The Impossibly (9 page)

The note was not signed and there was nothing attached to it. I read it through again. It seemed straightforward enough, although I wasn’t entirely sure whether or not it was or was not, and was absolutely unsure whether or not it was appropriate for me to think of him as my humble servant, probably, I decided (rightly it turned out), not. Then he threw a brick through my window. This wasn’t, I should hasten to add, as unpleasant an incident (or as exciting an incident) as it could have been had my window been closed. I am not opposed to unpleasant experiences, by the way—I don’t mean to imply that at all. The unpleasant experience clearly has its place—an important, perhaps even indispensable place. But at any rate, the brick sailed neatly through the window, clattered across the white tile floor, and slid into the wall with a nice crisp clunk. I like that sound. In the daytime I like it. I do not like it at night, but in the daytime, and when it is explained, it gives me a pleasant feeling at the back of my throat. I went to the window. Did you get it? he called. Yes, thank you, I said. I stood there. He stood there. Fatso, huh? I said. I’m sorry about that, it slipped out, he said. Did you like my duck? Your duck? In the facility—the green duck. I have not been in your facility, in fact, I am just rushing off to find one. He did look a little uncomfortable. Must run, he said. Was
she
here? I said. He stood there. While I was out shopping? He didn’t move. Can’t you just leave without saying good-bye? I said. I can’t talk about it, he said. A few people went by. No one paid any attention. Was she here? I said. Yes, he said. Was she in my bathroom? Yes. I lifted my sunglasses, winked, let them drop, leaned back inside, walked over and got the brick, put the brick on the table, went back over to the window, and found him gone. Then I went over to the table and pulled the attachment off the brick. It was much shorter than the Dear Sir / Madam note, was relatively personalized, and had not been typed. The handwriting, I might add, seemed familiar, but also not, maybe mostly not. It read, and I think these words will mark the end of my beginning, for what it has been worth:

