Man in the Dark by Paul Auster Page A

maniacal tirades. Whenever we fight, I begin to think the only reason she married me was because she wanted her American citizenship. But it doesn’t happen very often. Nine days out of ten, we’re good together. We really are.
    What about babies?
    They’re on the agenda. We started trying a couple of months ago.
    Don’t give up. That was my mistake. I waited too long, and now look at me. No husband, no children, nothing.
    You’re still young. You’re still the prettiest girl on the block. Someone else will come along, I’m sure of it.
    Before Virginia can answer him, the doorbell rings. She stands up, muttering Shit under her breath as if she means it, as if she honestly resents the intrusion, but Brick knows that he’s cornered now, and any chance of escape is gone. Before leaving the kitchen, Virginia turns to him and says: I called while you were taking your bath. I told him to come between four and five, but I guess he couldn’t wait. I’m sorry, Owen. I wanted to have those hours with you and charm your pants off. I really did. I wanted to fuck your brains out. Just remember that when you go back.
    Back? You mean I’m going back?
    Lou will explain. That’s his job. I’m just a personnel officer, a little cog in a big machine.
    Lou Frisk turns out to be a dour-looking man in his early fifties, somewhat on the short side, with narrow shoulders, wire-rimmed glasses, and the marred skin of someone who once suffered from acne. He’s dressed in a green V-neck sweater with a white shirt and plaid tie, and in his left hand he’s carrying a black satchel that resembles a doctor’s bag. The moment he enters the kitchen, he puts down the bag and says: You’ve been avoiding me, Corporal.
    I’m not a corporal, Brick answers. You know that. I’ve never been a soldier in my life.
    Not in your world, Frisk says, but in this world you’re a corporal in the Massachusetts Seventh, a member of the armed forces of the Independent States of America.
    Putting his head in his hands, Brick groans softly as another element of the dream comes back to him: Worcester, Massachusetts. He looks up, watches Frisk settle into a chair across from him at the table, and says: I’m in Massachusetts, then. Is that what you’re telling me?
    Wellington, Massachusetts, Frisk nods. Formerly known as Worcester.
    Brick pounds his fist on the table, finally giving vent to the rage that has been building inside him. I don’t like this! he shouts. Someone’s inside my head. Not even my dreams belong to me. My whole life has been stolen. Then, turning to Frisk and looking him directly in the eye, he yells at the top of his voice: Who’s doing this to me?
    Take it easy, Frisk says, patting Brick on the hand. You have every right to be confused. That’s why I’m here. I’m the one who explains it to you, who sets things straight. We don’t want you to suffer. If you’d come to me when you were supposed to, you never would have had that dream. Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you?
    Not really, Brick says, in a more subdued voice.
    Through the walls of the house, he catches the faint sound of the jeep’s engine being turned on, and then the distant squeal of shifting gears as Virginia drives away.
    Virginia? he asks.
    What about her?
    She just left, didn’t she?
    She has a lot of work to do, and our business doesn’t concern her.
    She didn’t even say good-bye, Brick adds, reluctant to drop the matter. There is hurt in his voice, as if he can’t quite believe that she would ditch him in such an offhanded way.
    Forget Virginia, Frisk says. We have more important things to talk about.
    She said I was going back. Is that true?
    Yes. But first I have to tell you why. Listen carefully, Brick, and then give me an honest answer. Putting his arms on the table, Frisk leans forward and says: Are we in the real world or not?
    How should I know? Everything looks real. Everything sounds real. I’m sitting here in my own body, but at the