Yes, like a ghost I return to your first betrayals and, howling, rattling my chains, walk through them. The kisses I spied. Your and his kisses, which most resembled some sort of feeding, intent, untidy, and noisy. Or when you, with eyes closed tight, devoured a spurting peach and then, having finished, but still swallowing, with your mouth still full, you cannibal, your glazed eyes wandered, your fingers were spread, your inflamed lips were all glossy, your chin trembled, all covered with drops of the cloudy juice, which trickled down onto your bared bosom, while the Priapus who had nourished you suddenly, with a convulsive oath, turned his bent back to me, who had entered the room at the wrong moment. “All kinds of fruit are good for Marthe,” you would say with a certain sweet-slushy moistness in your throat, all gathering into one damp, sweet, accursed little fold—and if I return to all of this, it is to get it out of my system, to purge myself—and also so that you will know, so that you will know … What? Probably I am mistaking you for someone else, after all, when I think that you will understand me, as an insane man mistakes his visiting kin for galaxies, logarithms, low-haunched hyenas—but there are also madmen—and they are invulnerable—who take themselves for madmen—and here the circle closes. Marthe, in some such circle you and I revolve—oh, if only you could break away for an instant!—then you can go back to it, I promise you … I do not ask a great deal of you, only break away for an instant and understand that they are murdering me, that we are surrounded by dummies, and that you are a dummy yourself. I do not know why I was so tormented by your betrayals, rather I myself know why, but I do not know the words I must choose to make you understand why I was so tormented. Such words do not come in the small size that fits your everyday needs. And yet I shall try again: “they are murdering me!”—all right, all together once more: “they are murdering me!”—and again: “murdering!”… I want to write this in such a way that you will cover your ears, your membranaceous, simian ears that you hide under strands of beautiful feminine hair—but I know them, I see them, I pinch them, the cold little things, I worry them with my fingers to somehow warm them, bring them to life, render them human, force them to hear me. Marthe I want you to obtain another interview, and, of course, come alone, come alone! So-called life is finished for me, before me there is only the polished block, and my jailers have managed to drive me to such a state that my handwriting—see—is like a drunken man’s—but it does not matter, I shall have strength enough, Marthe, for such a talk with you as we have never yet had, that is why it is so necessary that you come again, and do not think that this letter is a forgery—it is I, Cincinnatus, who am writing, it is I, Cincinnatus, who am weeping; and who was, in fact, walking around the table, and then, when Rodion brought his dinner, said:
“This letter. This letter I shall ask you to … Here is the address …”
“You’d do better to learn to knit like everybody else,” grumbled Rodion, “so you could knit me a cache-knee. Writer, indeed! You just saw your missus, didn’t you?”
“I shall try to ask you anyway,” said Cincinnatus, “are there, besides me and that rather obtrusive Pierre, any other prisoners here?”
Rodion flushed but remained silent.
“And the headsman hasn’t arrived yet?” asked Cincinnatus.
Rodion was about to furiously slam the already screeching door, but, as the day before, there entered, morocco slippers squeaking stickily, striped jelly-body quivering, hands carrying a chess set, cards, a cup-and-ball game—
“My humblest respects to friend Rodion,” said M’sieur Pierre, in his reedy voice, and, without breaking stride, quivering, squeaking, he walked into the cell.
“I see,” he said, seating himself, “that the dear fellow took a letter with him. Must have been the one that was lying here on the table yesterday, eh? To your spouse? No, no, a simple deduction, I don’t read other people’s letters, although it’s true it was lying right in plain sight, while we were going at our game of anchors. How about some chess today?”
He spread out a checkerboard made of wool and with his plump hand, cocking the little finger, he set up the places, which were fashioned of kneaded bread, according to an old prisoner’s recipe, so solidly, that a stone might envy them.
“I’m a bachelor myself, but of course I understand … Forward. I shall quickly … Good players do not take a long time to think. Forward. I caught just a glimpse of your spouse—a juicy little piece, no two ways about it—what a neck, that’s what I like … Hey, wait a minute, that was an oversight, allow me to take my move back. Here, this is better. I am a great aficionado of women, and the way they love me, the rascals, you simply wouldn’t believe it. You were writing to your spouse there about her pretty eyes and lips. Recently, you know, I had … Why can’t my pawn take it? Oh, I see. Clever, clever. All right, I retreat. Recently I had sexual intercourse with an extraordinarily healthy and splendid individual. What pleasure you experience, when a large brunette … What is this? That’s a snide move on your part. You must warn your opponent, this won’t do. Here, let me change my last move. So. Yes, a gorgeous, passionate creature—and, you know, I’m no piker myself, I’ve got such a spring that—wow! Generally speaking, of the numerous earthly temptations, which, in jest, but really with the utmost seriousness, I intend to submit gradually for your consideration, the temptation of sex … No, wait a minute, I haven’t decided yet if I want to move that piece there. Yes, I will. What do you mean, checkmate? Why checkmate? I can’t go here; I can’t go there; I can’t go anywhere. Wait a minute, what was the position? No, before that. Ah, now that’s a different story. A mere oversight. All right, I’ll move here. Yes, a red rose between her teeth, black net stockings up to here, and not-a-stitch besides—that’s really something, that’s the supreme … and now, instead of the raptures of love, dank stone, rusty iron, and ahead—well, you know yourself what lies ahead. Now this I overlooked. And what if I move otherwise? Yes, this is better. The game is mine, anyway—you make one mistake after another. What if she was unfaithful to you—didn’t you also hold her in your embraces? When people ask me for advice I always tell them, ‘Gentlemen, be inventive.
There is nothing more pleasant, for example, than to surround oneself with mirrors and watch the good work going on there—wonderful! Hey! Now this is far from wonderful. Word of honor, I thought I had moved to this square, not to that. So therefore you were unable … Back, please. Simultaneously I like to smoke a cigar and talk of insignificant matters, and I like her to talk too—there’s nothing to be done, I have a certain streak of perversion in me … Yes, how grievous, how frightening and hurtful to say farewell to all this—and to think that others, who are just as young and sappy, will continue to work and work … ah! I don’t know about you, but when it comes to caresses I love what we French wrestlers call ‘macarons’: You give her a nice slap on the neck, and, the firmer the meat … First of all, I can take your knight, secondly, I can simply move my king away; all right—there. No, stop, stop, I’d like to think for a minute after all. What was your last move? Put that piece back and let me think. Nonsense, there’s no checkmate here. You, it seems to me—if you do not mind my saying so—are cheating: this piece stood here, or maybe here, but not there, I am absolutely certain. Come, put it back, put it back …”
As though accidentally, he knocked over several men, and, unable to restrain himself, with a groan, he mixed up the remainder.
Cincinnatus sat leaning on one elbow; he was pensively picking at a knight which, in the neck region, seemed not loath to return to the mealy