Some minutes later I left for the café where, following a pleasant walk, I was to meet an individual I had an appointment with and eat a cheese sandwich. Also, I was to have my cards read and the inside of my thigh stroked, but the main thing, now that my breakfast had begun to digest, was the cheese sandwich. It was a very good sandwich, so good that, having taken just the second bite and while still in the middle of chewing it, I nodded appreciatively to the bartender, who, while not having himself prepared the sandwich, was the one who had responsibility for it. The bartender graciously blinked back at me, and I continued eating, just as earlier, on the way to the café, I had continued walking, enjoying the sunshine and noticing along the way the varying quality of shorts that were visible. Few were as nice as my own or as those belonging to my recent interlocutor. None were as nice as hers. It was of shorts, then, that I thought as I made my way to the café, and also of the events of that morning, a little. In thinking of the events of that morning, as I walked along beneath the trees and, behind the trees, the gorgeous old buildings, and behind the buildings all the rooms with their appliances and television screens, I found my mind drawn toward more distant events, events of a previous autumn and early winter, events that had involved her, I felt certain, as well as others. The trees and buildings, as I say, were lovely, especially in reflection, one wished almost to dive into them, were the water not quite so murky, and I found it difficult to concentrate. It is a very pleasant river, thoughts of swimming in it and of other things aside, especially on a warm spring morning with a blue sky above the surrounding buildings so that the orange of the chimneys seems very bright. It was all very quiet and impressive, and I liked it better than most of what I was remembering of that previous autumn, though not better than all of what I was remembering—parts of what I was remembering were much better than the river—and then I walked up a flight of steps, crossed a street, and approached the establishment. Just prior to entering it, however, I paused and attempted, once more, to gather my thoughts, even just a little, around the subject of those earlier events and the events of that morning, but could not. I went in. The air was dark and smelled of beer and dust and antiquated cleaning product. I let my eyes adjust. I decided, as they were adjusting, to make one last attempt to think about it a little more, but other things came to mind. E.g., one of the instances in which I had thrown someone in the river—the one with the trees reflected in it, waving in it. A boat had gone by. Some people had waved. Fortunately, the body had not floated. They do sometimes. Despite your best efforts. Or those of your colleagues. Most, however, do not float. This one, as I say, did not. It went down in a white cloud, the dark water whirling around it. This establishment is one that I have frequented for some time, almost as long as I have been in this city, which is quite a long while now, in fact it becomes hard to hold it all in one’s head. The first time I entered this establishment was one evening that previous autumn. I entered it because as I was passing someone standing in the doorway said, pssst. That was how I became involved with the organization and came, occasionally, to do some business for them. It was this someone that I had it in mind to meet that morning. Hi, I said. Whatever, she said. She was sitting at a table near the back of the establishment shuffling a deck of cards. Subsequent to my greeting is when, incidentally, I ordered a glass of beer and the cheese sandwich, that good one. Whatever, she said again as I came over. She did not look very well, even in the dim light of the back tables, but she seemed to be in somewhat better spirits. They had been on the low side the week before when her bruises had been worse. Her bruises, while not entirely healed, were better, and the swelling, which had been very pronounced, had gone down. How are you? I said. Cut the deck, she said. I cut the deck. She then sort of swirled the cards around on the table and told me to pick one. At that moment my sandwich arrived. Without looking away from the cards, she pointed at the empty table next to us. The bartender, who had been kind enough to bring the sandwich over to me, very gently set it down on the empty table, and for some minutes it sat there shimmering in the dim light. Pick another card, she said. I did. I then picked another and she said, stop. Judging this to be an appropriate moment to take a preliminary investigative bite of the sandwich, I began to do so. No, she said. I put the sandwich back down. Even all bruised up, she was pretty intimidating, still. Also she had begun to stroke my thigh. I do not know what she had done. I am referring to the bruises. It is rare that one knows. Even though it is true that she had played some role in my own earlier bruising, she very likely did not know what it was that I had done. Even I, although this is not true, was not sure of that. Likely, no one knew exactly what it was I had done, or if I had even done something, anything at all. Three of Hearts, seven of Spades, King of Spades, she said. No, I said. Four of Diamonds, two of Spades, Queen of Spades. No. This went on. Eventually I showed her. All right, yeah, whatever, she said, put them down on the table. I put them down. She began to squint, to mutter, to make small movements with her hands. A few minutes later as I was eating my sandwich, her prognostication having been made, I said, I thought you were supposed to do that with special cards, and she said, you think too much. Which is true. At that moment, for example, I was thinking about the bartender, and about working with him down along the river. His great-great-grandfather, he had told me on that occasion, had used to poach ducks. He had gone out, the great-great-grandfather, in a boat in the early hours of the morning when the ducks were sleeping and had filled up huge bags with them. This came up because we too used huge bags. Once there was a very large body. He had not been a body at the start of the business, he had been an individual and he had woken up. Then he went back to sleep. At any rate, it was interesting. I mean what she had said. And I certainly hoped that it would become the case. Incidentally, my meeting with her was in no way contingent upon the curious events of that morning—I had arranged to meet with her some days previously. It did, of course, occur to me that the interpretation of the cards she had given might have been contingent upon her having been made cognizant of the events of my morning, such as they had been, or of some part of them. I thought about that. In the middle of so thinking I had my pleasant interaction with the bartender. He had not been quite as friendly of late, and it bothered me to think of this. Throughout our association, he had always been quite friendly, so it pleased me to see that he was warming up again. You’re telling me I should definitely go to work tonight? I asked her. Yes, absolutely, and do everything you’re told to, and don’t ask any stupid questions this time. Do you really think all that will happen? I do not think—I have told you many times that I do not think, never, not at all. This was true. She had told me that several times, and I had no reason not to believe her. And after all, reading cards was what she did with herself. When I say it was what she did with herself, I mean when she was not otherwise engaged in business. The same business I was engaged in. Of course given the amount of bruising she had received, it was likely that it would be some while, if ever, before she was recuperated, or so I thought. For my part, I had only just recently been recuperated. A state of events with which I was quite satisfied, but not entirely sure what to make of. My recuperation had been initiated by the bartender some weeks previously. When I had gone up to the bar to order my standard midmorning beverage and hard-boiled egg he had said, very casually, the usual place, tonight. And at the usual place that night, instead of blankets and chains and bags and the bartender, I had found an earnest-looking man of moderate size who had said, come with me. It is my understanding that in most organizations, once an organic asset has been disaffirmed, it is only under unusual circumstances that he / she is recuperated. This had been the case with the organization with which I had previously enjoyed affiliation. That had been unpleasant. I had been placed on a list. In such situations one leaves. I did. The subsequent organization, this one, is structured differently. This is due to its very generous and active recuperation wing. The organization is quite large and considerably diversified. I had been in one part of it and now I was in another—an interesting if slightly infuriating part, which suited me quite well. The woman who had just predicted so many fine and interesting things for my day had also been in that previous part of it, but, as she had not as yet been recuperated, or so I thought, she did not yet belong to another. It was for this reason that I concluded that she had likely not been made aware of any developments regarding certain parties, but thought nevertheless that it would not hurt to attempt to make sure. You saw who? she said. Yes, I said. Well that’s sort of interesting. I agreed that it was. I then asked her if she had any insight into that development. She said she did not. However, she said, and began swirling her cards around on the table. I reached out my hand to pick one, but at that moment something singular transpired. When one is disaffirmed from the organization, one is often, if the disaffirmation is not overly stringent, supplied with a document summarizing the character trait(s) found wanting, the character trait(s) that might well have helped the asset avoid trespassing into the circumstances into which he / she has trespassed. I learned this not long after the events for which I was disaffirmed. That is to say that one morning during my convalescence I opened an envelope and read the words,

To the organization’s credit, I think, there was no overly determined attempt on its part to remedy this situation—in fact, I was left to meditate on the subject alone. It is quite an interesting subject, and the events in which I had been involved were full of instances where I could see that, under the circumstances, my cerebellum had been wanting. Lying on my back on the narrow bed in my small room it was easy to think of, not to say imagine, several instances, one of which took place during the event I mentioned having once held in my apartment. During that event, I was taken aside by an old man with an awful nose, who took out his sunglasses, put them on, and told me that the assignment with which I was being entrusted was an important one, and that, although the organization had developed some confidence in my abilities, they had decided to send along a few staff members with me to facilitate the proceedings. Who are the staff members? I said. He listed them. Quite a generous bit of information and one I chose to completely ignore, and in fact succeeded, more or less, in wiping entirely from my mind. This process of erasure deserves some development. One has one’s theories and one has acknowledged those of others. If I were to say for instance, I have a heart, one might then, if the evidence were present, be inclined to say, I gather that. But likely not, I believe that. And yet, I contend, what we are talking about, even with the evidence directly, so to speak, in our face, is belief, not gathering: I believe that. But such faith, others have contended, is misguided. Which I also believe: I believe that. Somewhere along the line a degree of dread becomes indicated Becomes amplified. Absolute. Nevertheless, I found I agreed with the organization’s assessment and at one point even sent them a letter to that effect. It seems unlikely that this played a role in their decision to recuperate me. The organization, its literature states, is rarely swayed by individual revelation or entreaty. But the fact remains that I was recuperated, and at the usual place on the evening of said recuperation, after I had followed the man I have described above, I was asked to perform a task in a variety of operation that the organization was known to undertake. In fact, I was scheduled to perform another one that very evening. I did. But before that a singular incident transpired.