The Night Listener : A Novel

little turd.”
    He giggled, though now it was more like the squeak of a tiny animal. “Back in the slammer again.”
    “They’ve got you in a tent, huh?”
    “That’s me. Big Top Pee-wee.”
    I chuckled.
    “Sorry to wake you up, man.”
    “Hey. Cut it out.”
    “No, really. I know you need your beauty sleep.” I marvelled at how quick-witted he could be, even under these circumstances. “No sweat,” I replied. “I’m beautiful enough already.”
    “Sure thing, Sherlock.”
    A silence followed that neither of us could fill. Who do we remind me of? I wondered. And the answer came quickly enough: my father and me, hiding our true feelings amid a flurry of jokes and jolly insults. Don’t do this, I ordered myself. Say what you mean before it’s too late.
    “Look, buster. You better not be checking out.”
    No reply.
    “I just want you to know, you can’t. There’re too many people here who need you, sport. Way too many of us. So don’t even go there.”
    More silence, then several quick intakes of breath. He was crying.
    “I’m scared, Gabriel.”
    “I know.”
    “I heard ‘em talking this morning. When they were draining me.”
    “Who?”
    “The doctors. They talk about me like I’m deaf or something. Like I’m not even there.”
    “What did they say?
    “One of ‘em sighed real loud when he saw me. And the other one said: ‘Yeah, I know. Makes you wonder if it’s worth it.’ It was like they were lookin’ at roadkill or something. Like there wasn’t even a person there.” I was angry for Pete, but not especially surprised. Jess had told me plenty of horror stories about the body-shop mentality of hospitals. “Does your mother know about this?”
    “Oh, hell, no. She’d bust their asses.”
    “Maybe you should let her.”
    “No. It would just upset her. She’s got enough on her mind.”
    “You know those guys are idiots, don’t you?”
    “Maybe not.”
    “No, Pete. They are. They’re looking at symptoms and not the person. Even I can tell how much life there is in you.” He began to weep again, bringing the conversation to a halt.
    “I’m sorry,” he said at last.
    “For what? Cry all you want.”
    “I try to be strong, but sometimes I just can’t.”
    “You don’t have to be.”
    “Yes, I do.”
    “No, Pete, you don’t. You can lean on the people who love you.
    You never really know if love is there, unless you let it carry you sometimes. This is one of those times, sport. Just lean on the rest of us. You don’t have be brave or smart or anything.” Another silence, and then: “Could I do that now?”
    “You bet. That’s what I’m saying.”
    “No, I mean…put my head on your shoulder?” Children are such literal creatures, and Pete, of course, was still a child. While I’d been speaking figuratively, he’d been imagining the real thing: the warmth and reassurance of a father’s arms, while it was possible. “Sure,” I told him, struggling with my embarrassment. “Go ahead.” The odd thing was, I could feel it. The heat of his head against my shoulder, the faint cedary smell of those dark curls, his hand resting lightly on my chest. It was as if there’d always been an outline there, the suggestion of a child that had finally—miraculously—been colored in.
    “Feels nice,” said Pete.
    “Good.”
    “Are you afraid of dying, Gabriel?”
    “Oh, yeah.”
    “A lot?”
    “More than anything, I guess.”
    “Why?”
    I thought for a moment. “It’s got something to do with not being the center of attention anymore.”
    A tiny laugh. “I mean, for real.”
    “That is for real. Sort of.”
    “Do you think there’s a heaven?”
    “Well…yeah. But I think this is pretty much it.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Just being close to somebody else. That’s certainly a kind of heaven. It’s the only one I’m going for anyway. Because you get to enjoy it while you’re alive. And later on you can really live forever.
    In the hearts of the people who love you.”
    “What about when they die?”
    I chuckled. “Well, at that point…I guess our books will have to do it. That’s another reason to stick around, by the way: publication day. You’ve got lots of glory coming, son.” He was quiet for so long that I began to worry. “You don’t believe me?” I asked.
    “No. Not that. I was just wondering why you called me that.”
    “Called you what?”
    “Son.”
    “Oh…” I laughed uneasily. “Just a throwback to my youth. In the