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that all forty German guests, including Bethmann-Hollweg and Admiral Tirpitz, spoke English fluently. Lichnowsky differed from his class in that he was not only in manner but in heart an earnest Anglophile. He had come to London determined to make himself and his country liked. English society had been lavish with country weekends. To the ambassador no tragedy could be greater than war between the country of his birth and the country of his heart, and he was grasping at any handle to avert it.
When the Foreign Secretary, Sir Edward Grey, telephoned him that morning, in the interval of a Cabinet meeting, Lichnowsky, out of his own anxiety, interpreted what Grey said to him as an offer by England to stay neutral and to keep France neutral in a Russo-German warm if, in returm, Germany would promise not to attack France.
Actually, Grey had not said quite that. What, in his elliptical way, he offered was a promise to keep France neutral if Germany would promise to stay neutral as against France and Russia, in other words, not go to war against either, pending the result of efforts to settle the Serbian affair. After eight years as Foreign Secretary in a period of chronic "Bosnias," as Billow called them, Grey had perfected a manner of speaking designed to convey as little meaning as possible; his avoidance of the point-blank, said a colleague, almost amounted to method. Over the telephone, Lichnowsky, himself dazed by the coming tragedy, would have had no difficulty misunderstanding him.
The Kaiser clutched at Lichnowsky's passport to a one-froot war. Minutes counted. Already mobilization was rolling inexorably toward the French frontier. The first hostile act, seizure of a railway junction in Luxembourg, whose neutrality the five Great Powers, including Germany, had guaranteed, was scheduled within an hour. It must be stopped, stopped at once. But how? Where was Moltke? Moltke had left the palace. An aide was sent off, with siren screaming, to intercept him. He was brought back.
The Kaiser was himself again, the All-Highest, the War Lord, blazing with a new idea, planning, proposing, disposing. He read Moltke the telegram and said in triumph: "Now we can go to war against Russia only. We simply march the whole of our Army to the East!"
Aghast at the thought of his marvelous machinery of mobilization wrenched into reverse, Moltke refused point-blank. For the past ten

that all forty German guests, including pethmannoeg ral Tirpitz, spoke English fluently. Lichnowsky 1feret rom that he was not only in manner but: in heart an earnest had come to London determined to make himself liked. English society had been lavish with Country weekends ambassador no tragedy could be greater than war between the try of his birth and the country of his heart, and he wasgasn handle to avert it.
When the Foreign Secretary, Sir Edward Grey. telephone tim h morning, in the interval of a Cabinet meeting, Lichnowsky. out « own anxiety, interpreted what Grey said to him as an ofer by Yrtan to stay neutral and to keep France neutral in a Russoin return, Germany would promise not to attack France Actually, Grey had not said quite that. What, i in his elliptical offered was a promise to keep France neutral if Germany would promi to stay neutral as against France and Russia, in other words ne war against either, pending the result of efforts to settle the Serhi fair. After eight years as Foreign Secretary in a period of chronic"Ros nias," as Bülow called them, Grey had perfected a manner of speaking designed to convey as little meaning as possible; his avoidance of the point-blank, said a colleague, almost amounted to method. Over the telephone, Lichnowsky, himself dazed by the coming tragedy. wouid have had no difficulty misunderstanding him.
The Kaiser clutched at Lichnowsky's passport to a one-tront wat. Minutes counted. Already mobilization was rolling inexorably toward the French frontier. The first hostile act, seizure of a railway junctiOnt luxembourg, whose neutrality the fve Great Powers, incluang nany, had guaranteed, was scheduled within an hour. l mus stopped, stopped at once. But how? Where was Moltke? Moltke had left the palace. An aide was sent off, with siren Screaming, to intercept him. He was brought back.
The Kaiser was himself again, the All-Highest, the War Lord, blazing with a new ldea, planning, proposing disposing. He read Moltke the telegram and said in triumph: "NowN We can go to war against Russia only, We simply march the whole of our Army to the Basti Aghast at the thought of his marvelous machinery of mobilization Wrenched into reverse, Moltke refused point-blank. For the pasl

day, every day? You go out sometimes to have a drink alone, no? Maybe you sometimes take a walk without her—to think, as you say. The Americans seem to do a great deal of thinking. And perhaps while you are thinking and having that drink, you look at another girl who passes, no? Maybe you even look up at that sky and feel your own blood in you? Or does everything stop when Hella comes? No drinks alone, no looks at other girls, no sky? Eh? Answer me."
"I've told you already that we're not married. But I don't seem to be able to make you understand anything at all this morning."
"But anyway—when Hella is here you do sometimes see other people—without Hella?"
"Of course."
"And does she make you tell her everything you have done while you were not with her?"
I sighed. I had lost control of the conversation somewhere along the line and I simply watned it to end. I drank my cognac too fast and it burned my throat. "Of course not."
"Well. You are a very charming and good-looking and civilized boy and, unless you are impotent, I do not see what she has to complain about, or what you have to worry about. To arrange, mon cher, la vie pratique, is very simple—it only has to be done." He reflected. "Sometimes things go wrong, I agree; then you have to arrange it another way. But it is certainly not the English melodrama you make it. Why, that way, life would simply be unbearable." He poured more cognac and grinned at me, as though he had solved all my problems. And there was something so artless in this smile that I had to smile back. Giovanni liked to believe that he was hard-headed and that I was not and that he was teaching me the stony facts of life. It was very important for him to feel this: it was because he knew, unwillingly, at the very bottom of this heart, that I, helplessly, at the very bottom of mine, resisted him with all my strength.

day, every day? You go out sometimes to have a drink Maybe you sometimes take a wallk without her—to hink, as you alone, no say. The Americans seem to do a great deal of thinking, And pet. haps while you are thinking and having that drink. Vovd pe other girl who passes, noʻ Maybe you even look that sky and up at feel your own blood in you? Or does everything stop when Hela comes? No drinks alone, no looks: at other girls, no sky? Eh? Answer me "
Tve told you already that we re not married. But I don'. to be able to make you understand anything at all this morning" "But anyway -when Hella is here you do sometimes see other people- without Hella?"
"Of course."
"And does she make you tell her everything you have done while you were not with her I sighed. I had lost control of the conversation somewhere alone the line and I simply wanted it to end. I drank my cognac too fast and it burned my throat. "Of course not."
Well. You are a very charming and good-looking and civilized boy and, unless you are impotent, I do not see what she has to complain about, or what you have to worry about. lo arrange, mon cher, la vie pratique, is very simple-it only has to be done." He reflected. "Sometimes things go wrong, I agree; then you naveu arrange it another way. But it is certainly not the English melodrama you make it. Why, that way, life would simply be unbearable." He poured more cognac and grinned at me, as though he had solved all my problems. And there was this smile that I had to smile back. Giovanni liked to believe that he something so artless in was hard-headed and that I was not and that he was teachins the stony facts of life. It was very important for him to feel this: it was because he knew, unwillingly, at the very bottom of his heart, that I, helplessly, at the very bottom of mine, resisted him with all my strength.

up the structure," and the logs would disengage, singly and in groups, and continue on their way down the river to the sawmill, to get sawed into lumber, to be built into more America — Weed was the only one innocent enough, without hidden plans, with no ambitions beyond surmounting what the day brought each time around, he just went lurching on happily into his new identity as a man of action, embracing it as only an abstract thinker would, with the heedless enthusiasm of some junior doper discovering a new psychedelic, enjoying the unqualified trust of all who came inside his radius. With him gone and the others scrambling after the greenbacks in Brock's safe, PR3 would fall apart.
"Never thought you'd try to hustle me like this, Brock."
"I didn't think you'd ever get into it with Atman, either," his voice just for the moment stressless, unprotected. "Plans change, I guess...."
She understood as clearly as she could allow herself to what Brock wanted her to do, understood at last, dismally, that she might even do it — not for him, unhappy fucker, but because she had lost just too much control, time was rushing all around her, these were rapids, and as far ahead as she could see it looked like Brock's stretch of the river, another stage, like sex, children, surgery, further into adulthood perilous and real, into the secret that life is soldiering, that soldiering includes death, that those soldiered for, not yet and often never in on the secret, are always, at every age, children. She came and lay next to him, but not touching. The storm held the city down like prey, trying repeatedly to sting it into paralysis. She lay on one elbow, unable to stop gazing at Brock, pretending to herself that it made some difference to him whether or not she and Weed were fucking... just as she had to pretend that Brock was not "really" what he looked like to everybody else — namely, the worst kind of self-obsessed collegiate dickhead, projected on into adult format — but that someplace, lost, stupefied, needing her intercession, was the "real" Brock, the endearing adolescent who would allow her to lead him stumbling out into light she imagined as sun plus sky, with an 85 filter in, returning him to the man he should have grown into... it could've been about the only way she knew to use the word love anymore,

up the structure," and the logs would disengage, singly and groups, and continue on their way down the river to the saw to get sawed into lumber, to be built into more America.
was the only one innocent enough, without hidden plans, with ambitions beyond surmounting what the day brought each ime around, he just went lurching on happily into his new Identity a man of action, embracing it as ony an abstract thinker wolA with the heedless enthusiasm of some junior doper discovering new psychedelic, enjoying the unqualified trust of all w inside his radius. With him gone and the others scranbling afe the greenbacks in Brock's safe, PR³ would fall apart Never thought you'd try to hustle me like this, Brock »
T didn't think you'd ever get into it with Atman, either" voice just for the moment stressless, unprotected. "Plans chane She understood as clearly as she could allow herself to whas I guess.
Brock wanted her to do, understood at last, dismally, that se might even do itnot for him, unhappy fucker, but because she had lost just too much control, tine was rushing all around he. these were rapids, and as far ahead as she could see it looked like Brock's stretch of the river, another stage, like sex, children, surfurther into adulthood perilous and real, into the secret that life is soldiering, that soldiering includes death, that those soldiered gery, for, not yet and often never in on the secret, are always, at every age, children. She came and lay next to him, but not touching The storm held the city down like prey, trying repeatedly to Sng it into paralysis. She lay on one elbow, unable to stop gazing a Brock, pretending to herself that it made some difference to him whether or not she and Weed were fucking... just as she had to pretend that Brock was not really" what he looked like to every body else– namely, the worst kind of self-obsessed.collegiate dickhead, projected on into adult format but that someplace, lost, stupefied, needing her intercession, was the real" Brock, the endearing adolescent who would allow her to lead him stumbling out into light she imagined as sun plus sky, with an 8s flter in, returning him to the man he should have grown into it could've been about the only way she knew to use the word love anymo
dut's daily recommended allowance of B cetus

its trivializing in those days already well begun, its magic fading, the subject of all that rock and roll, the simple resource we once thought would save us. Yet if there was anything left to believe, she must have in the power even of that weightless, daylit commodity of the sixties to redeem even Brock, amiably, stupidly brutal, fascist Brock.
At some point he must have gone drifting off to sleep, and she hadn't noticed. She watched over him, hers for a while, allowing herself to shudder with, even surrender to, her need for his bodily presence, his beauty, the fear at the base of her spine, the prurient ache in her hands... at last, so swept and helpless, she leaned in to whisper to him her heart's overflow, and saw in the half-light that what she'd thought were closed eyelids had been open all the time. He'd been watching her. She let out a short jolted scream. Brock started laughing.

is : trivializing in those days already well begun, its magic fading, nd in the subject of, all that rock and roll, the simple resource we once Weed thought would save us. Yet if there was anything left to believe, h no she must have in the power even of that weightless, daylit comtime modify of the sixties to redeem even Brock, amiably, stupidly ty as brutal, fascist Brock.
At some point he must have gone drifting off to sleep, and she hadn't noticed. She watched over him, hers for a while, allowing ng a came herself to shudder with, even surrender to, her need for his bodily presence, his beauty, the fear at the base of her spine, the prurient ater ache in her hands.. . at last, so swept and helpless, she leaned in m whisper to him her heart's overflow, and saw in the half-light that what she'd thought were closed eyelids had been open all the age, rime. He'd been watching her. She let out a short jolted scream. Brock started laughing.

