A Cure for Suicide (7 page)

—Names?

—For now, I will say no more, save this: think as you go off to sleep—why does any thing have any particular name?

—NAMES, SAID THE EXAMINER. Names. What is this?

—A spoon.

—And this?

—A shoe.

—And what of me?

—You are the examiner.

—Is that my name?

The claimant waited.

—What is your name? she asked.

—I don’t have a name.

—You once had a name, she said. When you were sick, you had a name. But that name was forfeited—given up. Now you shall have a new name, but not a real name, a practice name. Do you know why you shall have a practice name? It is because tomorrow we shall go to another village. We are going to live in a new place, and there you will meet people.

She saw his expression change, and altered her tone.

—Oh, don’t worry about that. You are concerned. You have become tied to this house, is that it?

He nodded.

—Well, what if I were to tell you that we have already moved twice in the time that I have known you? What if I were to tell you that this is the third village we have been in—and now we are going to the fourth?

—The third? But…

—In the first village, there was just a house. The first village is just a single house. When we were there, we never left. It is called the gentlest village, because it is a house, and everything that can be seen from that house. The second village was the place from which we walked out one day. You may remember it—you picked a daisy and cried when I told you that you’d killed it. Then we put it in a vase in the kitchen and it lived for a week very beautifully before shriveling to nothing. Do you remember that?

He nodded.

—Well, in that place, you recall, we occasionally saw a person through a window. How is it that things are here?

—We see people through windows, and in the yards.

—That’s so. And do you not see that there are many many more people than there were before?

He nodded.

—Even, once, he said, I spoke to someone.

—You did, she said. You approached one of the gardeners where he was working, and you spoke out loud to him. Do you remember what happened then?

—He didn’t reply.

—No, he didn’t, he couldn’t reply. He was a person who no longer wants to speak. His labor is enough for him. But, listen. In the next village, the people you speak to, they will speak back to you. But, listen, she said again. This is how it will be in the next village: you shall be called Martin Rueger. That is your name. It is not your final name. It is a name for you to wear like a fine new coat. If it is ill suited, or if you spoil it, we shall go to another place and try again with another name. We are testing the waters and learning things. We are learning how you may do with others. Do you see?

—Martin, he said. Martin Rueger. It is a good name. And…

—Yes?

—What is your name?

—For now it will be Emma Moran.

—If someone looks like me, does that mean it is likely their name…

He sat a moment, working the thought out in his head.

—Does it mean their name will be somewhat like mine? Like spoons or knives?

—Each person has a name. The point of it is this—to make it easier to talk about things, especially things that aren’t present. Names are much less important than people think. They aren’t really important at all. You and I get by for instance most of the time without talking at all—isn’t that so?

The claimant nodded.

—But for you, it is a very nice thing now, to receive a name. That’s because it is the occasion of our move to a new village where you will meet other people. The name is a symbol of your progress.

—How will I remember it?

—I will remember it for you—just point to your ear if you want me to use it in a sentence.

THE EXAMINER and the claimant were sitting in a room. It was a large room, a sort of town hall. There were some tables with food on them. There was a band set up at one end playing music. There were some couples dancing. On one side of the claimant there was a large fat man who had said a few things out loud to the claimant. The claimant had not said anything back. The man was using suspenders on his pants, and the claimant was having some thought about suspenders, and also trying to stay as near to the wall as possible. The examiner would tap his chair occasionally to remind him that she was there.

In fact, right at that moment, two people were standing in front of them. A man and a woman were standing there. The man was about the same age as the claimant, and the woman was younger. They were both very handsome. The man’s arms and legs were strong and his hair was very full. The woman was very slender and her face had many possibilities. Looking at her, one could imagine many scenes.

These people had been standing there some time. The examiner was speaking to them.

At some point, the claimant realized that they had been addressing him. Many of the questions had been directed at him. The conversation had been going on for some time, and he had been failing to be a part of it.

At that moment, the old woman tapped his chair and the conversation began again from the beginning.

—Hello, said the claimant.

—Martin, said the young woman, I believe we met before, the other day in the market? Do you remember my name?

The claimant looked at her.

—It’s Hilda. Hilda.

She repeated it and her tongue leapt off the
a
of
Hilda
in a pleasing sort of way.

—Hilda, he said.

—That’s right. And this is Martin, my husband.

The claimant looked at Martin in confusion.

—Yes, said Martin, we have the same name. Sort of a coincidence, I’d say.

He reached out and shook the claimant’s hand. This shaking of hands was strange but pleasant. When the man had taken his hand back, Martin reached out and took it again to shake it some more. He shook it a bit and everyone laughed.

—You see, said Hilda, it made it easy for me to remember your name. All I have to do is remember,
Martin,
and I have two places to use it. I can use it for you, she said, indicating the claimant, and for you, smiling at the man.

—But there are so few Hildas, said her husband. I don’t get much use out of your name.

—Stop it, you! she said.

She kissed her husband on the cheek.

The claimant looked away in embarrassment.

Then the examiner was tapping his chair. He looked up.

Martin repeated the question he had been asking.

—Do you like fishing?

—I don’t know.

—Doesn’t know if he likes fishing, well. Well. If you do, or if you want to find out—you can come along. I go out most weekends, early in the day—just in a rowboat on the lake. You’re welcome to come, be assured. Twenty-three Juniper Lane. Just knock on the door some day, Martin Rueger, and tell us you’d like to go fishing.

The claimant felt he was still looking at them. He was thinking about the conversation and what he would say next, but then he looked up and he realized they had gone. They had been gone for some time.

—Come now, Martin, said the examiner. Let’s go home.

