To Paradise

“He didn’t say anything. He just stood there, panting, looking down at the money, swaying slightly on his feet. And then I grabbed Norris’s hand, and we hurried back to the house—by the last hundred feet, we were running, running as if Wolf had the strength to pursue us, as if he’d suddenly soar into the air like a witch and block the doorway. Once inside, we bolted the door and then went about the house checking every window and every lock, as if Wolf would suddenly charge through one of them and fill the house with his disease.

“But do you know what the worst part was? How angry Norris and I were. We were angry that Wolf had gotten sick, that he had come to us, that he had asked for our help, that he had put us in such a position. That was what we said to ourselves that night as we gorged ourselves, all the window shades drawn, all the security systems armed, the pool house—as if he might even now go there—padlocked shut: How dare he. How dare he make us feel that way, how dare he make us say no to him. That was what we thought. A friend was helpless and afraid, and that was how we reacted.

“Things were never quite the same between us after that. Oh, I know everything always looked fine. But something changed. It was as if our connection was no longer founded in love but in shame, in this terrible secret we had, in this terrible, inhumane thing we had done together. And I blame Wolf for that as well. Every day, we stayed indoors, scanning the property with binoculars. We offered the security team double pay to come back, but they said no, and so we prepared ourselves for a siege, a one-man siege. We kept all the shades drawn, the shutters closed. We lived as if we were in a horror film, like at any moment we might hear a thump against one of the windows and draw the shade to find Wolf plastered against it. We were able to convince the local police to monitor the death tolls for the area, but when the word came two weeks later that Wolf had been found alongside the highway, dead for apparently several days, we still weren’t able to give up our watch: We stopped answering our phones, we stopped checking our messages, we stopped making ourselves available to anyone, because if we weren’t in contact with the outside world, then nothing would be asked of us, and we would be safe.

“After we were given the all-clear, we returned to Washington Square. But we never went back to Water Mill. Nathaniel, you asked once why we never went out to Frog’s Pond Way. This is why. We also never spoke of Wolf again. It wasn’t something we had to agree on; we just both knew not to. Over the years, we tried to make reparations for our guilt. We gave to charities that helped the sick; we gave to hospitals; we gave to activist groups fighting against the camps. But when Norris was diagnosed with leukemia, the first thing he said after the doctor had left the room was ‘It’s punishment for Wolf.’ I know he believed it. In his final days, when he was delirious from the drugs, it wasn’t my name he repeated, but Wolf’s. And even though I’m telling you this story like I don’t, I believe it, too. That one day—one day, Wolf will come for me, too.”