Free The Surrendered by Chang-rae Lee

an address for him; there was a recent judgment against him in small-claims court in Bergen County, where he was sued by his landlord for back rent and property damage. Clines had gone to the address, and though Hector was not living there anymore, a neighbor mentioned that he frequented a certain bar down by the river.
    “What did he say?”
    “Not much,” Clines said. “He didn’t want to talk.”
    “But you tried to persuade him?”
    Clines nodded.
    “Well?”
    “He wasn’t interested, Mrs. Singer.”
    “What do you mean?” she said sharply, using the voice she reserved for intransigent antiques dealers, or customers whose checks had bounced. “I don’t understand you, Mr. Clines. You offered him money?”
    “I did.”
    “And he still didn’t agree?”
    “We didn’t get as far as that. Frankly, once he heard your name, he didn’t say another word. He refused to speak to me. His friends told me I should leave.”
    Her eyes were half blinded with anger and she was about to berate the man but then a square dose of dread cooled her heart. For of course she understood she was perhaps the last person in the world Hector Brennan would choose to see, much less aid.
    She said, however, “We’ll have to try to convince him again.”
    “If that’s what you wish,” Clines said, frowning as if the skies had begun to pelt him with rain. “I’ll arrange for a meeting when we return from Italy. If it happens that we’re away longer than I expect, I’ll have someone back here keep track of him.”
    “You misunderstand,” June said. “I want you to take me to him. He must come with us.”
    Clines’s brows knit sharply with alarm. “Your coming along is difficult enough. But I can’t have him as well. Especially when he isn’t interested. It can’t work this way.”
    “I’m sorry. You’ll have to manage.”
    “Some situations aren’t manageable. This is not some guided tour.” He considered her gravely. “Frankly, Mrs. Singer, you’re much too ill for any of this.”
    She paused for a moment, hoping that somehow he might not have noticed; it was the reason she had kept the lights of the shop dimmed.
    She said, “I’ll be fine.”
    “What do you have? Is it cancer?”
    “Listen,” she said, gripping his arm. His flesh was malleable through the thin wool of his blazer and she could feel the soft plait of his musculature; she realized that he was quite a bit older than she thought, maybe even in his sixties, and could now see from the lightness near his scalp that he colored his hair. But rather than dishearten her, his lack of sturdiness only focused her, made her want to gain a better hold on the moment.
    “Listen to me. I promise it won’t be a hardship for you. You’ll be able to do your job. You should know right now that it will be more than worth your time. And we won’t get in your way. Hector can stay back with me, if I’m not feeling well.”
    “This is a terrible, terrible mistake,” he said. “Especially if you want to find your son. I know you were briefly married to this man, but is he the boy’s father? Is that why you want him to come with us?”
    “It’s how it has to be,” she answered, explaining nothing else.
    A little later, she saw Clines out into the street. The early-evening air held a residual warmth from the glorious day but now she clicked with bodily triggers that she had not known before, and they told her this endeavor had best be finished soon, before the autumn coolness descended for good. Would the cold bury her? She had given Clines another check to cover the next two weeks, and at triple his rate for taking on the extra difficulty. Naturally, she had planned to tell him that Hector was the father of her son. But in that moment she suddenly thought otherwise, deciding that it was a matter between Nicholas and Hector and no one else. That Nicholas was his son would likely mean little to Hector. But she was hopeful it would be meaningful to Nicholas, so