THEY SAT ON THE STAIRS side by side looking down. Although they had moved houses, the house was the same. The same photographs ran down the left wall. He could close his eyes and see them.

The aviator with his goggles in his hand, standing by a plane.

The family with poodle partially hidden behind a tree.

The girl as if on her first day of school.

The long lawn where sun had blighted the grass and the edge of the photograph was burned.

He often thought about that one.

—We have many things to discuss, said the examiner.

The claimant moved his toes back and forth against the step.

—Have you begun to think of yourself as Martin? she asked.

—No. Not until today.

—And was it strange, did you feel it was strange, having that woman speak to you in that way?

—They are married—she and the man?

—They are married and live together. Do you know what that means?

—It means that they are for each other, they possess each other. It means people should leave them alone and not interfere?

—It does not mean that. Some people would like it to. It means that they have declared, that each has declared that the other is of great importance to him or her. Life is life. It is not the sets of rules people make. If someone were to fall in love with that man and he were to fall in love with her, he would very likely go off and leave that woman, Hilda. And the same is true of Hilda. All bonds are conditional. It is important to remember that. Why is it? Why is it important to remember that?

—I don’t know.

—It is important because if you expect that such bonds are permanent, then you can do yourself harm when it becomes true that the bonds are not. Do you see that? The most realistic view is the safest. That is the view we take here.

—But if I were to spend time with Hilda…

—Her husband might not like it. He would probably try to stop you, and stop her from doing that. But, what will happen will happen. You have to be calm about everything and understand—in this life all things that may happen do.

They sat for a while.

—It might be comfortable for you, said the examiner, to have a cover story of some sort, a way of talking about how you spend your time and why you are here. Would you like that? Should we prepare one?

The claimant nodded.

—All right, Martin. What is the story that includes Martin and Emma and speaks to why they live in this house and why they go about in this town? It should be the simplest possible explanation. Do you know that law? The simplest explanation is always the correct one?

The claimant shook his head.

They sat for a while.

—Maybe you are studying something and I am your assistant, he said.

—What could I be studying? she asked.

—These villages, he said. Maybe you are studying them. Maybe I am your helper. I am going through them and through studying me, you are studying them.

—Ha.

The examiner laughed.

—Don’t you think that is a bit too close to the truth? How about I am studying plants. I am drawing plants. We will set up a station in the house where we will lay out and press plants and we will draw them. You enjoy drawing. We can work together on this. You can take your book around and draw plants in other places. We can collect plants. It will be very useful to us.

—Can you draw a plant, Emma?

She smiled.

—We shall see.

—Now?

—All right.

THEY WENT DOWNSTAIRS and into the dining room. The examiner took out a large sheet of paper and laid it across the dining room table. She brought out some pencils of various thicknesses, and a sprig of thyme from the kitchen. She laid it on the paper and sat looking at it.

The claimant watched her. He held his hand as if he were holding the pencil she was holding.

She leaned over the table and began to draw. With quick, precise strokes, she sketched out the thyme plant. When she was partway through, she stood up and went outside. In a moment, she was back, and she was holding a whole thyme plant. She washed it in the sink, dried it with a cloth, and came and laid it on the table.

—Now, I can draw the roots, she said.

She went then to her task, switching pencils often, and pausing to sharpen them. The claimant watched in wonder as the plant emerged on the page, very delicately. So delicately!

And then she was done.

—How could you do that? asked the claimant. How is that? How could it be?

—Do you remember which one of us suggested that I draw plants?

He shook his head.

—Well, I suggested it. That makes it very plausible that it is something I could do. You see how it is now? I wouldn’t have suggested something I couldn’t do…isn’t that true?

The claimant smiled.

—And you will teach me.

—Yes, she said. It will be a good thing for us.

23 JUNIPER LANE

The claimant and the examiner approached the house. It was precisely the same as the house they lived in, so it was very comfortable to stand there in the doorway. Surprises—there never would be any!

The door opened, and Hilda was standing there. She was wearing a short yellow dress in honor of the springtime.

—Good evening, she said. Come in, come in!

Her eyes met Martin’s and traveled over them and into them. He wondered if it had really happened or if he was imagining it. I am imagining it, he decided. It is because of what I was told.

They went into the hall and passed between the pheasant painting and the painting of the angry woman. They went to a closet and hung their coats. They were led through the passage to the dining room, and sat at the same table where the claimant had spent so much time.

—Martin will be back in a moment, said Hilda. He just ran down to the market to get some salmon for the salad.

She set out on the table a tray with some drinks.

—Here you are, Emma, and this is for you, Martin.

She left the room, then popped her head back in.

—Oh, Martin, she said, could you help me with something?

HE CAME INTO THE KITCHEN and she was standing in a sort of pose, facing him, her shoulders askance. Her eyes were wide open and she was looking right at him. He could hardly bear it.

She stepped close to him and went up on her tiptoes to whisper something in his ear.

—I need to speak to you.

He could feel the length of her against his arm. The buttons on her dress pressed into his skin. That’s how close she stood.

—I need, can we meet in private?—When?

—Leave your house in the middle of the night, not tonight, but tomorrow. I’ll be outside in the street, and we can go somewhere to speak. Right after the clock strikes one.

Should he agree?

He nodded.

—WELL, WELL, WELL, said Martin. Well, well, well. This was a fine supper after all. I thought it would be just a disaster, but that market down in the square, why, it saves the day every time. You wouldn’t expect such a small market to have the things you need—but it is almost like they contrive to have only those things. The things you don’t need, they don’t have. The things you need, they have. What an idea! Why don’t all markets work that way?