You Deserve Nothing - Alexander Maksik [30]
“No. I don’t think so. I don’t think so at all. I think it’s just the way it is. I agree with Sartre.”
“No God?”
“No God.”
“Not very cheery.”
“What, you believe in God, Mr. Silver?”
“I don’t know.”
That man in his fine coat crushed by the train.
“No,” I said. “I’m with you. You and Sartre.”
“I like your class, Mr. Silver. You know, I think maybe I’ve learned more in a month than I’ve ever learned anywhere.”
“That’s nice of you to say, Gilad. Thank you. You don’t talk much. It’s hard to tell.”
“Yeah, well I like it. I think somehow your class has made today make more sense. I understand better somehow. If you know what I mean.”
“Really? No, I don’t. I don’t know. I don’t understand it.”
“I guess I’ve stopped thinking that the world should make any sense. It stops you from being disappointed. You know when you’re always looking for some sort of logical explanation and stuff. I mean I haven’t believed in God for a long time, but even still, up until this year I’ve always believed that there was some, I don’t know, system, some kind of universal balance or something. Like, if I gave a certain amount I’d receive a certain amount. I guess, I don’t know, I’ve always believed I’d be rewarded in the end just for being good. Or no, not really, not even for being good, just for, I don’t know. Just for suffering.”
He looked embarrassed by this last sentence and waved his hand as if to erase it. “I don’t know, whatever.”
I nodded. “For suffering?”
“No, no forget it.”
“Tell me.”
“I don’t know, like the shit you go through. Whatever problems a person has. I guess I’ve always had this idea that if you endure it, you know? You handle yourself, take care of yourself, I don’t know, like just get through it without becoming a total asshole you get rewarded in the end.”
“By?”
“I don’t know, by the universe?”
I nodded, “And you don’t feel that way anymore?”
“No. It makes much more sense that you do what you can. I mean given what you’ve been given and then, then you just hope for the best. The whole idea that you deserve something, some kind of reward, I don’t know, it’s just. What am I? Ten? Come on, Mr. Silver.”
I liked Gilad. He seemed such a lonely kid. He rarely smiled and when he did it was cynical and accompanied by a knowing nod usually in response to a comment he found idiotic.
My heart had slowed and the waves of nausea had subsided, leaving me weak and cold. The sun shone through the front window of the café and the room became bright. I squinted and turned my head away. It was nearly noon. The two of us had been sitting there together for a long time, neither of us speaking.
I took a breath. Again I felt like I needed to tell him something. But as miserable as he looked I had nothing to offer.
* * *
That night I stayed late at La Palette and sat in the back corner near the window facing the open room. It wasn’t crowded, only a few couples and a group of girls laughing and drinking champagne. I ordered beer after beer from the white-bearded waiter who always called me mon vieux and shook my hand when I walked through the door. Eventually the girls stood up and left, taking with them whatever hope was left in the night.
I sat and waited for something to happen. And then, incredibly, wonderfully, it did. My phone vibrated with a message from Marie. I’m close. Do I come over?
I waited pretending to contemplate the decision. And when it felt as if enough time had passed, I answered, paid the check, said good-bye, and walked home.
She came up the stairs and into the apartment. Long dark hair. Too much make-up. A tight black T-shirt. Short, pale-green skirt. She balanced awkwardly on a pair of high heels.
“Sit down.”
She drew out the chair and sat in it, placing her purse on the table.
“Does anyone know you’re here, Marie? Honestly.”
“No one.” She raised her eyes and met my gaze with a determined stare, a slight grin on her face.
I nodded. She smelled like cigarettes and alcohol. Something sweet. Her lips shone. I imagined her standing in the stairwell, carefully applying