The Absolution of Roberto Acestes Laing by Nicholas Rombes Read Free Book Online

for the first time that he had veered off track, or as if regretting that I had been sent here on assignment not to ask him about Aimee (and later A.) but instead about the unfinished Maya Deren film she had brought to him. He produces from a pocket a blue bandana that he uses to wipe at a spot or something (I don’t see a spot) on the table in front of him and I assume it’s a tick or a habit or something about who he is that lurks beneath the surface of who he pretends to be that is just now beginning to reveal itself in this small action. I size up the discrepancy between my idea of Laing and the Laing who sits across from me now and it’s clear to me that if he’s telling me the truth about these films then it’s a special form of truth, one that operates by its own uncertainty principle. It’s actually worse than that. It’s as if Laing himself—even though he’s right in front of me—occupies an uncertain space, or else makes that space uncertain, so that position and momentum can’t be known simultaneously. And then I thinkabout the missing children, and understand that this is how they exist, too.
    Laing returns to the film.
    “Hutton gets out to stretch, the 10 th or 12 th time that day judging by the bored look on his face. Puts his arms above his head. Reaches down to his shoes. Gets back in the car. Maybe not in that order, but close enough.
    “Finally, as the sun begins to set in furious orange (the sort of orange that’s such a hot image that it threatened—and if Aimee were here she’d say the same thing—to burn up the projector from the inside) the back car door opens and a man slides in. Hutton knows him as Hector. Dressed entirely in white. Large hands. Full beard. The whole scene is shot reverse-shot, just back and forth, Hutton in the front seat, Hector in the back.
    “‘Well,’ Hector says. ‘How’d it go?’
    “‘Good, I guess. Nothing happened.’
    “‘Was something supposed to happen?’
    “‘Well, I thought…’
    “‘Just a joke, Hutton. Of course something happened. Now tell me what you saw.’
    “‘From memory or…’
    “‘If your memory’s good, then just tell me,’ says Hector.
    “‘… because I jotted down notes…’
    “‘Of course you did. As you should have.’
    “‘… and I could read…’
    “‘Like I said, Hutton, if your memory’s good then just tell me. But if there’s some fault in it then read me from the notes.’
    “‘… the notes…’
    “‘That you said you jotted down.’
    “‘…’
    “‘Hutton.’
    “‘…’
    “‘Hutton.’
    “‘I could…’
    “‘Read from your notes.’
    “‘… find some fault.’
    “‘In?’
    “‘My memory,’ says Hutton.
    “‘Even though it was just from this morning.’
    “‘But that was…’
    “‘Not such a long time ago, Hutton.’
    “‘… under different circumstances.’
    “‘Than what?’
    “‘…’
    “‘Than what, Hutton?’
    “‘…’
    “‘Hutton.’
    “‘… than…’
    “‘Than what?’
    “‘Than now.’
    “‘Of course, Hutton! Of course they’re different!’
    “‘You weren’t here.’
    “‘And that’s why I need you to tell me what you saw.’
    “‘If only…’
    “‘Hutton. Enough.’
    “‘If only it…’
    “‘Had been what?’
    “‘Clearer.’
    “‘I understand. And so.’
    “Hutton opens a small green flip-spiral notebook provided to him by Hector that morning. His jottings are mundane, trivial: boy falls off swing, 10:20 ; low-flying plane & everyone in park looks up, 11:07 ; two men in sweat suits argue in street, 11:30 ; Hector crosses street in distance, 2:35 … These are shown, I think, as inserts. Hector says something like ‘Do you mean you saw me cross the street at 2:35? Is that what this says?’
    “‘I think so. It looked like you.’
    “‘Would you say I crossed the street in order so that you would see me?’
    “‘Yes, I’d say,’ Hutton replies, ‘right up there,’ motioning to where the street