They handcuff him anyway.
The medic asks him, what is your name?
What is your name?
He doesn’t remember.
Shock, they say–it must be shock. Gets to us all eventually, even old Aldama.
A lieutenant brings him a cup of tea.
Their fingers brush as he passes him the cup.
Aldama says, what the fuck am I doing here? Why the fuck am I in handcuffs? What the fuck is going on?!
The lieutenant doesn’t answer.
New York, in winter.
I walk, but walking is too slow, and I have lost my way. There is a bright winter sun somewhere overhead, but the buildings are higher than the sky and I cannot find my way through the shadows that fall into the streets.
I walk, and don’t even notice the chill in my legs, the cold in my fingers. I must have had a coat, left it in the museum cloakroom; must have a bag, my name buried somewhere within it. A woman selling roast nuts and caramel sauce says,
“Hey! Lady! Are you OK?”
Am I lady?
Is that what I am today?
“Hey! Hey, you lost?”
“No. I’m not lost.”
“You look a little lost.”
“I’m not lost. I’m fine. Thank you.”
Her mouth says, OK, but her eyes say, you lie, though about what precisely, she isn’t so sure.
I walk away, aware now of all things, of my pin-thin legs and thick tights, my blue-tinged fingers and gently falling hair, and as awareness comes, so does the remembrance of blood in my veins and time in my eyes, but it was only a moment, and the moment passed.
I walk, and it is too slow; always, all things are too slow. Slow to travel and slow to learn, slow to study and slow to grow, slow to catch a husband, slow to get a wife, slow to age and slow to die. Too slow, this life, always too slow, and I
cannot stick around for very long. For someone has the thing I want, whatever that may be.
I walk
and then I run.
I race without moving, travel by touch.
My skin is wild in the wind
my breath is restless shock
and I am
woman, thick gloves woolly against the cold
man in yellow shoes who lost his way
I am the stranger who gave you the white flowers she carried in her hand
the face you forget as it turned away
I am beautiful
until I see that she is more beautiful than me
and he more beautiful again
so beautiful, and never enough
I am the woman who stood on your foot on the train
jostled you in the queue
asked you for the time
I am the ancient man who has forgotten his name
the tired old woman who wished to be someone else.
I am no one.
I am Kepler.
I am love.
I am you.
By Claire North
The First Fifteen Lives of Harry August
Touch
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Contents
Cover
Title Page
Welcome
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
By Claire North
Newsletters
Copyright
Copyright
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Copyright © 2015 by Claire North
Cover design by Sophie Burdess
Cover images by Getty and Shutterstock
Cover © 2015 Hachette Book Group, Inc.
All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
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First ebook edition: February 2015
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ISBN 978-0-316-33593-5
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