Mr. Vertigo by Paul Auster Read Free Book Online Page A

goody-goody, an inoffensive killjoy who never broke the rules, but after listening to his laughter out there in the fields, I began to form a newopinion of him. There was more spice in those crooked bones than I had imagined, and in spite of his earnestness and uppity ways, he was as much on the lookout for fun as any other fifteen-year-old. What I did was to provide him with some comic relief. My sharp tongue tickled him, my sass and pluck buoyed his spirits, and as time went on I understood that he was no longer a nuisance or a rival. He was a friend—the first real friend I’d ever had.
    I don’t mean to wax sentimental, but this is my childhood I’m talking about, the quiltwork of my earliest memories, and with so few attachments to talk about from later years, my friendship with Aesop deserves to be noted. As much as Master Yehudi himself, he marked me in ways that altered who I was, that changed the course and substance of my life. I’m not just referring to my prejudices, the old witchcraft of never looking past the color of a person’s skin, but to the fact of friendship itself, to the bond that grew between us. Aesop became my comrade, my anchor in a sea of undifferentiated sky, and without him there to buck me up, I never would have found the courage to withstand the torments that engulfed me over the next twelve or fourteen months. The master had wept in the darkness of my sickroom, but once I was well again, he turned into a slave driver, subjecting me to agonies that no living soul should have to endure. When I look back on those days now, I’m astonished that I didn’t die, that I’m actually still here to talk about them.
    Once the planting season was over and our food was in the ground, the real work began. It was just after my tenth birthday, a pretty morning at the end of May. The master pulled me aside after breakfast and whispered into my ear, “Brace yourself, kid. The fun is about to start.”
    “You mean we ain’t been having fun?” I said. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I thought that Four-H stuff was about the funnestwhirl I’ve had since the last time I played Chinese checkers.”
    “Working the land is one thing, a dull but necessary chore. But now we’re going to turn our thoughts to the sky.”
    “You mean like them birds you told me about?”
    “That’s it, Walt, just like the birds.”
    “You’re telling me you’re still serious about that plan of yours?”
    “Dead serious. We’re about to advance to the thirteenth stage. If you do what I tell you, you’ll be airborne a year from next Christmas.”
    “Thirteenth stage? You mean I’ve already gone through twelve of them?”
    “That’s right, twelve. And you’ve passed each one with flying colors.”
    “Well, shave my tonsils. And I never had no inkling. You’ve been holding out on me, boss.”
    “I only tell you what you need to know. The rest is for me to worry about.”
    “Twelve stages, huh? And how many more to go?”
    “There are thirty-three in all.”
    “If I get through the next twelve as fast as the first ones, I’ll already be in the home stretch.”
    “You won’t, I promise you. However much you think you’ve suffered so far, it’s nothing compared to what lies ahead.”
    “The birds don’t suffer. They just spread their wings and take off. If I got the gift like you say, I don’t see why it shouldn’t be a breeze.”
    “Because, my little pumpkin-head, you’re not a bird—you’re a man. In order to lift you off the ground, we have to crack the heavens in two. We have to turn the whole bloody universe inside out.”
    Once again, I didn’t understand the tenth part of what the master was saying, but I nodded when he called me a man, feeling in that word a new tone of appreciation, an acknowledgment of the importance I had assumed in his eyes. He put his hand gently on my shoulder and led me out into the May morning. I felt nothing but trust for him at that moment, and though his face