Gute_9780307271068_3p_all_r1.qxp
6/3/11
5:45 PM
Page 37
37 was going to be adopted, and he, Walter, was going to go home, like a sailor who’d been on a long sea voyage that included sharks, scurvy, pirates, a typhoon, and a broken mast en route. “Diane,” he said, “I think you’re doing the right thing in a situation where, really, there’s no right thing, only lesser evils and greater evils, and that’s the problem with life, for me—it doesn’t always go the way I think it should, it’s not always under my control.” He thought he was speaking to her from the same corner of the ring, or from a page they shared, but Diane held her gut as if sickened by his observations and said, “I don’t need a lecture, Walter.” “Okay.” “Your problem with life—it’ll have to wait.” “I see that.” “I’m incapable of talking about your problems right now.” “Let’s not talk about them.” “The deal is, Walter, you’re the definition of a wanker. You need to understand this: you are a wanker. Wanker, okay? What’s the American? Just look it up. Wanker.” “I’ll look it up,” he said gruffly, and left. Exhausted, he called Lydia from “Baltimore.” “I’m worn out,” he said, “and looking forward to getting home. I’m really, really looking forward to getting home.” But he couldn’t go home. Not quite yet. There was one more night of this mire to be endured, and of watching motel television with a headache. He felt buoyed, though, because the whole thing was nearly over—all of it except for the blackmail part, the paying-through-theteeth part, the arm-and-the-leg part that there was nothing to be done about. But the dangerous part, the heart-soul-and-life-rending part, Walter believed that was done. That night, Walter dreamed. He dreamed he was standing in the Newborn Viewing Area watching Baby Doe through glass. Then a nurse appeared, plucked up Baby Doe, brought him to the window, and displayed him for Walter’s benefit. “The logical thing would be to kill him now,” she said through the pane. In the morning, Walter mulled this while he shaved. “Interesting,” he thought, “but dreams aren’t valid. They have no legitimacy. They’re just strangeness while you sleep. A dream is just your brain with its signals