Wenn ich nur wüßte, wie Sie sie ohne Krieg zu bewerkstelligen gedenken!«
»Und ich wüßte wahrhaftig gern, wann jemals ich den nationalen Krieg verdammt haben soll.«
»Ich höre doch wohl –«
»Nein, das muß ich Herrn Settembrini bestätigen«, mischte sich Hans Castorp in den Disput, dem er im Gehen gefolgt war, indem er den jeweils Sprechenden mit schrägem Kopfe aufmerksam von der Seite betrachtet hatte. »Mein Vetter und ich haben ja schon manchmal den Vorzug gehabt, uns mit ihm über diese und ähnliche Dinge zu unterhalten, das heißt, natürlich lief es darauf hinaus, daß wir ihm zuhörten, wie er seine Meinungen entwickelte und alles klarstellte. Und da kann ich denn bestätigen, und auch mein Vetter hier wird sich daran erinnern, daß Herr Settembrini mehr als einmal mit großer Begeisterung von dem Prinzip der Bewegung und der Rebellion und der Weltverbesserung sprach, das ja an sich kein so ganz friedliches Prinzip ist, sollte ich meinen, und daß diesem Prinzip noch große Anstrengungen bevorständen, ehe es überall gesiegt haben werde und die allgemeine glückliche Weltrepublik stattfinden könne. Das waren seine Worte, wenn sie auch natürlich viel plastischer und schriftstellerischer waren als meine, das versteht sich von selbst. Was ich aber ganz genau weiß und wörtlich behalten habe, weil ich als ausgepichter Zivilist direkt etwas darüber erschrak, das war, daß er sagte, dieser Tag werde, wenn nicht auf Taubenfüßen, so auf Adlerschwingen kommen (über die Adlerschwingen erschrak ich, wie ich mich erinnere), und Wien müsse aufs Haupt geschlagen sein, wenn man das Glück in die Wege leiten wolle. Man kann also nicht sagen, daß Herr Settembrini den Krieg überhaupt verworfen hat. Habe ich recht, Herr Settembrini?«
»Ungefähr«, sagte der Italiener kurz, indem er abgewandten Kopfes seinen Stock schwenkte.
»Schlimm«, lächelte Naphta häßlich. »Da sind Sie von Ihrem eigenen Schüler kriegerischer Neigungen überführt. Assument pennas ut aquilae...«

Wenn ich ur w0ßte, wie Sie sie ohne Krieg zu bewerkstellige sUnd ich worte wahrhaftig gern, wann jemals ich den nate gedenkenle nalen Krieg verdammt haben soll.e Nein, das muß ich Herrn Settembrini bestätigene, mischte Hch höre doch wohlsich Hans Castorp in den Disput, dem er im Gehen gefolgr wat, indem er den jeweils Sprechenden mit schrägem Kopfe auf merksam von der Seite betrachtet hatte. »
Mein Vetter und ich haben ja schon manchmal den Vorzug gehabt, uns mit ihm über diese und ähnliche Dinge zu unterhalten, das heißt, natürlich lhef es daraufhinaus, daß wir ihm zuhörten, wie er seine Meinungen entwickelte und alles klarstell te. Und da kann ich denn bestät gen, und auch mein Vetter hier wird sich daran erinnern, dak Herr Sattem brini mehr als einmal mit großer Begeisterung von dem Prinzip der Bewegung und der Rebellion und der Weltverbesserung sprach, das ja an sich kein so ganz friedliches Prinzip ist, sollte ich meinen, und daß diesem Prinzip noch große Anstrengungen bevorständen, che es überall gesiegt haben werde und die allgemeine glückliche Weltrepublik stattfinden könne. Das waren seine Worte, wenn s1ie auch natürlich viel plastischer und schriftstellerischer waren als meine, das versteht Sich von selbst. Was ich aber ganz genau weiß und wörtlich behalten habe, weil ich als ausgepichter Zivilist direkt etwas darüber erschrak, das war, daß er sagte, dieser Tag werde, wenn nicht auf Traubenfüßen, so auf Adlerschwingen kommen (über die Adler. schwingen erschrak ich, wie ich mich erinnere), und Wien müsse aufs Haupt geschlagen sein, wenn man das Glück in die Wege leiten wolle. Man kann also nicht sagen, daß Herr Settembrini den Krieg überhaupt verworfen hat. Habe ich recht, Hert Settembrini?«
»Ungefähra, sagte der Italiener kurz, indem er abgewandten Kopfes seinen Stock schwenkte.
»Schlimm«, lächelte Naphta häßlich. »Da sind Sie von ihrem eigenen Schüler kriegerischer Neigungen überführt. Assument pennas ut aquilae...«

words now taking cover under the manytongued talk of the restaurant. As we sit down a snatch of "Puppet on a String" is whistled jauntily under the right elbow of Marty Machovec, he plucks a phone from a pocket, clothes sternness with chewable Czech while the Eroica tweedles blithely this time aboard Danny didn't catch the last name, this is not a restaurant party with a lot of class. Danny's English is very good. He says: Yeah ... Yeah. There's a lot of noise here. Call you back in five. OK. We're sitting down. He says he'll be back in half a tick.
It is a meal of two halves. During the drinks, appetisers, half-way through entree half the mind is divided between provision of anodyne conversation and calculation of means of connecting the parental hand to a pen and the pen to a cheque and a student loan form. All this time the William Tell Overture, the Eroica, and "Puppet on a String" pop up like gophers in the blameless grassy plain of talk, and all this time, you see, there is a dark room in a corner of the mind where phonal fragments are pored over like scraps of the Dead Sea Scrolls.
If you go to Paris and talk to people they will often tell you they are passionate about le cinéma, which directors do you like, you say, and they say they love Woo Dee Al Lang and you are impressed and embarrassed because you have not seen that many Chinese films and this is a director you have never even heard of, you're embarrassed to mention Chen Kaige and Zhang Yimou and while you're trying to think of something to say that will show you're not just a butterfly something at the back of the brain says suddenly: Woody Allen! He likes Woody Allen! The guy was born in Tangiers, but he came to Paris when he was six; he's French. The French love Woody Allen, Allen complains about the fact that American audiences don't get him, the French love him, and this is a guy who's French. Ask him about Jerry Lewis, tell him you love The Nutty Professor, do it, do it, go on, I dare you, but you do the decent thing and merely engage in polite chitchat about Purple Rose of Cairo, Crimes and Misdemeanors and so on and so forth.

wonds now taking cover under the maytongued talk of the restaurant. As we sit down a snatch of "Puppet on a String" is whistled jauntily under the right elbow of Marty Machovec, he plucks a phone from a pocket, clothes sternness with chewable Czech while the Eroica tweedles blithely this time aboard Danny didn't t catch the last name, this is nota restaurant party with a lot of class. Danny's English is very good. He says: YeahYeah. There'ss lot ofnoise here. Call you back in five. OK. We're sitting down. He says he'll he back in halfa tick.
It is a meal of two halves. During the drinks, appetisers, half-wasy through entree halft the mind is divided between provision of anodyne conversation and calculation of 1 means of connecting the parental hand to a pen and the pen to a cheque and a student loan form. All this time the williams Tell Overture, the Eroica, and "Puppet on a String pop up like gophers in the blameless grassy plain of talk, and all this time, you see, there is a dark room where phonal fragments are pored over like scraps of in a corner the Dead Sea Scrolls.
If vou go to Paris and talk to people they will often tell you they are passionate about le cinéma, which directors do you like, you say, and they say they love Woo Dee Al Lang and you are impressed and embarrassed because you have not seen that many Chinese films and this is a director vou have never even heard of, you're embarrassed to mention Chen Paige and Zhang Yimou and while you're trying to think of something to say that will show you're not just a butterfly something at the back of the brain says suddenly: Woody Allen! He likes Woody Allen! The guy was born in tangiers, but he came to Paris when he was six; he's French. The French love Woody Allen, Allen complains about the fact that American audiences don't get him, the French love him, and this is a guy whos French. im about Jerry Lewis, tell him you love The Nutty Professor, do t, do it, go on, I dare you, but you do the decent thing and merely engage in polite chitchat about Purple Rose of Cairo, Crimes and Misdemeanors and so

high place. For a long while I could not get angry and I could feel the tears, like fire, coming up. I could not get my breath, I could not believe that he was really doing this to me. I kept saying, what have I done? And he would not answer and then he shouted, very loud, it was like a gun going off, "Mais tu le sais, salop! You know very well!" And nobody knew what he meant, but it was just as though he were back in the theatre lobby again, where we met, you remember? Everybody knew Guillaume was right and I was wrong, that I had done something awful. And he went to the cash register and took out some money—but I knew that he kew that there as not much money in the cash register at such an hour—and pushed it at me and said. "Take it! Take it! Better to give it to you than have you steal it from me at night! Now go!" And, oh, the faces in that bar, you should have seen them. They were so wise and tragic and they knew that now they knew everything, that they had always known it, and they were so glad that they had never had anything to do with me. "Ah! Les encules! The dirty sons of bitches! Les gonzesses!" He was weeping again, with rage this time. "Then, at last, I sruck him and then many hands grabbed me and now I hardly know what happened, but by and by I was in the street, with all these torn bills in my hand and everybody staring at me. I did not know what to do, I hated to walk away but I knew if anything mroe happened, the police would come and Guillaume would have me put in jail. But I will see him again, I swear it, and on that day—!"
He stopped and sat down, staring at the wall. Then he turned to me. He watched me for a long time, in silence. Then, "If you were not here,", he said, very slowly, "this would be the end of Giovanni."
I stood up. "Don't be silly," I said. "It's not so tragic as all that." I paused. "Guillaume's disgusting. They all are. But it's not the worst thing that ever happened to you. Is it?"
"Maybe everything bad that happens to you makes you

heh place. For a long while I could not get angry and I could feel he tears, like fre, coming up. I could not get my breath, I could what ot kelieve that he was really doing this to me. I kept saying, be I done? What have I done? And he would not answer and then ke shouted, very loud, it was like a gun going off, "Mais tu le sais, lop You know very wel!" And nobody knew what he meant, but it was just as though we were back in that theatre lobby again, where we met, you remember? Everybody knew that Guillaume Was right and I was wrong, that I had done something awful. And he went to the cash register and took out some moneybut I knew that he knew that there was not much money in the cash register at such an hour-and pushed it at me and said. "Take i! Take it! Better to give it to you than have you steal it from mne at night! Now go!" And, oh, the faces in that bar, you should have seen them. Ihey were so wise and tragic and they knew that now they knew rerything, that they had always known it, and they were so glad that they had never had anything to do with me. "Ah! Les encules! Ihe dirty sons of bitches! Les gonzesses!" He was weeping again, with rage this time. Then, at last, I struck him and then many hands grabbed me and now I hardly know what happened, but by and by I was in the street, with all these torn bills in my hand and Everybody staring at me. I did not know what to do, I hated to walk 2way but I knew if anything more happened, the police would come and Guillaume would have me put in jail. But I will see him again, I swear it, and on that day-!"
He stopped and sat down, staring at the wall. Then he turned to me. He watched me for a long time, in silence. Then, "If you were not here," he said, very slowly, this would be the end of Gio-
I stood up. "Don't be silly," I said. "It's not so tragic as all that." I paused. "Guillaume's disgusting. They all are. But it's not the worst thing that ever happened to you. Is it?"
"Maybe everything bad that happens

eyes back and forth, as if cutting together reverse shots of two actors. She had already been through a few of these what Hub called "exchanges of views." They ended with everybody screaming and throwing household items, edible and otherwise. She knew her parents liked to proceed backward, into events of the past, in particular the fifties, the anticommunist terror in Hollywood then, the conspiracy of silence up to the present day. Friends of Hub's had sold out friends of Sasha's, and vice versa, and both personally had suffered at the hands of the same son of a bitch more than once. To Sasha the blacklist period, with its complex court dances of fuckers and fuckees, thick with betrayal, destructiveness, cowardice, and lying, seemed only a continuation of the picture business as it had always been carried on, only now in political form. Everyone they knew had made up a different story, to make each of them come out looking better and others worse. "History in this town," Sasha muttered, "is no more worthy of respect than the average movie script, and it comes about in the same way — soon as there's one version of a story, suddenly it's anybody's pigeon. Parties you never heard of get to come in and change it. Characters and deeds get shifted around, heartfelt language gets pounded flat when it isn't just removed forever. By now the Hollywood fifties is this way-over-length, multitude-of-hands rewrite — except there's no sound, of course, nobody talks. It's a silent movie."
Bitter, probably, she had a right to be, but she'd learned to cover it with deliberate cool flippancy learned from watching Bette Davis movies, something Frenesi must have picked up on early because each time she happened to catch one on the Tube, she could often warp back into infant memories of a giant unfocused being holding her up at arms' length and booming lines like, "Well! You ahh — quitethelittlebundle, ahhn't you? Yes!" Laughing, delighted, enfolding her. No point having a sourpuss baby around the house.
Frenesi had absorbed politics all through her childhood, but later, seeing older movies on the Tube with her parents, making for the first time a connection between the far-off images and her real life, it seemed she had misunderstood everything, paying too

eres back and forth, as if cutting together reverse shots of two ROrs. She had already been through a few of these what Hub olled 'exchanges of views." They ended with everybody screaming and throwing household items, edible and otherwise. She knew her parents iked to proceed backward, into events of the past, in particular the Gfties, the anticommunist terror in Hollywood then, the conspiracy of silence up to the present day. Friends of Hub's Aad sold out friends of Sasha's, and vice versa, and both personally had suffered at the hands of the same son of a bitch more than once. To Sasha the blacklist period, with its complex court dances of fuckers and fuckers, thick with betrayal, destructiveness, cowardice, and lying, seemed only a continuation of the picture business as it had always been carried on, only now in political form. Everyone they knew had made up a different story, to make each of them come out looking better and others worse. "History in muttered, is no more worthy of respect than this town,"
the average movie script, and it comes about in the same way SOon as there's one version of a story, suddenly it's anybody's nigeon. Parties you never heard of get to come in and change it. Characters and deeds get shifted around, heartfelt language gets pounded flat when it isn't just removed forever. By now the Holirwood fifties is this way-over-length, multitude-of-hands rewrite -except there's no sound, of course, nobody talks. It's a silent movie."
Bitter, probably, she had a right to be, but she'd learned to cover it with deliberate cool flippancy learned from watching Bette Davis movies, something Frenesi must have picked up on early because each time she happened to catch one on the Tube, she could often warp back into infant memories of a giant unfocused being holding her up at arms' length and booming. lines like, "Wel! You ahh -quitethelittlebun dle, ahhn't you? Yes!" Laughing, delighted, enfolding her. No point having a sourpuss baby around Frenesi had absorbed politics all through her childhood, but later, seeing older movies on the Tube with her parents, making the house.
for the first time a connection between the far-off images and her real life, it scemed she had misunderstood everything, paying too

