Trust

by Hernan Diaz

A just called from Z (again), asking for advice. Kolbe, Lenbach, London, NY, etc., etc., etc., etc. As always, he mistakes doubt with depth, hesitation with analysis. I drifted away. “Are you there?” He thought we’d been disconnected during my long silence after his long q. “No,” I said. I can’t explain the relief that word gave me. Not all the opium in the world. “Hello?” True. I was not there. “I’m such a brute,” he said. “You should rest.” “I’ve been doing this for too long. Done.” Silence between 2 is always shared. But 1 of the 2 owns it and shares it with the other. “But you live for this,” he said at last. “You . . .” He regretted his words. “Exactly. And now it’s over.” I hung up, gently, before we got trapped in another silence, which would say nothing except that there was nothing else to say.