Man in the Dark by Paul Auster Read Free Book Online Page A

but each stop produces the same result. Rather than simply turn off the television, Brick yanks the cord out of the wall. Then he sits down on the ancient bed, which groans under the weight of his body.
    Before he has a chance to slump into a miasma of useless self-pity, someone knocks on the door. No doubt an employee of the hotel, Brick thinks, but secretly he’s hoping it’s Molly Wald, that somehow or other she’s managed to dash out of the diner for a couple of minutes to check on him and make sure he’s all right. Not very probable, of course, and no sooner does he unlock the door than his fleeting hope is crushed. His visitor isn’t Molly, but neither is it an employee of the hotel. Instead, he finds himself standing in front of a tall, attractive woman with dark hair and blue eyes dressed in black jeans and a brown leather jacket—clothes similar to the ones Sarge Serge gave him that morning. As Brick studies her face, he is convinced they have met before, but his mind refuses to conjure up a memory of where or when.
    Hi there, Owen, the woman says, flashing him a bright, brittle smile, and as he looks at her mouth, he notices that she’s wearing an intense shade of red lipstick.
    I know you, don’t I? Brick answers. At least I think I do. Or maybe you just remind me of someone.
    Virginia Blaine, the woman announces cheerfully, triumph ringing in her voice. Don’t you remember? You had a crush on me in the tenth grade.
    Good God, Brick mutters, more lost than ever now. Virginia Blaine. We sat next to each other in Miss Blunt’s geometry class.
    Aren’t you going to let me in?
    Of course, of course, he says, stepping out of the doorway and watching her stride across the threshold.
    Once she has cast her eyes around the grim, barren room, Virginia turns to him and says: What a horrible place. Why on earth did you check in here?
    It’s a long story, Brick replies, not wanting to go into it.
    This won’t do, Owen. We’ll have to find you something better.
    Maybe tomorrow. I’ve already paid up for tonight, and I doubt they’d give me my money back now.
    There isn’t even a chair to sit in.
    I realize that. You can sit on the bed if you want to.
    Thanks, Virginia says, glancing over at the worn-out green bedspread, I think I’ll stand.
    What are you doing here? Brick asks, abruptly changing the subject.
    I saw you walk into the hotel, and I came up to—
    No, no, I don’t mean that, he says, cutting her off in mid-sentence. I’m talking about here, in Wellington, a city I’ve never even heard of. In this country, which is supposed to be America but isn’t America, at least not the America I know.
    I can’t tell you. Not yet, anyway.
    I go to bed with my wife in New York. We make love, we fall asleep, and when I wake up I’m lying in a hole in the middle of goddamned nowhere, dressed in a fucking army uniform. What the hell is going on?
    Calm down, Owen. I know it’s a bit disorienting at first, but you’ll get used to it, I promise.
    I don’t want to get used to it. I want to go back to my life.
    You will. And a lot sooner than you think.
    Well, at least that’s something, Brick says, not sure whether he should believe her or not. But if I’m able to go back, what about you?
    I don’t want to go back. I’ve been here a long time now, and I like it better than where I used to be.
    A long time. . . . So when you stopped coming to school, it wasn’t because you and your parents had moved away.
    No.
    I missed you a lot. For about three months, I’d been screwing up my courage to ask you out on a date, and then, just when I was ready to do it, you were gone.
    It couldn’t be helped. I didn’t have any choice.
    What keeps you here? Are you married? Do you have any kids?
    No kids, but I used to be married. My husband was killed at the beginning of the war.
    I’m sorry.
    I’m sorry, too. And I’m also a little sorry to hear that you’re married. I haven’t forgotten you, Owen. I know it