The shimmer was the name for it: the interval between becoming aware of a choice and completing the act of choosing. For most people it lasted seconds. For some people, under certain conditions, it extended. And for a smaller number, it stopped extending and simply held, the way a note on a string instrument can be sustained past the point where it would normally fade, except that this one never faded, and the person inside it went on living in the suspension of the moment just before.
Pael had been in it for four years. He still went to work. He still came home. He ate and slept and had conversations with Keld that were, as far as he could tell, genuine conversations. He just did not decide anything. He continued what had already been continuing. He had not decided to stay in the apartment, or in the job, or in the relationship. He had not decided to leave any of them. He was in the shimmer between those possibilities and he could not feel the edge of it.
He was standing at the kitchen sink holding two dishes when Keld came in. He had been there for eleven minutes. He knew this because he had started counting. He was deciding, or trying to decide, whether to wash them now or leave them until morning. He knew this was not about the dishes.
Keld stood in the doorway for a moment, looking at him.
She said: it's not that I can't live with this.
He waited.
She said: I don't know if you can.
He said: I can't tell you what I've decided. I can tell you what I'm in.
She came and stood beside him at the sink. They stood there for a while. The dishes were still in his hands.
After some time he put one of them in the rack.