I grew up by Lake Van, you know, in what would be east Kurdistan if the western border of Turkey didn't get in the way. I don't regret the Turkish for a minute; once you know one Turkic language you can make yourself understood in all kinds of odd corners of the world. It comes in handy.
He said: We've a famous cat which you may have heard of. It's a long-haired white cat with mismatched eyes, one blue one yellow. They're clever animals. They can swim—they love the water! And they can be taught all sorts of tricks. I'll get you one if you like. They're wonderful companions.
The William Tell overture urges patriotic fervour. My father spoke in Farsi. I got some of it. He said charmingly to Marina: I worked as a shepherd as a boy, out on the hills—really a very primitive, nomadic childhood, something straight out of Theocritus! One heard the old heroic songs in the village and then one would sing them to the sheep on the hillside. And I spent hours reading up there, teaching myself all kinds of things.
The William Tell overture rejoices in the freedom of Switzerland. My father looked at the panel and declined the call. He said: I put myself through university—my father died when I was 12, so there wasn't a lot of money. I studied architecture by day—but by night I was a smuggler, going over the mountains into Iran on horseback! Four hours there, four hours back, smuggling carpets. It's the only way to learn about carpets, buying from the people who make them, people who are passionate about them.
These are not the reminiscences of a man who will easily part with a cheque for £1500 when there is no seduction to be smoothed. There is money, yes, but there are many former 29-year-olds. The taxi is here.
We meet three carpeteers and their companions at Langan's. I could not see an opening for getting an address, income, and signature on a form.
Two bars of the Eroica could be heard from a secret location on the person of Nicky D. A phone appeared in his hand. He bent his ear to the oracle. The softfooted Greek consonants sped into the mouthpiece, the mind thinks it knows this word and that word but they are celebrities avoiding the camera. We are shown to a table while Nicky hangs back, the soft swift

I grew up by Lake Van, you know, in what- would be east Kurdistan if fhe western border of Turkey didn't get in the way, I don't regret the Turkish fot a minute; once you know one Turkic language you can make yourself under. stood in all kinds of odd corners of the world. It comes in handy.
He said: We've a famous cat which you may have heard of. 1e's a long, haired white cat with mismatched eyes, one blue one yellow. They're dlerer animals. They can swim-they love the water! And they can be taught all sorts of tricks. I'll get you one if you like. They're wonderful companions, The William Tell overture urges patriotic fervour. My father spoke in (worked as a shepherd Farsi. I got some ofit. He said charmingly to Marina: I as a boy, out on the hills-really a very primitive, nomadic c childhood,Something straight out of Theocritus! One heard the old heroic songs in the vil. lage and then one would sing them to the sheep on the hillside. And I spent hours reading up there, teaching myself all kinds of things.
The William Tell overture rejoices in the freedom of Switzerland M. father looked at the panel and declined the call. He said: I put myselfthrough university-my father died when I was 12, so there wasn't a lot of money. I studied architecture by day-but by night I was a smuggler, going over the mountains into Iran on horseback! Four hours there, four hours back, smuggling carpets. It's the only way to learn about carpets, buying from the people who make them, people who are passionate about them.
These are not the reminiscences of a man who will easily part with a cheque for £1500 when there is no seduction to be smoothed. There is money, yes, but there are many former 29-year-olds. The taxi is here. We meet three carpeteers and their companions at Langan's. I could not see an opening for getting an address, income, and signature on a form. Two bars of the Eroica could be heard from a secret location on the person of Nicky D. A phone appeared in his hand. He bent his ear to the oracle. The softfooted Greek consonants sped into the mouthpiece, the mnu thinks it knows this word and that word but they are celebrities avoiding the camera. We are shown to a table while Nicky hangs back, the soft swift

rono Antonio a sangue e nessuno dei passanti, nessuno degli avventori, intervenne per aiutarlo.
Noi ragazzine ci dividemmo, su questo episodio. Gigliola Spagnuolo e Carmela Peluso parteggiarono per i due Solara, ma solo perché erano belli e avevano il Millecento. Io tentennai. In presenza delle mie due amiche propendevo per i Solara e facevamo la gara a chi li adorava di più, visto che effettivamente erano bellissimi e ci era impossibile non immaginarci la figura che avremmo fatto sedute accanto a uno di loro in automobile. Ma sentivo anche che quei due si erano comportati molto male con Ada e che Antonio, anche se non era una bellezza, anche se non era muscoloso come loro che andavano in palestra tutti i giorni a sollevare pesi, aveva avuto coraggio ad affrontarli. Perciò in presenza di Lila, che esprimeva senza mezzi termini quella mia stessa posizione, avanzavo anch'io qualche riserva.
Una volta la discussione diventò così accesa che Lila, forse perché non era sviluppata come noi e non conosceva il piacere-spavento di avere addosso lo sguardo dei Solara, diventò più pallida del solito e disse che, se le fosse successo quello che era successo a Ada, per evitare guai a suo padre e a suo fratello Rino ci avrebbe pensato di persona, a quei due.
«Tanto Marcello e Michele a te nemmeno ti guardano» disse Gigliola Spagnuolo, e pensammo che Lila si sarebbe arrabbiata. Invece rispose seria:
«Meglio così».
Era esile come sempre, ma tesa in ogni fibra. Le guardavo le mani meravigliata: in poco tempo le erano diventate come quelle di Rino, di suo padre, con la pelle dei polpastrelli gialliccia e spessa. Anche se nessuno la obbligava — non era quello il suo compito, nella bottega — s'era messa a fare lavoretti, preparava il filo, scuciva, incollava, anche orlava, e ora maneggiava gli strumenti di Fernando quasi come il fratello. Ecco perché di latino, quell'anno, non mi domandò mai niente. A un certo punto, invece, mi raccontò il progetto che aveva in

rono Antonio a sangue e nessuno dei passanti avventori, intervenne per aiutarlo.
Noi ragazzine ci dividemmo, su questo episodio. Rigida Spagnuolo e Carmela Peluso parteggiarono per i due Solara, ma solo perché erano belli e avevano il Millecento. Lo tentennat. In presenza delle mie due amiche propendevo per i Solara e face vamo la gara a chi li adorava di più, visto che effetivarmente erano bellissimi e ci era impossibile non immaginarci la argua che avremmo fatto sedute accanto a uno di loro in automobile Ma sentivo anche che quei due si erano comportati molto male con Adae che Antonio, anche se non era una bellezza, anchese non era muscoloso come loro che andavano in palestra tutti giorni a sollevare pesi, aveva avuto coraggio ad affrontari Perciò in presenza di Lila, che esprimeva senza mezzi termini quella nmia stessa posizione, avanzavo anch 'io qualche riserva.
Una volta la discussione diventò così accesa che Lila, forse perché non era sviluppata come noi e non conosceva il ni spavento di avere addosso lo sguardo dei Solara, diventò P pallida del solito e disse che, se le fosse successo quello che era successoa Ada, per evitare guai a suo padre e a suo fratello Rino ci avrebbe pensato di persona, a quei due.
«Tanto Marcello e Michele a te nemmeno ti guardano» dis se Gigliola Spagnuolo, e pensammo che Lila si sarebbe aab biata. Invece rispose seria:
«Meglio così».
Era esile come sempre, ma tesa in ogni fibra. Le guardavo le mani meravigliata: in poco tempo le erano diventate come quelle di Rino, di suo padre, con la pelle dei polpastrelli gu Iiccia e spessa. Anche se nessuno la obbligava — non era que il suo compito, nella bottega — s'era messa fare lavoretti, ptè parava il filo, scuciva, incollava, anche orlava, e ora maneggia va gli strumenti di Fernando quasi come il fratello. Ecco per ché di latino, quell'anno, non mi domandò mai niente. A un certo punto, invece, mi raccontò il progetto che aveva in

sur son bouclier, tandis qu'on se précipite et qu'on s'égorge à côté de lui ; détaché du groupe de ses camarades qui s'empressaient autour de Swann il semblait aussi résolu à se désintéresser de cette scène, qu'il suivait vaguement de ses yeux glauques et cruels, que si ç'eût été le massacre des Innocents ou le martyre de saint Jacques. Il semblait précisément appartenir à cette race disparue — ou qui peut-être n'exista jamais que dans le retable de San Zeno et les fresques des Eremitani où Swann l'avait approchée et où elle rêve encore — issue de la fécondation d'une statue antique par quelque modèle padouan du Maître ou quelque Saxon d'Albert Dürer. Et les mèches de ses cheveux roux crespelés par la nature, mais collés par la brillantine, étaient largement traitées comme elles sont dans la sculpture grecque qu'étudiait sans cesse le peintre de Mantoue, et qui, si dans la création elle ne figure que l'homme, sait du moins tirer de ses simples formes des richesses si variées et comme empruntées à toute la nature vivante, qu'une chevelure, par l'enroulement lisse et les becs aigus de ses boucles, ou dans la superposition du triple et fleurissant diadème de ses tresses, a l'air à la fois d'un paquet d'algues, d'une nichée de colombes, d'un bandeau de jacinthes et d'une torsade de serpents.
D'autres encore, colossaux aussi, se tenaient sur les degrés d'un escalier monumental que leur présence décorative et leur immobilité marmoréenne auraient pu faire nommer comme celui du Palais Ducal : « l'Escalier des Géants » et dans lequel Swann s'engagea avec la tristesse de penser qu'Odette ne l'avait jamais gravi. Ah ! avec quelle joie au contraire il eût grimpé les étages noirs, malodorants et casse-cou de la petite couturière retirée, dans le « cinquième » de laquelle il aurait été si heureux de payer plus cher qu'une avant-scène hebdomadaire à l'Opéra le droit de passer la soirée quand Odette y venait, et même les autres jours, pour pouvoir parler d'elle, vivre avec les gens qu'elle avait l'habitude de voir quand il n'était pas là, et qui à cause de cela lui paraissaient recéler, de la vie de sa maîtresse, quelque chose de plus réel, de plus inaccessible et de plus mystérieux. Tandis que dans cet escalier pestilentiel et désiré de l'ancienne couturière, comme il n'y en avait pas un second pour le service, on voyait le soir devant chaque porte une boîte au lait vide et sale préparée sur le paillasson, dans l'escalier magnifique et dédaigné que Swann montait à ce moment, d'un côté et de l'autre, à des hauteurs différentes, devant chaque anfractuosité que faisait dans le mur la fenêtre de la loge, ou la porte d'un

ar son bouclier. tandis qu'on se précipite et qu'on s'égorge à côté de ui; détaché du groupe de ses camarades qui s'empressaient Mtour de Swann, il semblait aussi résolu à se désintéresser de cette Rne qu 7 suivait vaguement de ses yeux glauques et cruels, que le massacre des Innocents ou le martyre de saint Jacques. I semblait précisément appartenir à cette race disparue ou qui utetre n'exista jamais que dans le retable de San Zeno et les iesques des Eremitani où Swann l'avait approchée et où elle rêve issue de la fécondation d'une statue antique par quelque modèle padouan du Maître ou quelque Saxon d'Albert Dürer. Et encore s mèches de ses cheveux roux crespelés par la nature, mais collés par la brillantine, étaient largement traitées comme elles sont dans sculpture grecque qu' 'étudiait sans cesse le peintre de Mantoue, et qui,. si dans la création elle ne figure que l'homme, sait du moins tirer de ses simples formes des richesses si variées et comme empruntées à toute la nature vivante, qu'une chevelure, par Enroulement lisse et les becs aigus de ses boucles, ou dans la superposition du triple et fleurissant diadème de ses tresses, a l'air à la fois d'un paquet d'algues, d'une nichée de colombes, d'un bandeau de jacinthes et d'une torsade de serpents.
D'autres encore, colossaux aussi, se tenaient sur les degrés d'un escalier monumental que leur présence décorative et leur immobilité marmoréenne auraient pu faire nommer comme celui du Palais ducal : « 1Escalier des Géants» et dans lequel Swann s'engagea avec la tristesse de penser qu'Odette ne l'avait jamais gravi. Ah ! 2vec quelle joie au contraire il eût grimpé les étages noirs, malodorants et casse-cou de la petite couturière retirée, dans le « cinquième » de laquelle il aurait été si heureux de payer plus 'une avant-scène hebdomadaire à l'Opéra le droit de passer cher qu'
la soirée quand Odette y venait, et même les autres jours, pour pouvoir parler d'elle, vivre avec les gens qu'elle avait l'habitude de voir quand il n'était pas là et qui à cause de cela lui paraissaient Tecéler, de la vie de sa maîtresse, quelque chose de plus réel, de plus inaccessible et de plus mystérieux. Tandis que dans cet escalier pestilentiel et désiré de l'ancienne couturière, comme il n'y en avait pas un second pour le service, on voyait le soir devant chaque porte une boite au lait vide et sale préparée sur le paillasson, dans l'escalier magnifique et dédaigné que Swann montait à ce moment, d'un côté et de l'autre, à des hauteurs différentes, devant chaque anfractuosité que faisait dans le mur la fenêtre de la loge ou la porte d'un

