Converse

All they wanted, they said once we got to the room, was a conversation.  They’d said their names, but I couldn’t remember them. One of them had red hair and the other had brown hair, so I thought of them as Red and Brown.  I said we could talk but I didn’t know the answer to any question of consequence, and they didn’t know me so they wouldn’t know whether to believe or how to interpret what I said.  They were probably looking for facts, but I didn’t know any facts that could be useful to them. I could tell them the capital of Wisconsin, facts like that, but I assumed they wanted facts they couldn’t look up for themselves.  I could tell them I was sitting in a chair in front of them, I went on, but I couldn’t say why I was there. I could tell them if I saw a man walk into a building, for example, but I wouldn’t know why he’d walked into it or what was inside.  Red then sat across from me at the table and placed a note on it. Does this look familiar to you? he asked. Brown looked on from behind Red, arms folded, both of them looking into my eyes. The note said: Am watching you. I asked Red if he and Brown wrote the note to me.  They didn’t smile or comment, only waited for me to say more. I told them I’d never seen the note. Not a word in the room for maybe thirty seconds, just a lot of staring at me, so I asked the two of them what they hoped to read in my face. The question annoyed them. In their minds, I was there to give them answers and not the other way around.  I thought the arrangement lacked symmetry, yet I didn’t object. Red asked why I’d mentioned a man going into a building. Had I been watching this man or had he been watching me? The man going into the building, I replied, doesn’t exist, except as an example. Do you think we’re interested in a man you saw go into a building? Red asked. I repeated that I had no identifiable person in mind.  Perhaps they could tell me which man they imagined going into the building. They chose not to enlighten me on why this hypothetical person would interest them. Brown stepped forward and leaned over the table, his eyes not leaving mine. Do you think we’re satisfied listening to you say nothing? I considered telling Brown that it was up to him if he was satisfied and that if they wanted better answers they should ask better questions.  I doubted the comment would be well received so I kept it to myself. He retreated, blowing out air disgustedly. Are you hiding something from me? I asked. Red sat back, frowning, looking over his shoulder at Brown. Unless they had more specific questions, I said, I feared I’d go on frustrating them. If you identify the man entering the building I might be able to help, though I doubt I know anything worth hearing. Red glared at me and rose out of his chair, and before they walked out of the room he turned off the light and then turned it back on.  I sat still for a while, but they did not return. I asked myself what would happen if I went to the door and tried to open it and if I’d be stopped if I tried to leave. We’d walked down a semi-dark hallway after entering through a side door. Perhaps they were laughing as they wondered how long I’d stay there before getting up the nerve to attempt an escape. They’d shown me badges, possibly fakes. I stood, lifted the chair and pushed it back without making a scraping sound. I went to the door and listened, opened it and looked out. I walked down the hallway and out the door, Red and Brown nowhere to be seen.  Breathing the fresh air, I walked to the street ahead where I saw cars passing in both directions. I flagged a taxi and did not look behind me when we drove off.

Two days passed and I didn’t see Red or Brown, no strange hang-up calls or suspicious characters dogging my footsteps or watching me from parked cars.  Then you two guys show up, more badges, more names I’ve forgotten, wanting me to repeat what I said to Red and Brown.

One of the two men is seated at a table, the other standing and smirking behind him.

Why did they ask about your note? table man asks.

My note?  Did they think the note was mine?

Did they? he asks.  Did they think you were being watched or that you were watching someone?

I don’t know what they thought.  They told me nothing.

Tell us about the man in the building.  Start with that. They wanted to know about him and they must have had cause.

What cause? I ask.  All men go into buildings.

We’re not interested in all men, wall man says, just the one you mentioned.

He wasn’t a particular person.

So you brought him up without a reason, table man says, nothing to do with a burden you carry inside you that wants to get out.

Does the name Rappaport mean something to you? wall man asks.

The name does sound familiar, I reply.

Tell us about him, table man says.

I have nothing to tell.

Out of loyalty? he asks.

Why would I want to be loyal to him?

You admit you know him.

I did know someone named Rappaport years ago.  I can’t see why he’d be relevant.

Do you know another Rappaport more recently?

Am thinking, I answer.

You said, Am thinking.  Like your note. Am watching you.

I haven’t said the note was mine.

Is the note connected to Rappaport or another man entering a building?

I’m not following, I say.  Are you suggesting Rappaport entered some building?  Are you investigating Red and Brown? Do you think they were passing me information or had something to tell me about or from Rappaport?  Like Red and Brown, you won’t say what you think you know.

Wall man scoffs under his breath.

The note can be tied to you, table man says.

Did you get the note from Red and Brown?

You don’t need to know that.

I don’t think you have the note.  Let’s see it.

What did Red and Brown tell you? wall man asks.

I’ve already told you what they said.

You seem pretty worthless to me, table man says, though one thing you are good at is talking without saying anything.  I’ll give you that much.

I don’t know anything or anyone.  

We’ve talked to a number of people, wall man says, and not one of them admits knowing you or remembering you.

I don’t remember anyone, I answer.

You may disappear as we look at you, table man says.  I went to your funeral, and no one was there. Not even you.

He pulls a photo from his inside jacket pocket.

Does this man look familiar to you?

I don’t remember ever seeing him.

You haven’t seen his picture in the newspaper?

I don’t read the paper and I rarely watch television.

We have footage of you speaking with him.

I don’t think you do.  I’d like to see it. It might help me remember.

Ever have dreams about sharing your thoughts with others? he asks.

I don’t have many dreams, and when I do I forget them.

How human, he says.

Let’s not give up on him yet, wall man says.  We don’t want to let him go and leave him in a vulnerable place.  We can be of use to him and he may come around to seeing it.

I’m ready to cut him loose, table man says.  It’s up to him to look after himself. If his world crumbles under his feet, we can’t protect him.

They wait for me to respond.  I say nothing.

Despite your limitations, table man says, I advise you to try to remember one thing.  Vigilance, he says as wall man opens the door.

I walk down Meet Street and at a corner a man passes me walking in the opposite direction, grips the bill of his cap and pulls it down.  I head to the store, a minute away, enter and go all the way to the back and out the door without looking to either side. The car is waiting, tinted windows all around.  I open the rear door and get in, a partition separating us, lowered two inches.

Visibility is a concern, he tells me.  For that reason, you’re being relocated.  Be ready at midnight.

He taps the partition, and I exit the car, which drives off the moment I shut the door.  I retrace my steps through the store and walk to my apartment, thinking of my few belongings.  In my box I find one envelope. Am watching you, the note inside says.