Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close

missing grandfather? And why did they stay for only a few minutes at each apartment, were they selling something, collecting information? And what did his grandmother know, was I the only one worried about him? After they left one house, on Staten Island, I waited around and knocked on the door, “I can't believe it,” the woman said, “another visitor!” “I'm sorry,” I wrote, “I don't speak. That was my grandson who just left. Could you tell me what he was doing here?” The woman told me, “What a strange family you are.” I thought, Family we are. “I just got off the phone with his mother.” I wrote, “Why was he here?” She said, “For the key.” I asked, “What key?” She said, “For the lock.” “What lock?” “Don't you know?” For eight months I followed him and talked to the people he talked to, I tried to learn about him as he tried to learn about you, he was trying to find you, just as you'd tried to find me, it broke my heart into more pieces than my heart was made of, why can't people say what they mean at the time? One afternoon I followed him downtown, we sat across from each other on the subway, the old man looked at me, was I staring, was I reaching my arms out in front of me, did he know that I should have been the one sitting next to Oskar? They went into a coffee store, on the way back I lost them, it happened all the time, it's hard to stay close without making yourself known, and I wouldn't betray her. When I got back to the Upper West Side I went into a bookstore, I couldn't go to the apartment yet, I needed time to think, at the end of the aisle I saw a man who I thought might be Simon Goldberg, he was also in the children's section, the more I looked at him, the more unsure I was, the more I wanted it to be him, had he gone to work instead of to his death? My hands shook against the change in my pockets, I tried not to stare, I tried not to reach my arms out in front of me, could it be, did he recognize me, he'd written, “It is my great hope that our paths, however long and winding, will cross again.” Fifty years later he wore the same thick glasses, I'd never seen a whiter shirt, he had a hard time letting go of books, I went up to him. “I don't speak,” I wrote, “I'm sorry.” He wrapped his arms around me and squeezed, I could feel his heart beating against my heart, they were trying to beat in unison, without saying a word he turned around and rushed away from me, out of the store, into the street, I'm almost sure it wasn't him, I want an infinitely long blank book and the rest of time ... The next day, Oskar and the old man went to the Empire State Building, I waited for them on the street. I kept looking up, trying to see him, my neck was burning, was he looking down at me, were we sharing something without either of us knowing it? After an hour, the elevator doors opened and the old man came out, was he going to leave Oskar up there, so high up, so alone, who would keep him safe? I hated him. I started to write something, he came up to me and grabbed me by the collar. “Listen,” he said, “I don't know who you are, but I've seen you following us, and I don't like it. Not a bit. This is the only time I'm going to tell you to stay away.” My book had fallen to the floor, so I couldn't say anything. “If I ever see you again, anywhere near that boy—” I pointed at the floor, he let go of my collar, I picked up the book and wrote, “I'm Oskar's grandfather. I don't speak. I'm sorry.” “His grandfather?” I flipped back and pointed at what I'd been writing, “Where is he?” “Oskar doesn't have a grandfather.” I pointed at the page. “He's walking down the stairs.” I quickly explained everything as best I could, my handwriting was becoming illegible, he said, “Oskar wouldn't lie to me.” I wrote, “He didn't lie. He doesn't know.” The old man took a necklace from under his shirt and looked at it, the pendant was a compass, he said, “Oskar is my friend. I have to tell him.” “He's my grandson. Please don't.” “You're the one who should be going around with him.” “I have been.” “And what about his mother?” “What about his mother?” We heard Oskar singing from around the corner, his voice was getting louder, the old man said, “He's a good boy,” and walked away. I went straight home, the apartment was empty. I thought about packing my bags, I thought about jumping out a window, I sat on the bed and thought,