She sang at the Full Moon for the duration. Sometimes the boys and girls, instead of dancing, all came pressing close around the bandstand, and stood there, holding each other, swaying in time to the music. As if they were really listening. At first it made her nervous — why wouldn't they dance? whose idea was this rapt silent swaying? — but then she found it was helping her hear her way around the music. The last spring and summer of the war, San Francisco really began to whoop and holler, as troops came redeploying through town on the way to the Pacific, including Electrician's Mate Third Class Hubbell Gates, who was assigned to a long-hull Sumner-class destroyer brand-new out of the yards, which then steamed across the ocean to Okinawa just in time to get hit, in its first fifteen minutes of action, by a kamikaze, and had to put back into Pearl for refitting. By the time she was ready again, the war was about over, and Hub more than eager for some romance in his life.
"He listened to me," Sasha declared, "that was the amazing fact. He let me do my thinking out loud, first man ever did that." After a while her thoughts started falling into place. The injustices she had seen in the streets and fields, so many, too many times gone unanswered — she began to see them more directly, not as world history or anything too theoretical, but as humans, usually male, living here on the planet, often well within reach, committing these crimes, major and petty, one by one against other living humans. Maybe we all had to submit to History, she figured, maybe not — but refusing to take shit from some named and specified source — well, it might be a different story.
"She thought I was listening," Hub liked to put in at this point, "hell, I would have listened to her read the collected works of — what's his name? Trotsky! Sure, just to have some time with your mother. She thought I was some great political mind, and all's I was thinkin' was the usual sailor-on-liberty thoughts."
"Took me years to find out how completely I'd been fooled," Sasha nodding, mock-serious. "Toughest truth I ever had to face. Your father's never had a political cell in his system."
Smiling, "Will you listen to that? What a woman!"
Not for the first time, Frenesi found she'd been switching her

She sang at the Full Moon for the duration. Sometimes the beym and girls, instead of dancing, all came pressingg cose aaround the bandstand, and stood there, holding each other, swaying in time to the music. As if they were really listening. At 6rst it made her why wouldn't they dance? whose idea was his ra silent swaying? but then she found it was helping her hear bex nervous way around the music. The last spring and summer of he wat, San Francisco really began to whoop and holler, as troops came redeploying through town on the way to the Paacifc, inducing, Electrician's Mate Third Class Hubbell Gates, who was asSgped to a long-hull Sumner-class destroyer brand-new out of the yatôn, which then steamed across the ocean to Okinawa just in time to get hit, in its first fifteen minutes of action, by a kamikaze, and had to put back into Pearl for refitting. By the time she was ready again, the war was about over, and Hub more than eager tor some romance in his life.
He listened to me,"" Sasha declared, that was the amazing fact. He let me do my thinking out loud, first man ever did that » After a while her thoughts started falling into place. The injustices she had seen in the streets and fields, so many, too many times gone unanswered– she began to see them more directly, not as world history or anything too theoretical, but as humans, usually male, living here on the planet, often well within reach, commiting these crimes, major and petty, one by one against other living humans. Maybe we all had to submit to History, she figured, maybe not- but refusing to take shit from some named and specified source well, it might be a different story.
"She thought I was listening," Hub liked to put in at this point, "hell, I would have listened to her read the collected works of what's his name? Trotsky ! Sure, just to have some time with your mother. She thought I was some great political mind, and all's was thinking' was the usual sailor-on-liberty thoughts. look me years to find out how completely I'd been fooled, Sasha nodding, mock-serious. "Toughest truth I ever had to face. Your father's never had a political cell in his system." Smiling, Will you listen to that? What a woman!"
Not for the first time, Frenesi found she'd been switching her

der winzigen Tasche herausgekommen war; es schien aber niemandem aufgefallen zu sein.»
Pabst sah sie an und war beinahe glücklich. Er hätte sie sofort verlassen, wenn Louise ihn genommen hätte, aber da Louise ihn nicht wollte, blieb er und liebte sie sehr und wusste, dass es so besser war.
Er hatte Trude vor dreizehn Jahren im Haus seines Freundes Fritz Hennings, des schlechten Drehbuchautors, kennengelernt. Er war zum Abendessen gekommen, damals noch Regieassistent. Fritz' Cousine Gertrude war mit ihrem Mann gekommen, einem großen, backenbärtigen, freundlichen Herrn. Beim Essen hatte Pabst sie unverwandt angesehen, nicht absichtlich, denn er war Frauen gegenüber schüchtern, sondern weil er nicht anders konnte. Alle hatten es bemerkt, aber sie hatten getan, als bemerkten sie es nicht, auch ihr Mann, denn was hätte er sonst tun sollen; die Zeiten, in denen man einander zum Duell forderte, waren vorbei. Trude aber hatte mit ihren klaren dunklen Augen seinen Blick erwidert. Ihm war, als träumte er.
Sie hatten nicht miteinander gesprochen. Beim Abschied hatte er ihr einen Handkuss gegeben, ohne dass seine Lippen ihre Haut berührten, ganz wie man es ihm einst in der Tanzschule beigebracht hatte. Auf dem Heimweg durchs dunkle Berlin hatte er sich selbst davon überzeugt, dass er sich geirrt haben musste, sie konnte ihn nicht so angesehen haben, es war nicht möglich, solche Dinge geschahen nicht. Obwohl er etwas Opium rauchte und danach noch Cognac trank, war sein Schlaf unruhig und flackernd.

der winzigen Tasche herausgekommen war; es schien aber niemandem aufgefallen zu sein.
Pabst sah sie an und war beinahe dicklich.Er hlte sie sofort verlassen, wenn Louise ihn genommen hltte. aber da Louise ihn nicht wollte, blieb er und sehr und wusste, dass es so besser war, Rr hatte Trude vor dreizehn Jahren im Haus win Freundes Fritz Hennings, des schlechten Drehbyha tors, kennengelernt. Er war zum Abendessen gelkom men, damals noch Regieassistent. Fritz Cousine Get trude war mit ihrem Mann gekommen, einem großen backenbärtigen, freundlichen Herrn. Beim Essen hatle Pabst sie unverwandt angesehen, nicht absichtlich denn er war Frauen gegenüber schüchtern, sonders weil er nicht anders konnte. Alle hatten es bemerkt. aber sie hatten getan, als bemerkten sie es nicht, auch ihr Mann, denn was hätte er sonst tun sollen: die Zei ten, in denen man einander zum Duell forderte, waren vorbei. Trude aber hatte mit ihren klaren dunklen Augen seinen Blick erwidert. Ihm war, als träumte er. Sie hatten nicht miteinander gesprochen. Beim Abschied hatte er ihr einen Handkuss gegeben, ohne dass seine Lippen ihre Haut berührten, ganz wie man es ihm einst in der Tanzschule beigebracht hatte. Auf dem Heimweg durchs dunkle Berlin hatte er sich selbst davon überzeugt, dass er sich geirrt haben musste, sie konnte ihn nicht so angesehen haben, es war nicht môg lich, solche Dinge geschahen nicht. Obwohl er etwas Opium rauchte und danach noch Cognac trank, war sein Schlaf unruhig und flackernd.

ging, hatten wir tatsächlich unseren kanadischen Freund verloren, wir dachten nicht, ihn jemals wieder zu sehen, er war von seiner Kunst in einer Weise besessen gewesen, daß wir annehmen mußten, er könne diesen Zustand nicht mehr lange hinausschieben und werde in kurzer Zeit sterben. Aber zwei Jahre, nachdem wir mit ihm bei Horowitz studiert hatten, spielte Glenn bei den Salzburger Festspielen die Goldbergvariationen, die er zwei Jahre vorher mit uns am Mozarteum Tag und Nacht geübt und immer wieder einstudiert hatte. Die Zeitungen schrieben nach seinem Konzert, daß noch kein Pianist die Goldbergvariationen so kunstvoll gespielt habe, sie schrieben also nach seinem Salzburger Konzert das, was wir schon zwei Jahre vorher behauptet und gewußt hatten. Wir hatten uns mit Glenn nach seinem Konzert verabredet, im Ganshof in Maxglan, einem alten, von mir geliebten Gasthaus. Wir tranken Wasser und redeten nichts. Ohne zu Zögern hatte ich bei unserer Wiederbegegnung zu Glenn gesagt, daß wir, Wertheimer (der aus Wien nach Salzburg gekommen war) und ich, nicht einen Augenblick an ein Wiedersehen mit ihm, Glenn, geglaubt hätten, wir hätten immer nur den einzigen Gedanken gehabt, Glenn würde nach

hatten wir tatsächlich unseren kanadiging, schen Freund verloren, wir dachten nicht, ihn iemals wieder zu sehen, er war von seiner Kunst in einer Weise besessen gewesen, daß wir annehmen muten, er könne diesen Zustand nicht mehr lange hinausschieben und werde in kurzer Zeit sterben. Aber zwei Jahre. nachdem wir mit ihm bei Horowitz studiert hatten, spielte Glenn bei den Salzburger Festspielen die Goldbergvariationen, die er zwei Jahre vorher mit uns am Mozarteum Tag und Nacht geübt und immer wieder einstudiert hatte. Die Zeitungen schrieben nach seinem Konzert, daß noch kein Pianist die Goldbergvariationen so kunstvoll gespielt habe, sie schrieben also nach seinem Salzburger Konzert das, was wir schon zwei Jahre vorher behauptet und gewußt hatten. Wir hatten uns mit Glenn nach seinem Konzert verabredet, im Ganshof in Maxglan, einem alten, von mir geliebten Gasthaus. Wir tranken Wasser und redeten nichts. Ohne zu Zögern hatte ich bei unserer Wiederbegegnung zu Glenn gesagt, dals WIr, Wertheimer (der aus Wien nach Salzburg gekommen war) und ich, nicht einen Augenblick an ein Wiedersehen mit ihm, Glenn, geglaubt hätten. wir hätten immer nur den ein-
Zigen Gedanken gehabt, Gler

»Voltaire selbst hat den Zivilisationskrieg bejaht und Friedrich dem Zweiten den Krieg gegen die Türken empfohlen.«
»Statt dessen verbündete er sich mit ihnen, he, he. Und dann die Weltrepublik! Ich unterlasse es, mich zu erkundigen, was aus dem Prinzip der Bewegung und der Rebellion wird, wenn das Glück und die Vereinigung hergestellt sind. In diesem Augenblick würde die Rebellion zum Verbrechen...«
»Sie wissen sehr wohl, und auch diese jungen Herren wissen es, daß es sich um einen als unendlich gedachten Fortschritt der Menschheit handelt.«
»Alle Bewegung ist aber kreisförmig«, sagte Hans Castorp. »Im Raume und in der Zeit, das lehren die Gesetze von der Erhaltung der Masse und von der Periodizität. Mein Vetter und ich sprachen vorhin noch davon. Kann denn bei geschlossener Bewegung ohne Richtungsdauer von Fortschritt die Rede sein? Wenn ich abends so liege und den Zodiakus betrachte, das heißt: die Hälfte, die zu sehen ist, und an die alten weisen Völker denke...«
»Sie sollten nicht grübeln und träumen, Ingenieur«, unterbrach ihn Settembrini, »sondern sich entschlossen den Instinkten Ihrer Jahre und Ihrer Rasse anvertrauen, die Sie zur Tätigkeit drängen müssen. Auch Ihre naturwissenschaftliche Bildung muß Sie der Fortschrittsidee verbinden. Sie sehen in ungemessenen Zeiträumen das Leben vom Infusor zum Menschen sich fort- und emporentwickeln, Sie können nicht zweifeln, daß dem Menschen noch unendliche Vervollkommnungsmöglichkeiten offen stehen. Versteifen Sie sich denn aber auf die Mathematik, so führen Sie Ihren Kreislauf von Vollkommenheit zu Vollkommenheit und erquicken Sie sich an der Lehre unseres achtzehnten Jahrhunderts, daß der Mensch ursprünglich gut, glücklich und vollkommen war, daß nur die gesellschaftlichen Irrtümer ihn entstellt und verdorben haben, und daß er auf dem Wege kritischer Arbeit am Gesellschaftsbau wieder gut, glücklich und vollkommen werden soll, werden wird –«
»Herr Settembrini versäumt, hinzuzufügen«, fiel Naphta ein, »daß das Rousseau'sche Idyll eine vernünftlerische Verballhor-

