and a bunch of cunt.» As he mumbles this meditatively he looks at me with the softest, the most insidious smile. «Do you like that smile?» he says. And then disgustedly — «Jesus, if I could only find some rich cunt to smile at that way!»
«Only a rich cunt can save me now,» he says with an air of utmost weariness. «One gets tired of chasing after new cunts all the time. It gets mechanical. The trouble is, you see, I can’t fall in love. I’m too much of an egoist. Women only help me to dream, that’s all. It’s a vice, like drink or opium. I’ve got to have a new one every day; if I don’t I get morbid. I think too much. Sometimes I’m amazed at myself, how quick I pull it off — and how little it really means. I do it automatically like. Sometimes I’m not thinking about a woman at all, but suddenly I notice a woman looking at me and then, bango! it starts all over again. Before I know what I’m doing I’ve got her up to the room. I don’t even remember what I say to them. I bring them up to the room, give them a pat on the ass, and before I know what it’s all about it’s over. It’s like a dream… Do you know what I mean?»
He hasn’t much use for the French girls. Can’t stand them. «Either they want money or they want you to marry them. At bottom they’re all whores. I’d rather wrestle with a virgin,» he says. «They give you a little illusion. They put up a fight at least.» Just the same, as we glance over the terrasse there is hardly a whore in sight whom he hasn’t fucked at some time or other. Standing at the bar he points them out to me, one by one, goes over them anatomically, describes their good points and their bad. «They’re all frigid,» he says. And then begins to mold his hands, thinking of the nice, juicy virgins who are just dying for it.
In the midst of his reveries he suddenly arrests himself, and grabbing my arm excitedly, he points to a whale of a woman who is just lowering herself into a seat. «There’s my Danish cunt,» he grunts. «See that ass? Danish. How that woman loves it! She just begs me for it. Come over here… look at her now, from the side. Look at that ass, will you? It’s enormous. I tell you, when she climbs over me I can hardly get my arms around it. It blots out the whole world. She makes me feel like a little bug crawling inside her. I don’t know why I fall for her — I suppose it’s that ass. It’s so incongruous like. And the creases in it! You can’t forget an ass like that. It’s a fact… a solid fact. The others, they may bore you, or they may give you a moment’s illusion, but this one — with her ass! — zowie, you can’t obliterate her… it’s like going to bed with a monument on top of you.»
The Danish cunt seems to have electrified him. He’s lost all his sluggishness now. His eyes are popping out of his head. And of course one thing reminds him of another. He wants to get out of the fucking hotel because the noise bothers him. He wants to write a book too so as to have something to occupy his mind. But then the goddamned job stands in the way. «It takes it out of you, that fucking job! I don’t want to write about Montparnasse… I want to write my.life, my thoughts. I want to get the dirt out of my belly… Listen, get that one over there! I had her a long time ago. She used to be down near Les Halles. A funny bitch. She lay on the edge of the bed and pulled her dress up. Ever try it that way? Not bad. She didn’t hurry me either. She just lay back and played with her hat while I slugged away at her. And when I come she says sort of bored like — ‘Are you through?’ Like it didn’t make any difference at all. Of course, it doesn’t make any difference, I know that goddamn well… but the cold-blooded way she had… I sort of liked it… it was fascinating, you know? When she goes to wipe herself she begins to sing. Going out of the hotel she was still singing. Didn’t even say Au revoir! Walks off swinging her hat and humming to herself like. That’s a whore for you! A good lay though. I think I liked her better than my virgin. There’s something depraved about screwing a woman who doesn’t give a fuck about it. It heats your blood…» And then, after a moment’s meditation — «Can you imagine what she’d be like if she had any feelings?»
«Listen,» he says, «I want you to come to the Club with me tomorrow afternoon… there’s a dance on.»
«I can’t tomorrow, Joe. I promised to help Carl out…»
«Listen, forget that prick! I want you to do me a favor. It’s like this» — he commences to mold his hands again. «I’ve got a cunt lined up… she promised to stay with me on my night off. But I’m not positive about her yet. She’s got a mother, you see… some shit of a painter, she chews my ear off every time I see her. I think the truth is, the mother’s jealous. I don’t think she’d mind so much if I gave her a lay first. You know how it is… Anyway, I thought maybe you wouldn’t mind taking the mother… she’s not so bad… if I hadn’t seen the daughter I might have considered her myself. The daughter’s nice and young, fresh like, you know what I mean? There’s a clean smell to her…»
«Listen, Joe, you’d better find somebody else…»
«Aw, don’t take it like that! I know how you feel about it. It’s only a little favor I’m asking you to do for me. I don’t know how to get rid of the old hen. I thought first I’d get drunk and ditch her — but I don’t think the young one’d like that. They’re sentimental like. They come from Minnesota or somewhere. Anyway, come around tomorrow and wake me up, will you? Otherwise I’ll oversleep. And besides, I want you to help me find a room. You know I’m helpless. Find me a room in a quiet street, somewhere near here. I’ve got to stay around here… I’ve got credit here. Listen, promise me you’ll do that for me. I’ll buy you a meal now and then. Come around anyway, because I go nuts talking to these foolish cunts. I want to talk to you about Havelock Ellis. Jesus, I’ve had the book out for three weeks now and I haven’t looked at it. You sort of rot here. Would you believe it, I’ve never been to the Louvre — nor the Comédie-Française. Is it worth going to those joints? Still, it sort of takes your mind off things, I suppose. What do you do with yourself all day? Don’t you get bored? What do you do for a lay? Listen… come here! Don’t run away yet… I’m lonely. Do you know something — if this keeps up another year I’ll go nuts. I’ve got to get out of this fucking country. There’s nothing for me here. I know it’s lousy now, in America, but just the same… You go queer over here… all these cheap shits sitting on their ass all day bragging about their work and none of them is worth a stinking damn. They’re all failures — that’s why they come over here. Listen, Joe, don’t you ever get homesick? You’re a funny guy… you seem to like it over here. What do you see in it?… I wish you’d tell me. I wish to Christ I could stop thinking about myself. I’m all twisted up inside… it’s like a knot in there… Listen, I know I’m boring the shit out of you, but I’ve got to talk to someone. I can’t talk to those guys upstairs… you know what those bastards are like… they all take a byline. And Carl, the little prick, he’s so goddamned selfish. I’m an egotist, but I’m not selfish. There’s a difference. I’m a neurotic, I guess. I can’t stop thinking about myself. It isn’t that I think myself so important… I simply can’t think about anything else, that’s all. If I could fall in love with a woman that might help some. But I can’t find a woman who interests me. I’m in a mess, you can see that can’t you? What do you advise me to do? What would you do in my place? Listen, I don’t want to hold you back any longer, but wake me up tomorrow — at one-thirty — will you? I’ll give you something extra if you’ll shine my shoes. And listen, if you’ve got an extra shirt, a clean one, bring it along, will you? Shit, I’m grinding my balls off on that job, and it doesn’t even give me a clean shirt. They’ve got us over here like a bunch of niggers. Ah, well, shit! I’m going to take a walk… wash the dirt out of my belly. Don’t forget, tomorrow!»

For six months or more it’s been going on, this correspondence with the rich cunt, Irene. Recently I’ve been