Page 158 of Two Marlboros

“No, I mean...” and again there was hesitation in his voice, “...more generally.”

A twinge started in my stomach and closed it, and he did the same with my throat and nose.

“I’m fine,” I spat, and my breath shortened. “I’m…” and my voice died in my throat, that same choked throat. I tried to speak again, but I couldn’t; I looked at my free hand and realized it was shaking.

“Sorry,” he said, with a firmness that reassured me. “I didn’t mean to.”

The lump in my throat barely loosened. “I know.”

I closed my eyes to shake off those feelings, but the darkness soon blurred with the silhouette of those six, whose faces had become black blotches, and events became distorted, as if some memories of the attack had begun to fade. My breath swelled for a moment, and I felt like crying, but I clenched my teeth to block the tears and threw out all the air I had breathed in.

“Are you okay?”

His voice was warm and enveloping again, but it couldn’t make the images I was seeing in my head fade away, again and again.

“Yes,” I lied, for no real reason.

Alan sighed. “I wish I could find a reason to all this. Can you think of anything, a reason?”

“No,” I answered abruptly, perhaps in a louder voice than usual. A memory made me wince, but as I tried to grasp it I found only black. It left a dirty feeling on me, and I was afraid, but I wasn’t sure of what. I didn’t want Alan to notice.

“Hey, are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes,” came out dry and sharp, once again. No, I was not okay, yet I could not say it or understand why. I closed my eyes as I had done just before. I put my free hand on my chest to follow my breathing as it swelled and deflated, swelled and deflated, and gradually the tension in my throat melted away, and the black patches and blackouts in my memories disappeared. The images of the attack dissolved and suddenly the silhouette of my father and the words he had said to me popped into my mind, leaving me with, I didn’t know how, a feeling of familiarity and comfort. I reopened my eyes and hinted a smile.

“Anyway, I wanted to tell you about what happened earlier,” I continued, not quite knowing why I had changed the subject so out of nowhere, but in return the shaking ceased altogether.

He bellowed. “I thought so.”

“Do you know that I don’t care that much about my father anymore?” I threw out, then shut up for a moment in the hope that he would press me, but he didn’t. “I don’t know, I’ve spent all these years trying to win back his trust and instead it’s like I don’t give a damn anymore, about him and a lot of other things.”

“We’re here talking about it, though.”

“I’m telling you about it because I wanted to tell you that I don’t care. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have understood it, would you? Oh, but why are you giving me thesepitchingtalks at this time of night?”

“‘Pitching’?”

“Yeah, whatever,” and a chuckle escaped me, “I meant that you’re blowing my mind.”

“Oh, thank you. I’ll add that to the translations from Nathanese.”

I blew a raspberry at him. “Funny.”

He laughed and soon after I did, too.

“So, what did your father tell you?”

I huffed. “He made some strange talk. He was all thoughtful and told me he didn’t think I would answer like that to my mother. He sounded almost proud; it was creepy.”

“And you’re not happy?”

“Well, I told you, I don’t care anymore.”

There had been a certain detachment in the way I had responded, as if I had been estranged from reality, living a parallel life that was not my own. Who was the new Nathan? And who had been the old one up to that point?

“In the next few days, I will visit you again to ask you some questions about the attack.”

“Damn, you don’t waste time, you.”

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