1voltaire selbst hat den Zivilisationskrieg bejahe und Friedrich dem Zweiten den Krieg gegen die Türken empfohlen.
Statt dessen verbindete er sich mit ihnen, he, he Und dann de werepublik ch unterlasse es, mich zu erkundigen. was aus dem Prinzip der Bewegung und der Rebellion wird, wenn das Glück und die Vereinigung hergestellt sind. In diesem Augenblick würde die Rebellion zum Verbrechen.
Sie Wissen sehr wohl, und auch diese jungen Herren wissen daß es sich um einen als unendlich gedachten Fortschritt der Menschheit handelt Alle Bewegung ist aber kreisförmig«, sagte Hans Castorp.
»Im Raume und in der Zeit, das lehren die Gesetze von der Erhaltung der — Masse und von der Periodizität. Mein Vetter und ich sprachen vorhin noch davon. Kann denn bei geschlossener Bewegung ohne Richtungsdauer von Forts christ die Rede sein? Wenn ich abends so liege und den Zodiakus betrachte, das heißt: die Hälfte, die zu sehen ist, und an die alten weisen Völker denke.. .«
»
Sie sollten nicht grübeln und träumen, Ingenieur«, unterbrach ihn Settembrini, »sondern sich entschlossen den Instinkten Ihrer, Jahre e und Ihrer Rasse anvertrauen, die Sie zur Tätigkeit drängen müssen. Auch Ihre naturwissenschaftliche Bildung muß Sie der Fortschrittsidee e verbinden. Sie sehen in angemessenen Zeiträumen das Leben vom Infusor zum Menschen sich fort- und emporentwickeln, Sie können nicht zweifeln, daß dem Menschen noch unendliche Vervollkommnungsmöglichkeiten ofenstehen. Versteifen Sie sich denn aber auf die Mathematik. o fihren Sie Ihren Kreislauf von Vollkommenheit zu Vollkommenheit und erquicken Sie sich an der Lehre unseres achtzehnten jahrhunderts, daß der Mensch ursprünglich gut, glücklich und vollkommen war, daß nur die gesellschaftlichen Irrtümer ihn entstellt und verdorben haben und daß er auf denm Wege kritischer Arbeit am Gesellschaftsbau wieder gut, glücklich und vollkommen werden soll, werden wird -«
Herr Settembrini versäumt, hinzuzufügen«, fiel Naphta ein, daß das Rousseau'sche Idyll eine vernünftlerische Verballhorn-

mente, una cosa che non aveva nulla a che fare coi libri: stava cercando di convincere il padre a mettersi a fabbricare scarpe nuove. Ma Fernando non ne voleva sapere. «Fare le scarpe a mano» le diceva, «è un'arte senza futuro: oggi ci stanno le macchine e le macchine costano soldi e i soldi o stanno in banca o dagli usurai, non nelle tasche della famiglia Cerullo». Allora lei insisteva, lo riempiva di lodi sincere: «Come sai fare le scarpe tu, papà, non le sa fare nessuno». E lui rispondeva che, se anche era vero, ormai tutto si faceva nelle fabbriche, in serie, a basso costo, e poiché nelle fabbriche ci aveva lavorato, sapeva bene che schifezze finivano sul mercato; ma c'era poco da fare, la gente le volte che aveva bisogno di scarpe nuove non andava più dal ciabattino del rione, andava nei negozi del Rettifilo, sicché anche a voler fare a regola d'arte il prodotto artigianale, non lo vendevi, buttavi soldi e fatica, ti rovinavi.
Lila non s'era lasciata convincere e come al solito aveva tirato Rino dalla sua parte. Il fratello prima s'era schierato col padre, seccato dal fatto che lei mettesse bocca in cose di fatica, dove non era più questione di libri e l'esperto era lui. Poi s'era piano piano lasciato incantare e ora litigava con Fernando un giorno sì e uno no, ripetendo quello che gli aveva messo in testa lei.
«Facciamo almeno un tentativo».
«No».
«Hai visto l'automobile che hanno i Solara, hai visto come va bene la salumeria dei Carracci?».
«Ho visto che la merciaia che voleva fare la sartoria ci ha rinunciato e ho visto che Gorresio, per la stupidità del figlio, ha fatto il passo più lungo della gamba con la sua officina».
«Ma i Solara si stanno allargando sempre di più».
«Pensa ai fatti tuoi e lascia stare i Solara».
«Vicino alla ferrovia sta nascendo il rione nuovo».
«Chi se ne fotte».
«Papà, la gente guadagna e vuole spendere».

mente, una cosa che non aveva nulla a che fare coi libri: stava cercando di convincere il padre a mettersi a fabbricare scarpe nuove. Ma Fernando non ne voleva sapere. «Fare le scarpe a mano le diceva, «è un'arte senza tuturo: oggi ci stanno le macchine e len macchine costano soldi e i soldi o stanno in banca o dagli usurai, non nelle tasche della famiglia Ceruleo».
Allora lei insisteva, lo riempiva di lodi sincere: «Come sai fare le scarpe tu, papà, non le sa fare nessuno», E lui rispondeva che, se anche era vero, ormai tutto si faceva nelle fabbriche, in serie, a basso costo, e poiché nelle fabbriche ci aveva lavorato, sapeva bene che schifezze finivano sul mercato; macera poco da fare. gente le volte che aveva bisogno di scarpe nuove non andaa Diù dal ciabattino del rione, andava nei negozi del Rettifilo, sicché anche a voler fare a regola d'arte il prodotto artigianale, non lo vendevi, buttavi soldi e fatica, ti rovinavi.
Lila nons'era lasciata convincere e come al solito aveva tirato Rino dalla sua parte. I fratello prima s'era schierato col padre, seccato dal fatto che lei mettesse bocca in cose di fatica, dove non era più questione di libri e l'esperto era lui. Poi s'era piano piano lasciato incantare e ora litigava con Fernando un giorno si e uno no, ripetendo quello che gli aveva messo in testa lei.
«Facciamo almeno un tentativo».
«No».
«Hai visto I'automobile che hannoi Solara, hai visto come va bene la salumeria dei Carracci?».
«Ho Visto che la merciaia che voleva fare la sartoria ci ha rinunciato e ho visto che Gorresio, per la stupidità del figlio, ha fatto il passo più lungo della gamba con la sua officina». «Mai Solara si stanno allargando sempre di pi». 'ensa ai fatti tuoi e lascia stare i Solara».
«Vicino alla ferrovia sta nascendo il rione nuovo».
Papà, la gente guadagna e vuole spendere».

"No, Mother," he said. "No, no, no. We haven't decided anything."
"I promised Jonah—"
"Jonah's not buying the tickets. Jonah's not in charge here. So you make your plans, we'll make ours, and hopefully everything will work out."
Gary could hear, with strange clarity, the rustle of dissatisfaction from Enid's nostrils. He could hear the seashore of her respiration, and all at once he realized.
"Caroline?" he said. "Caroline, are you on the line?"
The breathing ceased.
"Caroline, are you eavesdropping? Are you on the line?"
He heard a faint electronic click, a spot of static.
"Mom, sorry—"
Enid: "What on earth?"
Unbelievable! Unfuckingbelievable! Gary dropped the receiver on his desk, unlocked the door, and ran down the hallway past a bedroom in which Aaron was standing at his mirror with his brow wrinkled and his head at the Flattering Angle, past the main staircase on which Caleb was clutching his catalogue like a Jehovah's Witness with a pamphlet, to the master bedroom where Caroline was curled up fetally on a Persian rug, in her muddy clothes, a frosty gelpack pressed into her lower back.
"Are you eavesdropping on me?"
Caroline shook her head weakly, perhaps hoping to suggest that she was too infirm to have reached the phone by the bed.
"Is that a no? You're saying no? You weren't listening?"
"No, Gary," she said in a tiny voice.
"I heard the click, I heard the breathing—"
"No."
"Caroline, there are three phones on this line, I've got two of them in my study, and the third one's right here. Hello?"
"I wasn't eavesdropping. I just picked up the phone—" She inhaled through gritted teeth. "To see if the line was free. That's all."
"And sat and listened! You were eavesdropping!' Like we've talked and talked and talked about not doing!"

"No, Mother," he said. "No, no, no. We haven't decided anything.
I promised Jonah "Jonah's not buying the tickets. Jonah's not in charge here. So Jou make your plans, we'll make ours, and hopefully everything will work out. "
Pay could hear, with strange clarity, the rustle of dissatisfaction from Enid's nostrils. He could hear the seashore of her respiration, and all at once he realized.
4Caroline?" he said. "Caroline, are you on the line?"
The breathing ceased.
"Caroline, are you eavesdropping? Are you on the line?"
He heard a faint electronic click, a spot of static.
"Mom, sorry-
Enid:
"What on earth?"
Unbelievable! Unfuckingbelievable! Gary dropped the receiver on his desk, unlocked the door, and ran down the hallway past a bedroom in which Aaron was standing at his mirror with his brow wrinkled and his head at the Flattering Angle, past the main staircase on which Caleb was clutching his catalogue like a Jehovah's Witness with a pamphlet, to the master bedroom where Caroline was curled up fatally on a Persian rug, in her muddy clothes, a frosty gelpack pressed into her lower back.
"Are you eavesdropping on me?"
Caroline shook her head weakly, perhaps hoping to suggest that she was too infirm to have reached the phone by the bed.
Is that a no? You're saving no? You weren't listening?" "No, Gary," she said in a tiny voice.
"I heard the click. I heard the breathing"
"Caroline, there are three phones on this line, I've got two of No."
them in my study, and the third one's right here. Hello?"
"I wasn't eavesdropping. I just picked up the phone She inhaled through gritted teeth. "To see if the line was free. That's all."
sat and listened! You were eavesdropping! Like we've tallked and talked and talked about not doing!"

kels, den beiden Zuhörern als eine dunkle, leidenschaftliche und wühlerische Existenz, als ein Rädelsführer und Verschwörer dar, und bei aller Achtung, deren sie sich höflicherweise befleißigten, gelang es ihnen nicht ganz, einen Ausdruck mißtrauischer Abneigung, ja des Widerwillens aus ihren Zügen zu verbannen. Freilich lagen die Dinge besonders: was sie hörten, war lange her, fast hundert Jahre, es war Geschichte, und aus der Geschichte, namentlich der alten, war ihnen das Wesen, von dem sie hier vernahmen, die Erscheinung verzweifelten Freiheitsmutes und unbeugsamen Tyrannenhasses theoretisch vertraut, obwohl sie nie gedacht hatten, so menschlich unmittelbar mit ihm in Berührung zu kommen. Auch hatte sich mit dem Aufrührer- und Konspirantentum dieses Großvaters, wie sie hörten, eine große Liebe zu seinem Vaterlande verbunden, das er einig und frei wissen wollte, – ja, sein umstürzlerisches Betreiben war Frucht und Ausfluß dieser achtbaren Verbundenheit gewesen, und wie sonderbar die Mischung von Aufrührerei und Patriotismus die Vettern, einen wie den andern, auch anmutete – denn sie waren gewohnt, vaterländische Gesinnung mit einem erhaltenden Ordnungssinn gleichzusetzen –, so mußten sie bei sich selber doch zugeben, daß, wie dort und damals alles sich verhalten hatte, Rebellion mit Bürgertugend und loyale Gesetztheit mit träger Gleichgültigkeit gegen das öffentliche Wesen mochte gleichbedeutend gewesen sein.
Aber nicht nur ein italienischer Patriot war Großvater Settembrini gewesen, sondern Mitbürger und Mitstreiter aller nach Freiheit dürstenden Völker. Denn nach dem Scheitern eines gewissen Hand- und Staatsstreichversuches, den man in Turin unternommen, und an dem er mit Wort und Tat beteiligt gewesen, nur mit genauer Not den Häschern des Fürsten Metternich entkommen, hatte er die Zeit seiner Verbannung dazu benutzt, in Spanien für die Konstitution und in Griechenland für die Unabhängigkeit des hellenischen Volkes zu kämpfen und zu bluten. Hier war Settembrinis Vater zur Welt gekommen, – weshalb er denn wohl auch ein so großer Humanist und Liebhaber des klassischen Altertums geworden war, – geboren übrigens von einer

kels, den beiden Zuhörern als eine dunkle, leidenschaftliche und wühlerische Existenz, als ein Rädelsführer und Verschwörer dar, und bei aller Achtung, deren sie sich höflicherweise beflei-
Bigten, gelang es ihnen nicht ganz, einen Ausdruck mißtrauischer Abneigung, ja des Widerwillens aus ihren Zügen zu verhannen. Freilich lagen die Dinge besonders: was sie hörten, war lange her, fast hundert Jahre, es war Geschichte, und aus der Geschichte, namentlich der alten, war ihnen das Wesen, von dem sie hier vernahmen, die Erscheinung verzweifelten Freites und unbeugsamen Tyrannenhasses theoretisch vertraut, obwohl sie nie gedacht hatten, so menschlich unmittelbar mit ihr in Berührung zu kommen. Auch hatte sich mit dem Aufährer- und Konspirantentum dieses Großvaters, wie sie höron eine große Liebe zu seinem Vaterlande verbunden, das er inio und frei wissen wollte, – ja, sein umstürzlerisches Betreiben war Frucht und Ausflug dieser achtbaren Verbundenheit gewesen, und wie sonderbar die Mischung von Aufrührerei und Patriotismus die Vettern, einen wie den andern, auch anmutete denn sie waren gewohnt, vaterländische Gesinnung mit einem erhaltenden Ordnungssinn gleichzusetzen -, so muten sie bei sich selber doch zugeben, daß, wie dort und damals alles sich verhalten hatte, Rebellion mit Bürgertugend und loyale Gesetztheit mit träger Gleichgültigkeit gegen das öffentliche Wesen mochte gleichbedeutend gewesen sein.
Aber nicht nur ein italienischer Patriot war Großvater Settembrini gewesen, sondern Mitbürger und Mitstreiter aller nach reinheit dürstenden Völker. Denn nach dem Scheitern enes ge-
Wissen Hand- und Staatsstreichversuches, den man in Turin unternommen und an dem er mit Wort und Tat beteiligt gewesen, mit genauer Not den Häschern des Fürsten Metternich entkommen, hatte er die Zeit seiner Verbannung dazu benutzt, in Spanien für die Konstitution und in Griechenland für die Unabhängigkeit des hellenischen Volkes zu kämpfen und zu bluten. Hier wa Settembrini's Vater zur Welt gekommen, – weshalb er denn wohl auch ein so großer Humanist und Liebhaber des klas-
Siechen Altertums geworden war, – geboren übrigens von einer

