Bearing the Body by Ehud Havazelet

Author:Ehud Havazelet
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781250106186
Publisher: Picador

He had it wrong, so much of it wrong, always did. Never a clue Abby loved him for this most of all—how wrong Daniel had nearly everything.

He was a man used to being noticed, admired. Hard to say how, over the years, that changed a person, but it did. A smile that was all things to all people—wide open and friendly if that was what you wanted, insinuating and gently full of intrigue (I don’t smile like this for just anybody) if that was it. That long wonderful hair, jet black in pictures, elegantly graying later on. When he spoke he looked at you, which you didn’t realize was rare until you met someone who actually did it. You could sense his eyes on your eyes, your face, even sometimes your lips, and there was no way to explain how good that could make you feel. He’d read nearly everything. He liked to laugh. He made love slowly, paying attention. Once in a while, still, he spoke as if the world would become better, it would just have to, and she could see him, younger, fresher, up on a stage, stirring people with his words. He moved that way all these years later, as if the world itself couldn’t help but give him anything he wanted. She’d asked once, surprising herself, how many women he’d had. He tried to shrug her off, but when she persisted he leaned back on their sofa and looked at the window. You mean a number? he asked.

After she’d dropped out of college she’d been with a boy a little like Daniel. Dale, self-appointed rock manager, full-time dealer when he could swing it, which wasn’t often. Another beautiful boy, languorous in it, generous, as if he knew all about his incredible good luck and was more than happy to share it with you.

But nothing stuck to Dale. When things fucked up, and they always did, it was somebody else’s fault, the friends he’d trusted, “the man,” Abby, and all he needed to recover was a good dreamy high, some vigorous, restorative sex, some tunes. It had seemed—christ, it really had—the perfect way to live for about six months. Dale the Teflon Man. Like some movie star who emerges at the end of the film attractively bruised, covered in dirt, clothing sexily in tatters. The one you had paid to see, would pay to see again. Didn’t like this? he would suggest. Don’t worry, next will be better, I promise. I’m the one thing you can count on, the only real thing here.

But you couldn’t, of course, count on anything. Dale wasn’t selfish, really, not insensitive or unaware or self-absorbed. If anything he was the opposite, too aware, preternaturally aware of what you, of what everyone around him, really wanted. And he tried, within his powers, to give it to you. If he failed, the failing—and you felt this way, too—was somehow yours. If patient, prodigal, seductive Dale, if even he couldn’t give you what you wanted, maybe you wanted the wrong thing.

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