City of Glass

Auster’s building was in the middle of the long block that ran between 116th and 119th Streets, just south of Riverside Church and Grant's Tomb. It was a well-kept place, with polished doorknobs and clean glass, and it had an air of bourgeois sobriety that appealed to Qui

It was a man who opened the apartment door. He was a tall dark fellow in his mid-thirties, with rumpled clothes and a two-day beard. In his right hand, fixed between his thumb and first two fingers, he held an uncapped fountain pen, still poised in a writing position. The man seemed surprised to find a stranger standing before him.

"Yes?" he asked tentatively.

Qui

"My wife, as a matter of fact. That's why I rang the buzzer without asking who it was."

"I'm sorry to disturb you," Qui

"I'm Paul Auster," said the man.

"I wonder if I could talk to you. It's quite important."

"You'll have to tell me what it's about first."

"I hardly know myself" Qui

"Do you have a name?"

"I'm sorry. Of course I do. Qui

"Qui

"Daniel Qui

The name seemed to suggest something to Auster, and he paused for a moment abstractedly, as if searching through his memory. "Qui

“I used to be," said Qui

"You did a book several years ago, didn't you? I think the title was Unfinished Business. A little book with a blue cover."

"Yes. That was me."

“I liked it very much. I kept hoping to see more of your work. In fact, I even wondered what had happened to you."

“I'm still here. Sort of."

Auster opened the door wider and gestured for Qui

"Was it some kind of literary thing you wanted to talk about?" Auster began.

"No," said Qui

“With what, then?"

Qui

"The what?" Auster laughed, and in that laugh everything was suddenly blown to bits. Qui

"The private detective," he repeated softly.

"I'm afraid you've got the wrong Paul Auster."

"You're the only one in the book."

"That might be," said Auster. "But I'm not a detective."

"Who are you then? What do you do?"

"I'm a writer."

"A writer?" Qui

"I'm sorry," Auster said. "But that's what I happen to be."

"If that's true, then there's no hope. The whole thing is a bad dream."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Qui

"No," said Auster, who had listened attentively to Qui

These words came as a great relief to Qui

"You see," said Qui

Auster looked the check over carefully and nodded. "It seems to be a perfectly normal check."

"Well, it's yours," said Qui

"I couldn't possibly accept it."

"It's of no use to me." Qui

"This is money you've earned. You deserve to have it yourself." Auster paused for a moment. "There's one thing I'll do for you, though. Since the check is in my name, I'll cash it for you. I'll take it to my bank tomorrow morning, deposit it in my account, and give you the money when it clears."

Qui

"All right?" Auster asked. "Is it agreed?"

"All right," said Qui

Auster put the check on the coffee table, as if to say the matter had been settled. Then he leaned back on the sofa and looked Qui

"I wonder if you've had any trouble with your phone lately. Wires sometimes get crossed. A person tries to call a number, and even though he dials correctly, he gets someone else."

“Yes, that's happened to me before. But even if my phone was broken, that doesn't explain the real problem. It would tell us why the call went to you, but not why they wanted to speak to me in the first place."

"Is it possible that you know the people involved?"

"I've never heard of the Stillmans."

"Maybe someone wanted to play a practical joke on you."

"I don't hang around with people like that."

"You never know."

"But the fact is, it's not a joke. It's a real case with real people. "

"Yes," said Qui

They had come to the end of what they could talk about. Beyond that point there was nothing: the random thoughts of men who knew nothing. Qui

They sat there for a short time without saying anything. At last, Auster gave a little shrug, which seemed to acknowledge that they had come to an impasse. He stood up and said, "I was about to make some lunch for myself. It's no trouble making it for two."