The Friend

I've imagined it so many times.

How among all the other questions

certain to have come to you was,

"What will happen to the dog?"

He's there, at the top of the hill

between the two bridges,

silhouetted against the limpid sky.

You're making this up.

I'm certainly not making it up.

Limpid is one of your words.

Well, limpid's made up, sure.

But I didn't make it up. Some other guy did.

- - "Limpid."

This really happened. Hang on.

Voilà!

It was like he was magicked there.

Like one of Andersen's giant dogs.

- And no collar. -No.

- No tag. -Nothing.

Wait. Hans Christian--

You know the story. A soldier steals a tinderbox.

He opens it up.

Three giant dogs appear

to grant any wish that he desires.

Walter, that story is a rape fantasy.

-No, no, no. Come on. -The pervy soldier is obsessed

with the king's daughter, so he had the dogs kidnap her.

As revenge.

It's Danish social commentary.

So he can have sex with her while she's sleeping.

Well, that's Danish.

Okay. You could have a point.

-Thank you. - The fact is the dog magically appeared.

So, how's Barbara feeling about this magical dog

suddenly appearing out of nowhere?

Barbara was a much better sport about my grown daughter

magically appearing out of nowhere.

How is your daughter?

She's spectacular.

She's working with Iris now

-on The Letters. - How's it going?

Oh, it's good to have a partner. Yeah.

Another writer in the family?

Thank you.

[classical music continues playing]

Do you recognize this voice?

I don't.

Uh... It's Walter.

Where are you?

I found that old computer, but I can't boot it

or kick it or whatever you do to it.

And that little prick in IT is completely useless.

Please call me.

Do you recognize this voice?

I don't.

Uh... It's Walter.

Where are you?

-I found that-- -

You loved to tell your students,

"Beware the inevitable detail.

Guard against anticipation.

Embrace disorder."

Yet, many of the stories I read in writing workshops

begin, inevitably, with someone getting up in the morning.

Much less often does a story begin

with someone going to bed.

Of course, real people seldom behave

as predictably as characters in stories.

That's one of the first things you taught me as a writer.

And strangely,

one of the last things we talked about

while you were still alive.

And o'er this sickle bending;

I listened, motionless and still;

As I mounted up the hill,

The music in my heart I bore,

Long after it was heard no more.

Ah.

I'm a mess, sorry.

I thought I would read a few of Walter's words.

He wrote this in 2010.

It's also the passage I chose to begin my upcoming book

about our time together.

Hello? Hello?

Um...

Good afternoon.

My husband's students and colleagues

meant as much to him...

- -...as his writing.

- - Well, almost as much.

You were the community of friends,

writers, and readers, and sometimes even critics,

who prodded and pushed him.

And loved him in so many different ways.

Excuse me.

-I had no idea you were coming. -I wasn't going to.

But then I thought, you know, closure.

God, Iris, almost 20 years.

How did that happen?

I always imagined coming back.

It's really good to see you.

Wife number two is a piece of work, huh?

Oh, you don't know the half of it.

She's really milking the bereaved widow thing.

I mean, for a number two.

Google says we're "surviving divorced wives."

-Oh. -There can only be one widow.

-Feeling cheated? -Relieved.

Excuse me.

-Oh, thank you. -Thank you.

To...

him.

-Him. -

God, what an asshole.

But what about you? How's your writing going?

-Oh. -I read The Counting. Stunning.

-Really? -Really.

-What are you working on now? -I'm not.

Well, I was.

I started a novel a couple of years ago, but... Yeah.

The worst writer's block of my life.

Maybe because I called it Eastern Bloc.

- Ouch. - Hey.

Hey. I was looking for you

-when I came in. -Oh, God. Yeah.

I was late. Ah.

I feel like a party crasher.

Or like something bad is about to happen.

Hasn't something bad already happened?

-Uh... -

Sorry. I'm... I'm Elaine.

-Wife number one. -Oh, Elaine. Right. Yes.

Iris has told me so much about you. Hi.

-Hi. - Yeah.

-Val. Val, Elaine. -Hey.

-This is Walter's daughter. -Hi.

Walter's...

daughter.

Wow.

"Daughter" daughter?

Step-daughter? Widow's daughter?

-Uh, what? -Hello, Val.

- Barbara. -You must be Elaine.

-The memorial was beautiful. -Thank you.

I really appreciate you including me.

Iris, I need to talk with you about something.

I was hoping you'd come by the house.

Maybe early in the week?

-Yeah. - Excuse me, ladies.

Hello, Iris. Yeah.

-You missed half my poem. - Oh.

Yeah. "Oh." It's okay.

Sanderson, um, wants to talk to you.

Thank you, Jerry. Oh. And I go back to work

-on Wednesday, so... -Okay.

-I'll call you. Yeah. -Thank you.

Call me.

I should have introduced myself sooner.

No, it wouldn't have helped. Believe me.

What do you think Barbara wants to talk to you about?

I have no idea.

- -

Walking with Samuel Beckett

one fine spring morning, a friend asked,

"Doesn't a day like this make you glad to be alive?"

Beckett responded...

I wouldn't go as far as that.

And another from your hero, Beckett.

The day that I die will be like any other day,

only shorter.

You cracked us up with the line...

"The more suicidal people there are,

the less suicidal people there are."

Hola, Ms. Iris.

-That time already, is it? -Oh, yeah.

Santa Claus is coming to town.

Ho, ho, ho.

I've read that almost all people

who attempt suicide and survive

regret having tried.

Like jumpers who say that as soon as they hit the air

they knew they didn't really wanna die.

I wonder about you.

About how you might have felt.

The thought keeps me up at night.

"Mancini drove a Buick

that appeared out of nowhere.

Nobody asked questions.

They all just chipped in for gas.

And three hours later,

they were at the Blue Horizon

to watch George Benton,

master of the Philly Shell

slip and block and elude punches

in a display of the sublime.

'Make them miss and make them pay.'

Maybe Sid was perverse,

but he loved making them miss