City of Glass

"But what do you mean 'it's over'? I'm still working on it."

"I can't believe it."

"Stop being so goddamn mysterious. I don't have the slightest idea what you're talking about."

"I don't believe you don't know. Where the hell have you been? Don't you read the newspapers?"

"Newspapers? Goddamit, say what you mean. I don't have time to read newspapers."

There was a silence on the other end, and for a moment Qui

"Stillman jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge," Auster said. "He committed suicide two and a half months ago."

"You're lying."

"It was all over the papers. You can check for yourself."

Qui

"It was your Stillman," Auster went on. "The one who used to be a professor at Columbia. They say he died in mid-air, before he even hit the water."

"And Peter? What about Peter?"

"I have no idea."

"Does anybody know?"

"Impossible to say. You'd have to find that out yourself."

"Yes, I suppose so," said Qui

Then, without saying good-bye to Auster, he hung up. He took the other dime and used it to call Virginia Stillman. He still knew the number by heart.

A mechanical voice spoke the number back to him and a

Qui

He walked back to 107th Street. The keys to his house were still in his pocket, and as he unlocked his front door and walked up the three flights to his apartment, he felt almost happy. But then he stepped into the apartment, and that was the end of that.

Everything had changed. It seemed like another place altogether, and Qui

Qui

Qui

That did not mean she had begun to trust him or that she was any less afraid. She hung by the open door, ready to make a dash for it at the first sign of trouble. Qui

"I've been living here for a 'month," she said. "It's my apartment. I signed a year's lease."

"But why do I have the key?" Qui

"There are hundreds of ways you could have got that key."

"Didn't they tell you there was someone living here when you rented the place?"

"They said it was a writer. But he disappeared, hadn't paid his rent in months."

"That's me!" shouted Qui

The girl looked him over coldly and laughed. "A writer? That's the fu

"I've had some difficulties lately," muttered Qui

"The landlord told me he was glad to get rid of you anyway. He doesn't like tenants who don't have jobs, They use too much heat and run down the fixtures."

"Do you know what happened to my things?"

"What things?"

"My books. My furniture. My papers."

"I have no idea. They probably sold what they could and threw the rest away. Everything was cleared out before I moved in."

Qui

"Do you realize what this means?" he asked.

"Frankly, I don't care," the girl said. "It's your problem, not mine. I just want you to get out of here. Right now. This is my place, and I want you out. If you don't leave, I'm going to call the police and have you arrested."

It didn't matter anymore. He could stand there arguing with the girl for the rest of the day, and still he wouldn't get his apartment back. It was gone, he was gone,. everything was gone. He stammered something inaudible, excused himself for taking up her time, and walked past her out the door.