«Mantenere significa mantenere. Chi paga, scusa, quando Lina va dal parrucchiere, quando si compra i vestiti e le borse? Chi ha messo i soldi nella calzoleria per far giocare lo scarparo a fare il fabbricante di scarpe?».
«Cioè tu stai dicendo che Lina non si è innamorata, non s'è fidanzata, non si sposerà presto con Stefano, ma si è venduta?».
Restammo tutti zitti. Antonio borbottò:
«Ma no, Enzo: Pasquale non vuole dire questo; lo sai che vuole bene a Lina come le vogliamo bene tutti quanti noi».
Enzo gli fece cenno di tacere.
«Statti zitto, Anto', fa' rispondere a Pasquale».
Pasquale disse cupo:
«Sì, si è venduta. E se n'è fottuta della puzza dei soldi che ogni giorno spende».
Provai di nuovo a dire la mia, a quel punto, ma Enzo mi toccò un braccio.
«Scusa, Lenù, voglio sapere Pasquale come la chiama una femmina che si vende».
Qui Pasquale ebbe uno scatto di violenza che gli leggemmo tutti negli occhi e disse quello che da mesi aveva in mente di dire, di urlare a tutto il rione:
«Zoccola, la chiamo zoccola. Lina si è comportata e si sta comportando da zoccola».
Enzo si alzò e disse quasi a bassa voce:
«Vieni fuori».
Antonio balzò su, trattenne per un braccio Pasquale che voleva alzarsi, disse:
«Mo' non esageriamo, Enzo. Pasquale sta solo dicendo una cosa che non è un'accusa, è una critica che ci sentiamo di fare tutti».
Enzo ripose, questa volta a voce alta:
«Io no». E andò verso l'uscita scandendo: «Vi aspetto fuori tutte due».
Impedimmo a Pasquale e Antonio di seguirlo, non successe

«Mantenere significa mantenere. Chi paga, scusa, quando Lina va đal I parrucchiere, quando si compra i vestiti e le borse? Chi jha messoi soldi nella calzoleria per far giocare lo scarpaio fare il fabbricante di scarpe?».
«Cioè tu stai dicendo che Lina non si è innamorata, non sè idanzata, non si sposerà presto con Stefano, ma si è venduta?».
Restammo tutti zitti. Antonio borbottò:
«Ma no, Enzo: Pasquale non vuole dire questo; lo sai che vole bene a Lina come le Vogliamo bene tutti quanti noi».
Enzo gli fece cenno di tacere.
«Statti zitto, Anto', fa' rispondere a Pasquale».
Pasquale disse cupo:
«Si, si è venduta. E se n'è fottuta della puzza dei soldi che ogni giorno spende», Provai di nuovo a dire la mia, a quel punto, ma Enzo mi toccò un braccio.
«Scusa, Lenù, voglio sapere Pasquale come la chiama una femmina che si vende».
Oui Pasquale ebbe uno scatto di violenza che gli leggemmo utti negli occhi e disse quello che da mesi aveva in mente di dire, di urlare a tutto il rione:; occola, la chiamo zoccola. Lina si è comportata e si sta comportando da zoccola.
Enzo si alzò e disse quasi a bassa voce:
«Vieni fuori».
Antonio balzò su, trattenne per un braccio Pasquale che voleva alzarsi, disse:
«Mo' non esageriamo, Enzo. Pasquale sta solo dicendo una COsa che non è un'accusa, è una critica che ci sentiamo di fare tutti», Enzo ripose, questa volta a voce alta:
lo no», E andò verso l'uscita scandendo:
«Vi aspetto fuori tutt'e due».
Impedimmo a Pasquale e Antonio di seguirlo, non successe

of triumph to receive a telegram from "Papa William" awarding him, like Rupprecht, the Iron Cross. First and Second Class. The telegram was handed around among the staff to be read by all. Soon the Prince would be handing out medals himself, in a "dazzling white tunic," as an admirer describes him later in the war, walking between two lines of soldiers distributing Iron Crosses from a basket carried by an aide. By that time, an Austrian ally would report, the Iron Cross, Second Class, could only be avoided by committing suicide. Today the "hero of Longwy," as he was soon to be acclaimed, had won glory equal to Rupprecht's; and if, amid the adulation, the ghost of Schlieffen grumbled at "ordinary frontal victories" without envelopment or annihilation or muttered scornful references to a "wild hunt for medals," no one heard him.
Meanwhile on the Sambre. Lanrezac's Fifth Army had been ordered to attack across the river and, "resting on the fortress of Namur," with its left passing by Charleroi, was to take as its objective the enemy "northern group." One corps of the Fifth Army was to be held in the angle of the rivers to protect the line of the Meuse against a German attack from the east. Although Joffre had no authority to command the British, his order requested Sir John French "to cooperate in this action" by advancing "in the general direction of Soignies," that is, across the Mons Canal. The canal is an extension of the Sambre which carries navigation to the Channel by way of the Scheldt. It formed part of a continuous waterway, made by the Sambre from Namur to Charleroi and by the canal from Charleroi to the Scheldt, which lay across the path of the German right wing.
According to the German timetable, von Kluck's Army was to reach the water barrier by August 23, while Bülow's Army, which would have to reduce Namur on the way, would reach it earlier and be across it at about the same time.
According to the British timetable laid down by Sir John French's marching orders, the BEF would also reach the canal on the 23rd, the same day as the Germans. Neither army was yet aware of the coincidence. The heads of the British columns were scheduled to reach the line earlier, that is, by the night of the 22nd. On the 21st, the day Lan-

of triumph to receive a telegram from "Papa William" awarding him.
like Rupprecht, the Iron Cross, First and Second Class. The telegram handed around among the stafl T t to be read by all. Soon the Prince nould be handing out medals himself. in a "dazzling white tunic," as an admirer describes him later in the war, walking between two lines of soldiers s distributing Iron Crosses from a basket carried by an aide. Ry that time, an Austrian ally would report, the Iron Cross. Second Oass. could only be avoided by committing suicide. Today the "hero of Longwy. " as he was soon to be e acclaimed. had won glory equal to Rupnrecht's; and if. amid the adulation, the ghost of Schlieffen grumbled at "ordinary frontal victories" without envelopment or annihilation or muttered scornful references to a "wild hunt for medals," no one heard him.
Meanwhile on the Sambre, Lanrezac's Fifth Army had been ordered to attack across the river and. "resting on the fortress of Namur." with its left passing by Charleroi, was to take as its objective the enemy "northern group." One corps of the Fifth Army was to be held in the angle of the rivers to protect the line of the Meuse against German attack from the east. Although Joffre had no authority to command the British, his order requested Sir John French "to cooperate in this action" by advancing "in the general direction of Soignies," that is, across the Mons Canal. The canal is an extension of the Sambre which carries navigation to the Channel by way of the Scheldt. It formed part of a continu-
Ous waterway, made by the Sambre from Namur to Charleroi and by the canal from Charleroi to the Scheldt, which lay across the path of the German right wing.
According to the German timetable, von Kluck's Army was to reach Lhe water barrier by August 23, while Bülow's Army, which would have to reduce Namur on the wav, would reach it earlier and be across It at about the same time.
According to the British timetable laid down by Sir John French's marching orders, the BEF would also reach the canal on the 23rd, the Ddme day as the Germans. Neither army was yet aware of the coincidence. The heads of the British columns were scheduled to reach the line earlier. that is, by the night of the 22nd. On the 2 Ist, the day Lan-

Napoleon habe ihn und Bonpland immer gehaßt, weil dreihundert seiner Wissenschaftler in Ägypten weniger ausgerichtet hätten als sie beide in Südamerika. Nach ihrer Rückkehr seien sie monatelang Stadtgespräch gewesen. Napoleon sei das gar nicht recht gewesen. Duprés habe einige sehr schöne Reminiszenzen dieser Zeit in Humboldt – Grand voyageur aufgenommen. Ein Buch, das den Fakten geringere Gewalt antue als etwa Wilsons Scientist and Traveller: My Journeys with Count Humboldt in Central America.
Eugen fragte, was aus Herrn Bonpland geworden sei. Man sah ihm an, daß er nicht gut geschlafen hatte. Gemeinsam mit zwei Dienstboten hatte er in einer stickigen Kammer im Nebenhaus übernachten müssen. Er hatte nicht gewußt, daß Menschen so laut schnarchen konnten.
Bei seiner einzigen Audienz, erzählte Humboldt, habe der Kaiser ihn gefragt, ob er Pflanzen sammle. Er habe bejaht, der Kaiser habe gesagt, ganz wie seine Frau, und sich brüsk abgewandt.
Seinetwegen, sagte Gauß, habe Bonaparte auf den Beschuß Göttingens verzichtet.
Das habe er gehört, sagte Humboldt, aber er bezweifle das, es habe wohl eher strategische Gründe gehabt. Wie auch immer, später habe Napoleon ihn als preußischen Spion aus dem Land weisen wollen. Die gesamte Akademie habe sich zusammentun müssen, um es zu verhindern. Dabei habe er niemanden – Humboldt warf dem Sekretär einen Blick zu, der schlug sofort den Schreibblock auf –, dabei habe er niemanden aushorchen wollen außer der Natur, habe keine anderen Geheimnisse ge-

oon habe ihn und Bonpland immer gehaßt, weil ibundert seiner Wissenschaftler in Ägypten weniger ausgerichter hätten als sie beide in Südamerika. Nach knr Rückkehr seien sie monatelang Stadtgespräch gewesen. Napoleon sei das gar nicht recht gewesen. Dunmés habe einige sehr schöne Reminiszenzen dieser Zeit n Humboldt — Grand voyageur aufgenommen. Ein Buch, das den Fakten geringere Gewalt antue als etwa Wilsons Saentist and Tiaveller: My Journeys with Count Humboldt in Central America.
Eugen fragte, was aus Herrn Bonpland geworden sei. Man sah ihm an, daß er nicht gut geschlafen hatte. Gemeinsam mit zwei Dienstboten hatte er in einer stickigen Kammer im Nebenhaus übernachten müssen. Er hatte nicht gewußt, daß Menschen so laut schnarchen konnten.
Bei seiner einzigen Audienz, erzählte Humboldt, habe der Kaiser ihn gefragt, ob er Pflanzen sammle. Er habe bejaht, der Kaiser habe gesagt, ganz wie seine Frau, und sich brüsk abgewandt.
Deinetwegen, sagte Gauß, habe Bonaparte auf den Beschuß Göttingens verzichtet.
Das habe er gehört, sagte Humboldt, aber er bezweifle das, es habe wohl eher strategische Gründe gehabt. Wie auch immer, später habe Napoleon ihn als preußischen spion aus dem Land weisen wollen. Die gesamte Akademie habe sich Zusammentun müssen, um es zu verhindern. Dabei habe er niemanden – Humboldt warf dem Dekreär einen Blick zu, der schlug sofort den Schreibblock auf, dabei habe er niemanden aushorchen wollen außer der Natur, habe keine anderen Geheimnisse ge-

Herrin gesetzt, woraus viel Rennerei und Tumult entstanden war, besonders, da man Madame Capatsoulias nicht allein, sondern in Gesellschaft des Assessors Düstmund aus Friedrichshagen gefunden habe. Selbst Dr. Blumenkohl mußte lächeln über diese Geschichte, die hübsche Marusja wollte in ihrem Orangentüchlein fast ersticken, und Frau Stöhr schrie gellend, indem sie die linke Brust mit beiden Händen preßte.
Aber mit den Vettern sprach Lodovico Settembrini auch von sich selbst und seiner Herkunft, sei es auf den Spaziergängen, gelegentlich der Abendgeselligkeit oder nach beendetem Mittagstisch, wenn die große Mehrzahl der Patienten den Saal schon verlassen hatte und die drei Herren noch eine Weile an ihrem Tafelende sitzenblieben, während die Saaltöchter abräumten und Hans Castorp seine Maria Mancini rauchte, deren Würze er in der dritten Woche wieder ein wenig zu schmecken begann. Aufmerksam prüfend, befremdet, aber willig sich beeinflussen zu lassen, hörte er den Erzählungen des Italieners zu, die ihm eine sonderbare, durchaus neuartige Welt eröffneten.
Settembrini sprach von seinem Großvater, der zu Mailand Advokat, hauptsächlich aber ein großer Patriot gewesen und etwas wie einen politischen Agitator, Redner und Zeitschriften-Mitarbeiter vorgestellt hatte, – auch er ein Oppositionsmann, gleich dem Enkel, doch hatte er das Ding in größerem, kühnerem Stile betrieben. Denn während Lodovico, wie er selber mit Bitterkeit bemerkte, sich darauf angewiesen fand, das Leben und Treiben im Internationalen Sanatorium ›Berghof‹ zu hecheln, höhnische Kritik daran zu üben und im Namen einer schönen und tatfrohen Menschlichkeit Verwahrung dagegen einzulegen, hatte jener den Regierungen zu schaffen gemacht, gegen Österreich und die Heilige Allianz konspiriert, die damals sein zerstückeltes Vaterland im Banne dumpfer Knechtschaft gehalten hatten, und war eifriges Mitglied gewisser, über Italien verbreiteter geheimer Gesellschaften gewesen, – ein Carbonaro, wie Settembrini mit plötzlich gesenkter Stimme erklärte, als sei es auch jetzt noch gefährlich, davon zu sprechen. Kurz, dieser Giuseppe Settembrini stellte sich, nach den Erzählungen des En-

