Sure! What was I saying? Oh yes… in the middle of the book I would explode. Why not? There were plenty of writers who could drag a thing out to the end without letting go of the reins; what we needed was a man, like myself for instance, who didn’t give a fuck what happened. Dostoievski hadn’t gone quite far enough. I was for straight gibberish. One should go cuckoo! People have had enough of plot and character. Plot and character don’t make life. Life isn’t in the upper storey: life is here now, any time you say the word, any time you let rip. Life is four-hundred and forty horsepower in a two-cylinder engine—
He interrupted me here. «Well, I must say that you certainly seem to have it… I wish I could read one of your books».
«You will,» I said, carried away by internal combustion. «I’ll send you one in a day or two.»
There was a knock at the door. As he got up to open it he explained that he had been expecting some one. He begged me not to be disturbed, it was merely a charming friend of his.
A gorgeously beautiful woman stood in the doorway. I rose to greet her. She looked Italian. Possibly the countess he had spoken of earlier.
«Sylvia,» he said, «it’s too bad you didn’t come a little sooner. I’ve just been listening to the most wonderful stories. This young man is a writer. I want you to know him.»
She came close and put out her two hands for me to grasp. «I am sure you must be a very good writer,» she said. «You have suffered, I can see that.»
«He’s had the most extraordinary life, Sylvia. I feel as though I haven’t even begun to live. And what do you suppose he’s doing for a living?»
She turned to me as if to say that she preferred to hear it from my own lips. I was confused. I had not been prepared to meet such a stunning creature, so full of assurance, so poised, and so thoroughly natural. I wanted to get up and place my hands on her hips, hold her thus and say something very simple, very honest, as one human being to another. Her eyes were velvety and moist; dark, round eyes that glistened with sympathy and warmth. Could she be in love with this man who was so much older? From what city did she come and out of what world? To say even two words to her I felt that I had to have some clue. A mistake would be fatal.
She seemed to divine my dilemma. «Won’t some one offer me a drink?» she asked, looking first at him and then at me. «Port, I think», she added, addressing herself to me.
«But you never take anything!» said my host. And he rose to help me. The three of us were standing close together, Sylvia with empty glass upraised. «I am very glad things have turned out this way,» he said. «I couldn’t have brought together two people more opposite in every way than you two. I am sure you will understand one another.»
My head was spinning as she raised the glass to her lips. I knew that this was the preliminary to some strange adventure. I had a strong intuition that he would presently find some excuse to leave us alone for a while and that without a word being said, she would pass into my arms. I felt too that I would never see either of them again.
In fact, it happened precisely as I had imagined. In less than five minutes from the time she arrived my host announced that he had a very important errand to run and begged us to excuse him for a little while. He had hardly closed the door when she came over to me and sat herself in my lap, saying as she did so—«He will not be back to-night. Now we may talk.» I was more frightened than startled by these words. All sorts of ideas flashed through my mind. I was even more taken aback when she added after a pause—«And what about me, am I just a pretty woman, perhaps his mistress? What do you think my life is like?»
«I think you’re a very dangerous person,» I answered spontaneously and with truthfulness. «I wouldn’t be surprised if you were a famous spy.»
«You have strong intuitions,» she said. «No, I am not a spy, but….»
«Well, if you were you wouldn’t tell me, I know that. I really don’t want to know about your life. Do you know what I’m wondering? I’m wondering what you want of me. I feel as if I were in a trap.» «That’s unkind of you. Now you’re imagining things. If we did want something of you we would have to know you better, wouldn’t we?» A moment’s silence, then suddenly: «Are you sure you want to be nothing more than a writer?»
«What do you mean?» I retorted quickly. «Just that. I know you are a writer… but you could also be other things. You’re the sort of person who could do anything he chose to do, isn’t that so?» I’m afraid it’s just the contrary,» I replied. «So far everything I’ve tackled has ended disastrously. I’m not even sure that I’m a writer, at this moment.»
She rose from my lap and lit herself a cigarette. «You couldn’t possibly be a failure,» she said, after a moment’s hesitation in which she seemed to be collecting herself to make some important revelation. «The trouble with you,» she said slowly and deliberately, «is that you’ve never set yourself a task worthy of your powers. You need bigger problems, bigger difficulties. You don’t function properly until you’re hard pressed. I don’t know what you’re doing but I’m certain that your present life is not suited to you. You were meant to lead a dangerous life; you can take greater risks than others because…. well, you probably know it yourself…. because you are protected.»
«Protected? I don’t understand,» I blurted out. «Oh yes you do,» she answered quietly. «All your life you’ve been protected. Just think a moment…. Haven’t you been near death several times…. haven’t you always found some one to help you, some stranger usually, just when you thought all was lost? Haven’t you committed several crimes already, crimes which nobody would suspect you of? Aren’t you right now in the midst of a very dangerous passion, an affair which, if you weren’t born under a lucky star, might lead you to ruin? I know that you’re in love. I know that you’re ready to do anything in order to satisfy this passion…. You look at me strangely… you wonder how I know. I have no special gifts— except the ability to read human beings at a glance. Look, a few moments ago you were waiting eagerly for me to come to you. You knew that I would throw myself in your arms as soon as he left. I did. But you were paralyzed—a little frightened of me, shall I say? Why? What could I do to you? You have no money, no power, no influence. What could you expect me to ask of you?» She paused, then added: «Shall I tell you the truth?»
I nodded helplessly.
«You were afraid that if I did ask you to do something for me you would not be able to refuse. You were perplexed because, being in love with one woman, you already felt yourself the potential victim of another. It isn’t a woman you need—it is an instrument to liberate yourself. You crave a more adventurous life, you want to break your chains. Whoever the woman is you love I pity her. To you she will appear to be the stronger, but that is only because you doubt yourself. You are the stronger. You will always be stronger—because you can think only of yourself, of your destiny. If you were just a little stronger I would fear for you. You might make a dangerous fanatic. But that is not your fate. You’re too sane, too healthy. You love life even more than your own self. You are confused, because whomsoever or whatever you give yourself to is never enough for you—isn’t that true? Nobody can hold you for long: you are always looking beyond the object of your love, looking for something you will never find. You will have to look inside yourself if you ever hope to free yourself of torment. You make friends easily, I’m sure. And yet there is no one whom you can really call your friend. You are alone. You will always be alone. You want too much, more than life can offer…»
«Wait a moment, please,» I interrupted. «Why have you chosen to tell me all this?»
She paused a moment, as if hesitating to answer this directly. «I suppose I am merely answering a question in my own mind,» she said. «To-night I must make a grave decision; I leave in the morning on a long journey. When I saw you I said to myself —this may be the man who can help me. But I was wrong. I have nothing to ask of you… You may put your arms around me, if you like… if you are not afraid of me.»
I walked over to her, clasped her tightly and kissed her. I drew my lips away and looked into her eyes, my arms still about her waist.
«What is it you see?» she said, gently disengaging herself.
I moved away
