The Speed of Light

by Cercas, Javier

  'And you?'

  'What about me?'

  'Are you writing?'

  I said no. Then I said yes. Then I asked him if he wanted to have another beer. He said yes. While we drank it I told him I'd spent the last few months writing a book, that I'd given up on it two weeks ago and I didn't know if it was worth finishing, or if I even wanted to finish it. Marcos asked me what the book was about.

  'Lots of things,' I said.

  'For example?' he insisted.

  That was when, at first reluctantly, almost just to repay Marcos's confidences, then enthusiastically and finally transported by my own words, I began to talk to him of the apartment we shared on the calle Pujol, of our encounter with Marcelo Cuartero in El Yate, of my trip to Urbana and my work in Urbana and my friendship with Rodney, of Rodney's father, of Rodney's years in Vietnam, of my return to Barcelona and then to Gerona, of Paula and Gabriel and my encounter with Rodney in the Hotel San Antonio de La Florida in Madrid, of the two tragedies there are in life and of the joy of success and its euphoria and humiliation and catastrophe, of Gabriel's and Paula's deaths, of my purgatory in the apartment in Sagrada Familia, of tunnels and undergrounds and stone doors, of my trip to the United States and my return to Rantoul, of Dan and Jenny, of the crimes of Tiger Force and of Tommy Birban's death and of Rodney's suicide, of my return to Barcelona, of my frustrated return to Rantoul, of the illusions of algebra and geometry. I talked to him of all these things and others, and as I did so I knew that Jenny was right, that Marcos was right; I should finish the book. I should finish it because I owed it to Gabriel and Paula and Rodney, also to Dan and Jenny, but most of all because I owed it to myself, I would finish it because I was a writer and I couldn't be anything else, because writing was the only thing that could let me look at reality without being destroyed by it or having it collapse on top of me like a burning house, the only thing that could give it meaning or an illusion of meaning, the only thing that, as had happened during those months of seclusion and work and vain hope and seduction or persuasion or demonstration, had allowed me to glimpse for real and without knowing it the end of the road, the end of the tunnel, the breach in the stone door, the only thing that had got me out from under the ground into the open and had allowed me to travel faster than the speed of light and recover part of what I'd lost among the crash of the collapse, that's why I'd finish the book, and because finishing it was also the only way that, albeit enclosed in these pages, Gabriel and Paula would somehow stay alive, and I would stop being who I'd been up till then, who I was with Rodney — my fellow, my brother — to become someone else, to be somehow and partially and forever Rodney. And at some point, while I was still telling Marcos about my book, already knowing that I was going to finish it, I was struck by the suspicion that perhaps I hadn't given up on it two weeks earlier because I hadn't wanted to finish it or wasn't sure if it was worth finishing, but because I didn't want it to finish: because, when I was already glimpsing its ending — when I almost knew what I wanted this story to say, because I'd almost already said it; when I'd almost got where I wanted to get to, precisely because I'd never known where I was going — the vertigo of not knowing what would be on the other side got to me, what abyss or mirror was waiting for me beyond these pages, when I again had all roads before me. And that was when I didn't only know the exact ending of my book, but also when I found the solution I was looking for. Euphoric, with the last beer I explained it to Marcos. I explained that I was going to publish the book under a different name, a pseudonym. I explained that before I published it I'd completely rewrite it. I'll change all the names, the places, the dates, I explained. I'll lie about everything, I explained, but only to better tell the truth. I explained: it will be an apocryphal novel, like my clandestine and invisible life, a false novel but truer than if it were true. When I finished explaining it all, Marcos remained quiet for a few seconds, smoking with an absent expression; then he drank down the rest of his beer.

  'And how does it end?' he asked.

  I looked around the almost empty bar and, feeling almost happy, answered:

  'It ends like this.'

  AUTHOR'S NOTE

  Like all books, this book is in debt to many other books. Among them I should mention two volumes that collect experiences of ex-combatants from Vietnam:Namby Mark Baker andWar and Aftermath inVietnamby T. Louise Brown. The following texts have also been very useful:A Rumor of Warby Philip Caputo;Vietnam: A War Lost and Wonby Nigel Cawthorne;Dispatches,by Michael Herr; 'Trip to Hanoy' inStyles of Radical Willby Susan Sontag. Furthermore, I am grateful for the disinterested help I have received from Quico Auquer, Andres Barba, Jessica Berman, Frederic Bonet, David Castillo Buils, Angel Duarte, Tomas Frauca, David T. Gies, Cris-tina Llençana, Rosa Negre, Nuria Prats, Guillem Terribas, John C. Wilcox and, especially, Jordi Gracia, Felip Ortega and David Trueba, to whom this book owes even more than they think.

  BY THE SAME AUTHOR

  The Tenant & The Motive

  Soldiers of Salamis

  Copyright © 2006 by Javier Cercas

  English translation copyright © 2006 by Anne MacLean

  This work has been published with the help of a grant from the Office of the Director General of Books Archives and Libraries of the Ministry of Culture of Spain

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information address Bloomsbury USA, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.

  “After the Publication of Under the Volcano” by Malcolm Lowry (Copyright © the Estate of Malcolm Lowry 1962) is reproduced by kind permission of PFD (www.pfd.co.uk) on behalf of the Estate of Malcolm Lowry

  Published by Bloomsbury USA, New York

  LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA HAS BEEN APPLIED FOR.

  ISBN-13 978-1-59691-214-4 (paperback)

  Originally published in Spanish asLa Velocidad de la luz by Tusquets Editores, Barcelona, 2005

  This English translation first published in the UK by Bloomsbury in 2006

  First published in the U.S. by Bloomsbury USA in 2006

  This e-book edition published in 2010

  E-book ISBN: 978-1-60819-705-1

  www.bloomsburyusa.com