Herrin gesetzt, woraus viel Rennerei und Tumult entstanden war, besonders, da man Madarme Kapatsoulias nicht allein, sondern in Gesellschaft des Assessors Düstmund aus Friedrichshafen gefunden habe. Selbst Dr. 1 Blumenkohl mußBte lächeln über diese Geschichte, die hübsche Marusja wollte i in ihrem Orangentüchlein fast ersticken, und Frau Stör schrie gelend, indem sie die linke Brust mit beiden Händen preßte.
Aber mit den Vettern sprach Lodovico Settembrini auch von sich selbst und seiner Herkunft, sei es auf den Spaziergängen, gelegentlich der Abendgeselligkeit oder nach beendetem Mittagstisch, wenn dic große Mehrzahl der Patienten den Saal schon verlassen hatte und die drei Herren noch eine Weile an ihrem Tafelende sitzen blicben, während die Saaltöchter abräumten und Hans Castorp seine Maria Mancini rauchte. deren Würze er in der dritten Woche wieder ein wenig zu schmecken begann Aufmerksam prüfend, befremdet, aber willig, sich beeinflussen zu lassen, hörte er den Erzählungen des Italieners zu, die ihm eine sonderbare, durchaus neuartige Welt eröffneten.
Settembrini sprach von seinem Großvater, der zu Mailand Advokat, hauptsächlich aber ein großer Patriot gewesen und etwas wie cinen politischen Agitator, Redner und Zeitschriften-
Mitarbeiter vorgestellt hatte, – auch er ein Oppositionsmann, gleich dem Enkel, doch hatte er das Ding in größerem, kühnerem Stile betrieben. Denn während Lodovico, wie er selber mit Bitterkeit bemerkte, sich darauf angewiesen fand, das Leben und Treiben im Internationalen Sanatorium »Berghof zu he cheln, höhnische Kritik daran zu üben und im Namen enet schönen und tatfrohen Menschlichkeit Verwahrung dag°gu einzulegen, hatte jener den Regierungen zu schaffen gemacht, gegen Osterreich und die Heilige Allianz konspiriert, die damals sein zerstückeltes Vaterland im Banne dumpfer Knechtschaft gehalten hatten, und war eifriges Mitglied gewisser, über Italien verbreiteter geheimer Gesellschaften gewesen, – ein Carbonaro, wie Settembrini mit plötzlich gesenkter Stimme erklärte, als sei es auch jetzt noch gefährlich, davon zu sprechen. Kurz, dieser Giuseppe Settembrini stellte sich, nach c des Enden Erzählungen des

Der Bote gab zu bedenken, daß der Herzog es nicht gewohnt sei, seine Gastfreundschaft mit Grobheit erwidert zu sehen.
Welche Gastfreundschaft, fragte Pilâtre. Er habe für seine Unterkunft bezahlt, und allein die Vorbereitung des Ballons würde ihn zwei Reisetage kosten.
Vielleicht könne man in Frankreich so mit der Obrigkeit sprechen, sagte der Bote, dort sei ja allerhand möglich. In Braunschweig aber solle er sich gut überlegen, ihn mit solch einer Antwort zurückzusenden.
Pilâtre fügte sich. Er hätte es wissen müssen, sagte er müde, in Hannover sei das gleiche passiert, in Bayern ebenso. Er werde also in Christi Namen morgen nachmittag vor den Toren dieser dreckigen Stadt in die Luft steigen.
Am nächsten Morgen klopfte jemand an seine Tür. Ein Junge stand draußen, sah mit aufmerksamen Augen zu ihm auf und fragte, ob er mitfliegen dürfe.
Mitfahren, sagte Pilâtre. Mit dem Ballon fahre man. Man sage nicht fliegen, sondern fahren. So sei es Sitte unter Ballonleuten.
Welchen Ballonleuten?
Er sei der erste, sagte Pilâtre, und er habe es so verfügt. Und nein, natürlich könne keiner mitfahren. Er tätschelte ihm die Wange und wollte die Tür schließen.
Das sei sonst nicht seine Art, sagte der Junge und wischte sich die Nase mit dem Handrücken ab. Aber sein Name sei Gauß, er sei nicht unbekannt, und in Kürze werde er so große Entdeckungen machen wie Isaac Newton. Das sage er nicht aus Eitelkeit, sondern weil die Zeit knapp und es nötig sei, daß er an dem Flug teilnehme.

Der Bote gab zu bedenken, daß der Herzog es nicht gewohnt sei, seine Gastfreundschaft mit Grobheit erwidert zu sehen.
Welche Gastfreundschaft, fragte Pilgre. Er habe &. seine Unterkunft bezahlt, und allein die Vorbereitung des Ballons würde ihn zwei Reisetage kosten. Vielleicht könne man in Frankreich so mit der Obrio. keit sprechen, sagte der Bote, dort sei ja allerhand möp. lich. In Braunschweig aber solle er sich gut überlegen, ihn mit solch einer Antwort zurückzusenden. Pilâtre fügte sich. Er hätte es wissen müssen, sagte er müde, in Hannover sei das gleiche passiert, in Bayern ebenso. Er werde also in Christi Namen morgen nachmittag vor den Toren dieser dreckigen Stadt in die Luft steigen.
Am nächsten Morgen klopfte jemand an seine Tür. Ein Junge stand draußen, sabh mit aufmerksamen Augen zu ihm auf und fragte, ob er mitfliegen dürfe. Mitfahren, sagte Pilâtre. Mit dem Ballon fahre man. Man sage nicht liegen, sondern fahren. So sei es Sitte unter Ballonleuten.
Welchen Ballonleuten?
Er sei der erste, sagte Pilâtre, und er habe es so verfüg Und nein, natürlich könne keiner mitfahren. Er tätschelte ihm die Wange und wollte die Tür schließen.
Das sei sonst nicht seine Art, sagte der Jungs wischte sich die Nase mit dem Handrücken ab. Aber sein Name sei Gauß, er sei nicht unbekannt, und in Kürze werde er sO große Entdeckungen machen wie Isaac N ton. Das sage er nicht aus Eitelkeit, sondern weil die Zeit knapp und es nötig sei, daß er an dem Flug teilnehme.

Gary followed her and caught her by the elbow. She turned around, startled.
"Listen, Merilee," he said in a low voice, as if to say, Let's be realistic now, we adults can dispense with the nicey-nice crap. "I'm glad you think my dad's a 'good story.' And it's very generous of you to give him five thousand dollars. But I believe you need us more than we need you."
Finch waved to somebody and held up one finger; she would be there in one second. "Actually," she said to Gary, "we don't need you at all. So I'm not sure what you're saying."
"My family wants to buy five thousand shares of your offering."
Finch laughed like an executive with an eighty-hour work week. "So does everybody in this room," she said. "That's why we have investment bankers. If you'll excuse me—"
She broke free and got away. Gary, in the crush of bodies, was having trouble breathing. He was furious with himself for having begged, furious for having let Denise attend this road show, furious for being a Lambert. He strode toward the nearest exit without waiting for Denise, who hurried after him.
Between the Four Seasons and the neighboring office tower was a corporate courtyard so lavishly planted and flawlessly maintained that it might have been pixels in a cybershopping paradise. The two Lamberts were crossing the courtyard when Gary's anger found a fault through which to vent itself. He said, "I don't know where the hell you think Dad's going to stay if he comes out here."
"Partly with you, partly with me," Denise said.
"You're never home," he said. "And Dad's on record as not wanting to be at my house for more than forty-eight hours."
"This wouldn't be like last Christmas," Denise said. "Trust me. The impression I got on Saturday—"
"Plus how's he going to get out to Schwenksville twice a week?"
"Gary, what are you saying? Do you not want this to happen?"
Two office workers, seeing angry parties bearing down, stood up and vacated a marble bench. Denise perched on the bench and folded her arms intransigently. Gary paced in a tight circle, his hands on his hips.

Gary followed her and caught her by the elbow. She turned around, startled.
"Listen, Merilee," he said in a low voice, as if to say, Let's be rea istic now, we adults can dispense with the nicey-nice crap. "T'm glad you think my dad's a 'good story.' And it's very generous of f you to give him fve thousand dollars. But I believe you need us more than we need you."
Finch waved to somebody and held up one finger; she would he there in one second. "Actually," she said to Gary, "we don't need vom at all. So I'm not sure what you're saying."
"My family wants to buy five thousand shares of your offering Finch laughed like an executive with an eighty-hour work week "So does everybody in this room," she said. "That's why we have investment bankers. If youll excuse me-
She broke free and got away. Gary, in the crush of bodies, was having trouble breathing. He was furious with himself for having begged, furious for having let Denise attend this road show, furious for being a Lambert. He strode toward the nearest exit without waiting for Denise, who hurried after him.
Between the Four Seasons and the neighboring office tower was a corporate courtyard so lavishly planted and flawlessly maintained that it might have been pixels in a cybershopping paradise. The two Lambert were crossing the courtyard when Gary's anger found a fault through which to vent itself. He said, "I don't know where the hell you think Dad's going to stay if he comes out here."
"Partly with you, partly with me," Denise said.
"You're never home," he said. "And Dad's on record as not wanting to be at my house for more than forty-eight hours.
This wouldn't be like last Christmas." Denise said. Trust me. The impression I got on Saturday-"
"Plus how's he going to get out to SchwenkSville twice a week "Gary, what are you saying? Do you not want this to happen:
Iwo office workers, seeing angry parties bearing down, stood up and vacated a marble bench. Denise perched on the bench and toldeu her arms intransigently. Gary Daced in a ight circle, his hands on i hips.

Elle répéta comme une leçon, sur un ton ironique, et comme si elle voulait se débarrasser de lui :
« Je n'ai jamais fait ce genre de choses avec aucune femme.
— Peux-tu me le jurer sur ta médaille de Notre-Dame de Laghet ? »
Swann savait qu'Odette ne se parjurerait pas sur cette médaille-là.
« Oh ! que tu me rends malheureuse », s'écria-t-elle en se dérobant par un sursaut à l'étreinte de sa question. « Mais as-tu bientôt fini ? Qu'est-ce que tu as aujourd'hui ? Tu as donc décidé qu'il fallait que je te déteste, que je t'exècre ? Voilà, je voulais reprendre avec toi le bon temps comme autrefois et voilà ton remerciement ! »
Mais, ne la lâchant pas, comme un chirurgien attend la fin du spasme qui interrompt son intervention, mais ne l'y fait pas renoncer :
« Tu as bien tort de te figurer que je t'en voudrais le moins du monde, Odette, lui dit-il avec une douceur persuasive et menteuse. Je ne te parle jamais que de ce que je sais, et j'en sais toujours bien plus long que je ne dis. Mais toi seule peux adoucir par ton aveu ce qui me fait te haïr tant que cela ne m'a été dénoncé que par d'autres. Ma colère contre toi ne vient pas de tes actions, je te pardonne tout puisque je t'aime, mais de ta fausseté, de ta fausseté absurde qui te fait persévérer à nier des choses que je sais. Mais comment veux-tu que je puisse continuer à t'aimer, quand je te vois me soutenir, me jurer une chose que je sais fausse. Odette, ne prolonge pas cet instant qui est une torture pour nous deux. Si tu le veux, ce sera fini dans une seconde, tu seras pour toujours délivrée. Dis-moi sur ta médaille, si oui ou non, tu as jamais fais ces choses.
« Mais je n'en sais rien, moi, s'écria-t-elle avec colère, peut-être il y a très longtemps, sans me rendre compte de ce que je faisais, peut-être deux ou trois fois. »
Swann avait envisagé toutes les possibilités. La réalité est donc quelque chose qui n'a aucun rapport avec les possibilités, pas plus qu'un coup de couteau que nous recevons avec les légers mouvements des nuages au-dessus de notre tête, puisque ces mots : « deux ou trois fois » marquèrent à vif une sorte de croix dans son cœur. Chose étrange que ces mots « deux ou trois fois », rien que des mots, des mots prononcés dans l'air, à distance, puissent ainsi déchirer le cœur comme s'ils le touchaient véritablement,

