That he confessed so she could get away. It’s all so strange. I love the man she hates. She loves the amnesiac with a guilty conscience. A pure and true sort of man who shines through for a few hours once a decade and pierces the veil of his twisted personality. For me, if you are sick, it’s when you play the distraught lover who’s capable of turning on himself.
I don’t know how you’ll approach the trial. Pierre says it’ll be impossible to plead insanity. When they had you committed, you always argued against it. You had plenty of evidence to prove your mental health. Victoria will use it against you.
It’ll be a strange trial where each of the parties involved defends the opposite position from the one they held during commitment proceedings.
You know you can count on me.
Thinking of you,
Clotilde
The letter was dated June 3, 2012. The next one was written two years later.
Jeremy,
You’ll probably hate getting this letter. I don’t care. I need to write. You cut off all communication with me, and I don’t understand. It’s torture.
When I heard about your conviction, I was crushed. Met with psychiatric opinions, this time your intelligence wasn’t enough. Quite the opposite—it irritated the prosecutor. He knew it was a dangerous weapon that you used to play games with the people around you. I won’t disagree with him on that point. He thought your spontaneous confession was a way to get jail time and avoid other consequences. Then you’d get yourself out by relying on your psych file. Pierre says your high-court appeal has no chance of success. I hope you know what you’re doing.
I haven’t left Pierre. Not yet. Not while I’m so unhappy. You’ll t
hink it’s a very selfish position, Machiavellian even, and you’ll be right. I’m not brave enough to be alone. The contract stays the same: my presence for his support.
Pierre still takes care of Victoria. I, however, almost never see her. I use jealousy as an excuse to avoid her. It’s true. I don’t know if Pierre’s friendship with Victoria is more tinged with sympathy or love. She’s doing much better. She’s moved beyond her depression and started working again. She came a month ago for lunch at our place with the kids. They love Pierre, and they even call him uncle. As far as I’m concerned, I categorically refuse to be called Auntie Clotilde! In any case, I don’t think they would.
Thomas is very reserved. He plays the little gentleman, always serving his mother and brother. He’s grown up a lot and looks even more like Victoria. Simon is livelier and has a happier disposition. I have a hard time looking at him because of how closely he resembles you. Victoria, as I’m sure you know, is an excellent mother. She lives for them and through them. Pierre tries to convince her to start over, go out, meet new people, but she won’t have it. Fact is, they were made for each other! Those two are so much alike and so different from who we are—you and me.
Tomorrow I’ll regret this letter. I know you’re deathly afraid of emotional displays and you’ll probably hate me even more after reading it. But believe me, I haven’t said anything about how much I went through and all I felt. There’s nothing in this letter but the impulse of a moment. The desire to bring a few images of me to life in the depths of your soul.
Thinking of you,
Clotilde
The third letter had arrived only two months prior.
Still With Me Page 11