L (and Things Come Apart) Read Online Free PDF Page A

paused. “Would you like me to pack, Henry?”
    â€œWhy would I want you to do that?”
    â€œI’m afraid he may have made you believe bad things about me.”
    Henry squeezed a wet cloth in his hands and walked to the other end of the counter. He was accustomed to this system of silent exchange, this doublespeak where meaning lay hidden between the words, so he did his best to sell her the idea of staying without revealing how desperately he wanted her to do so. She was free to go, of course, he told her, but rents in the area weren’t cheap, and since he never had any intention of renting the flat prior to her arrival, he saw no reason to raise the rent in the future. Besides, he shyly added, there were no other flats in the city that he knew of where food and drinks were included in the rent.
    â€œExcept inns,” she said.
    â€œThen consider this place an inn.”
    â€œThen my stay will be temporary, and I’ll eventually have to move, and you’ll have to find someone else to take my place. But I don’t know when that will be just yet, so for the time being, you’re stuck with me.”
    â€œI guess I can find a way to put up with you a little longer.”
    L squinted at Henry, pursed her lips. She knew he was being facetious but she couldn’t let his comment go without at least appearing angered by it. Henry tried to fight back a smile as he squinted back, his face mirroring hers.
    On the wall next to where she sat the mortar between the bricks was rough and coloured by the residue of time. The place was old. She narrowed her eyes to see how the lines connected and what images they created. She asked Henry what he could see and he told her: they were just bricks. She asked what he could see between them and he told her: just lines. She ran her fingers along the wall passing her fingers along the coarse surface between each brick. He asked her what she felt and she told him.
    â€œNothing.”
    As Henry turned to greet a customer, L scratched gently along the mortar between the bricks. Slowly and effortlessly, she slid her fingers deep past the surface, feeling the grainy underside of the bricks against her fingertips. And here, inside the wall, she buried the lie she told Henry about the stranger. She knew the stranger better than she knew any man. He was the reason she was there, and she the reason he was searching. Only, he hadn’t recognized her. Not like this.

10
    ALONE IN THE UPSTAIRS FLAT L built cities to destroy, making miniature skyscrapers out of tea bags. She began by cutting a straight line below the staple that fastened the bag together, and after unfolding it she would pour the shredded leaves into an old tobacco can and, pressing the edges together gently, form a long rectangular tube she would then stand upright on her palm. If her hand shook, the structure would fall; she had to be still. Setting fire to a building, real or fictional, required steady hands.
    With her free hand she would strike a match and set fire to the top of the miniature tower and watch as the ball of fire swallowed it, then took flight, carrying the last fragments of the tea bag high into the air above her before disintegrating, leaving the slow descent of ash falling to the floor. It was a pleasant obsession for her, creating these miniatures and then destroying them.

11
    HENRY STANDS IN THE KITCHEN AWAY FROM the muffled chatter in the dining room. He runs thick fingers over thinning hair and waits for water to warm in the kettle. He fumbles with three tea bags on the countertop as water runs from the faucet over dishes piled in the sink. He slides a drawer open, shuffles utensils around until he finds a pair of scissors. Outside, rain streaks the windows and withered leaves sever from their branches.
    Henry hears the kettle whistle and removes it from the stove. He places a tea bag in each of the two clay cups in front of him and pours steaming water into each. As he