Elle répéta comme une leçon, sur un ton ironique et com elle voulait se débarrasser de lui :
« Je n'ai jamais fait ce genre de choses avec aucune fermme.
– Peux-tu me le jurer sur ta médaille de Notre-Dame de Laghet ? »
Swann savait qu'Odette ne se parjurerait pas sur cette médaille-là.
« OhI que tu me rends malheureuse », s'écria-t-elle en se dérobant par un sursaut à l'étreinte de sa question. « Mais as-tu bientôt fini ? Qu'est-ce que tu as aujourd'hui ? Tu as donc dée:A qu'il fallait que je te déteste, que je t'exècre ? Voilà, je voulas reprendre avec toi le bon temps comme autrefois et voila to remerciement !»)
Mais, ne la lâchant pas, comme un chirurgien attend la fin du spasme qui interrompt Son intervention mais ne l'y fait pas renoncer :o « Tu as bien tort de te figurer que je t'en voudrais le moins du monde, Odette, lui dit-il avec une douceur persuasive et menteuse. Je ne te parle jamais que de ce que je sais, et j'en sais toujours bien plus long que je ne dis. Mais toi seule peux adoucir par ton aveu ce qui me fait te haïr tant que cela ne m'a été dénoncé que par d'autres. Ma colère contre toi ne vient pas de tes actions, je te pardonne tout puisque je t'aime, mais de ta fausseté, de ta fausseté absurde qui te fait persévérer à nier des choses que je sais. Mais comment veux-tu que je puisse continuer à t'aimer,, quand je te Vois me soutenir, me jurer une chose que je sais fausse ? Odette, ne prolonge pas cet instant qui est une torture pour nous deux. Si tu le veux, ce sera fini dans une seconde, tu seras pour toujours délivrée. Dis-moi sur ta médaille, si oui ou non, tu as jamais fait ces choses « Mais je n'en sais rien, moi, s'écria-t-elle avec colère, peut-être il ya très longtemps, sans me rendre compte de ce que je faisais, peut-être deux ou trois fois. »
Swann avait envisagé toutes les possibilités. La réalité est donc quelque chose qui n'a aucun rapport avec les possibilités, pas plus qu'un coup de couteau que nous recevons avec les legers mouvements des nuages au-dessus de notre tête, puisque ces mots « deux ou trois fois » marquèrent à vif une sorte de croix dans Son cœur. Chose étrange que ces mots « deux ou trois fois », rien que des mots, des mots prononcés dans I'air, à distance, puissent ainsi déchirer le cœur comme s'ils le tou.Chaient véritablement,

maschi che conoscevano Lila fin da piccola e le volevano bene era stato l'unico ad avere il coraggio di sostenerla e aiutarla. Cadeva allora un brutto silenzio e io mi sentivo molto fiera di aver rintuzzato ogni critica alla mia amica con un tono e una lingua che tra l'altro li aveva messi in soggezione.
Ma una sera si finì a litigare in malo modo. Eravamo tutti, anche Enzo, a mangiare una pizza al Rettifilo, in un posto dove la margherita e una birra costavano cinquanta lire. Quella volta cominciarono le ragazze: Ada, mi pare, disse che secondo lei Lila era ridicola ad andare in giro sempre fresca di parrucchiere e con i vestiti come Soraya anche se spargeva il veleno per gli scarafaggi davanti alla porta di casa, e chi più chi meno ridemmo tutti. Poi, una cosa tira l'altra, Carmela arrivò a dire chiaramente che secondo lei Lila s'era messa con Stefano per i soldi, per sistemare il fratello e il resto della famiglia. Io stavo cominciando la solita difesa d'ufficio quando Pasquale m'interruppe e disse:
«Il punto non è questo. Il punto è che Lina sa da dove vengono quei soldi».
«Mo' vuoi di nuovo tirare in ballo don Achille e la borsa nera e i traffici e l'usura e tutte le porcherie di prima e dopo la guerra?» dissi io.
«Sì, e se la tua amica ora stava qui mi dava ragione».
«Stefano è solo un commerciante che sa come si vende».
«E i soldi che ha messo nella calzoleria dei Cerullo gli vengono dalla salumeria?».
«Perché, secondo te?».
«Quelli provengono dagli ori delle madri di famiglia che don Achille s'era nascosto dentro il materasso. Lina fa la signora col sangue di tutta la povera gente di questo rione. E si fa mantenere, lei e tutti i familiari, ancora prima di essersi sposata».
Io stavo per rispondergli quando s'intromise Enzo con il suo solito distacco:
«Scusa, Pascà, che significa "si fa mantenere"?».
Mi bastò sentire quella domanda per capire che si sarebbe messa male. Pasquale diventò rosso, s'imbarazzò:

maschi che conoscevano Lila a fin da piccola e le volevano bene era stato l'unico ad avere il coraggio di sostenerla e aitara Cadeva allora un brutto silenzio e io mi sentivo molto fiera d aver rintuzzato ogni critica alla mia amica con un tong e una lingua che tra l'altro li aveva messi in soggezione.
Ma una sera si finì a litigare in malo modo. Eravamo tutti, an che Enzo, a mangiare una pizza al Rettifilo, in un posto dove la margherita e una birra costavano cinquanta lire, Quella vota cominciarono le ragazze: Ada, mi pare, disse che secondo lei Lila era ridicola ad andare in giro sempre fresca di parrucchiere ec Con i vestiti come Soraya anche se spargeva il veleno per gli scarafag:
davanti alla porta di casa, e chi più chi meno ridemmo tuti. Poi, una cosa tira l'altra, Carmela arrivò a dire chiaramente che secondo lei Lila s'era messa con Stefano per i i soldi, per sistemare il fratello e il resto della famiglia. Io stavo cominciando ola solita difesa d'ufficio quando Pasquale m interruppe e disse:
«ll punto non è questo. II punto è che Lina sa da dove :vengono quei soldi».
«Mo vuoi di nuovo tirare in ballo don Achille e la borsa nera e i traffici e l'usura e tutte le porcherie di prima e dopo la guerra?» dissi io.
«Si, e se la tua amica ora stava qui mi dava ragione».
«Stefano è solo un commerciante che sa come si vende.
«E i soldi che ha messo nella calzoleria dei Ceruleo gli vengono dalla salumeria?».
«Perché, secondo te?».
«Quelli provengono dagli ori delle madri di famiglia che don Achille s'era nascosto dentro il materasso. Lina fa la signora col sangue di tutta la povera gente di questo rione. E si fa mante nere, lei e tutti i familiari, ancora prima di essersi sposata». lo stavo per rispondergli quando s'intromise Enzo con il suo solito distacco:
«Scusa, Pascà, che significa "si fa mantenere"?».
Mi bastò sentire quella domanda per capire che si sarebbe messa male. Pasquale diventò rosso, s'imbarazzò:

Grenze
Auf und ab schwingt der Draht, flieht und wird zurückgerissen, wieder und wieder und wieder, Tränen treten einem in die Augen, alles verschwimmt vom Gähnen. So ist das immer im Zug, man ist zu müde zum Schlafen und zum Lesen zu gelangweilt, obwohl Papa immer sagt, lies doch, nimm ein Buch, schau dir wenigstens die Landschaft an. Mit Büchern aber passiert etwas Seltsames, wenn man sie im Zug liest: Sie werden leer. Die Worte bedeuten nichts mehr.
Und die Landschaft macht etwas Ähnliches. Die Hügel und Wälder und Schlösser und Wolken und Eselskarren sind zwar da, aber alles kommt einem flach vor, durchscheinend für die graugelbe Zuglangeweile, sodass man nur wieder auf den Draht und sein Auf und Ab und Auf und Ab sehen kann. Manchmal gibt Mama einem ein belegtes Brot und ein hartes Ei, aber die schmecken auch langweilig, und am schlimmsten ist es, wenn Papa sich an den Malblock und die Stifte erinnert, denn wie kann man malen, wenn man sich so langweilt? Am ehesten kann man noch die dünne schwarze Linie des Drahtes zeichnen, aber damit ist man schnell fertig, und dann?
«Wie lange noch?», fragt Jakob im Rhythmus der klappernden Räder. «Wie lange, wie lange, wie lange denn noch? Wie lange denn noch, wie lange noch?»

und ab schwingt der Draht, flieht und wird zurickgerissen, wieder und wieder und wieder, Tränen treten einem in die Augen, alles verschwimmt vom Gahnen. So ist das immer im Zug, man ist zu müde m Schafen und zum Lesen zu gelangweilt, obwohl Papa immer sagt, lies doch, nimm ein Buch, schau dir wenigstens die Landschaft an. Mit Büchern aber passiert etwas Seltsames, wenn man sie im Zug iest: Sie werden leer. Die Worte bedeuten nichts mehr.
Und die Landschaft macht etwas Ähnliches. Die Hügel und Wälder und Schlösser und Wolken und Eselskarren sind zwar da, aber alles kommt einem flach vOr, durchscheinend für die graugelbe Zuglangeweile, sodass man nur wieder auf den Draht und sein Auf und Ab und Auf und Ab sehen kann. Manchmal gibt Mama einem ein belegtes Brot und ein hartes Ei, aber die schmecken auch langweilig, und am schlimmsten ist es, wenn Papa sich an den Malblock und die Stifte erinnert, denn wie kann man malen, wenn man sich so langweilt? Am ehesten kann man noch die dünne schwarze Linie des Drahtes zeichnen, aber damit ist man schnell fertig, und dann?
«Wie lange noch?», fragt Jakob im Rhythmus der klappernden Räder. «Wie lange, wie lange, wie lange denn noch? Wie lange denn noch, wie lange noch?»

This is a Giorgio Armani suit you need to pay to have it cleaned and you said Fuck Giorgio Armani I piss on Giorgio Armani and pissed on the suit, He says: So then I get paranoid, I sense coolness in the atmosphere and I wonder if there's something else I don't remember that they're not telling me, but sometimes it's just people being British and undemonstrative. There was this girl, and, I know this sounds bad, but, it seems I hit her. But the thing is, I don't remember, I don't know what happened. I woke up the next morning and I was hungover and trying to find out what happened and it was all chatter chatter chatter and, maybe it's better not to have these blackouts?
The Ice Queen says: Yeah, maybe, I mean, I'm not saying it's a good idea to go around hitting people and I can see it might be quite worrying to have blackouts, so you could be right, but this is FANTASTIC. This is FANTASTIC. You HAVE to put this in your book! It's like Memento, have you seen Memento?
He says: I don't think so.
The Ice Queen says: It's a film about a man who can't remember anything more than a few minutes after it happens, and even his long-term memories are rationalisations that he's constructed, I think you'd love it
and I feel very very very good, because there is the additional possibility that an amnesiac serial killer lurks beneath the Aussie friendliness of my find,
Oh yeah, he says, I've seen that. I remember
kiss kiss kiss kiss
He says Guy Pierce is Australian. He was a minor neighbour on Neighbours, just like Kylie. Our Kylie.
This is sinister and good, the friendly neighbourhood bloke looking exactly like the obsessive note-scribbling memory-shorn [word wanted] lurching from moment to moment, the soap opera backing onto the situationist.
I feel good, after all, reasonably good, in this situation. I can say things I can't say to close personal friends.
I say blithely: If I kill myself you can sell an exclusive to the tabloids!
He says: To be honest? I'm not sure they'd be that interested in a writer.

This is a Giorgio Armani suit you need to pay to have it cleaned and you said Fuck Giorgio Armani I piss on Giorgio Armani and pissed on the suit, He says: So then I get paranoid, I sense coolness in the atmosphere and I wonder if there's something else I don't remember that they're not telling me, but sometimes s it's just people being British and undemonstrative. There this girl, and, I know this sounds bad, but, it seems I hit her. But the thing is, Idon't r remember, I ddon't know what happened. I woke up the next morning and I was hungover and trying to find out what happened and it was all chatter chatter chatter and, maybe it's better not to have these blackouts? The Ice Queen says: Yeah, maybe, I mean, I'm not saying it's a good idea to go around hitting people and I can see it might be quite worrying to have blackouts, so you could be right, but this is FANTASTIC. This is FANTASTIC. You HAVE to put this in your book! It's like Memento, have you seen Memento?
He says: I don't think so.
The lce Queen says: It's a film about a man who can't remember anything more than a few minutes after it happens, and even his long-term memories are rationalisations that he's constructed, I think you'd love it and I feel very very very good, because there is the additional possibility that an amnesiac serial killer lurks beneath the Aussie friendliness of my find, Oh yeah, he says, I've seen that. I remember kiss kiss kiss kiss He says Guy Pierce is Australian. He was a minor neighbour on Neighbours, just like Kylie. Our Kylie.
This is sinister and good, the friendly neighbourhood bloke looking Ckactly like the obsessive note-scribbling memory-shorn (word wanted] urching from moment to moment, the soap opera backing onto the situationist.
T feel good, after all, reasonably good, in this situation. I can say things I can't t say to close personal friends.
I say blithely: IfI kill myself you can sell an exclusive to the tabloids! He says: To be honest? I'm not sure they 'd l be that interested in a writer.

words left the mouth, not the way there would have been if Angelina or Posh or Kate Moss had said it. There was something else, something stranger, the power to turn the words to gold. They were worthless now, but craziness might yet bring them into their own.
Meanwhile he talks. He says: I should stop drinking, it would be good to do it, you know in Russia they think beer is a soft drink, there's the attitude that if you're not doing it till you black out it doesn't really count. He says: I don't need it, it's just another way of doing things to excess. He says: I can go into a social situation and people are just standing around awkwardly and I can see how to make it work, 1 2 3. Click. Just like that. But then I want to turn around and undo it, 3 2 1. Alcohol isn't really a way of making it work, it's a way of resisting that impulse to pull it apart again.
The Ice Queen likes this. The Ice Queen likes this a lot. It makes her think of the friendliness and likeability of Joe Mantegna in David Mamet's House of Games, it's the con man's likeable way of inspiring confidence by sharing his tricks. The Ice Queen tries to sound human. She says: This is GREAT. This is GREAT. You HAVE to put this in your book!
I love the cleverness of Mamet, his lovely grasp of the easy slippery smoothness of fast talkers, and look, here is this Mametian loveliness lurking just under the Aussie friendliness of my find, kiss kiss kiss kiss. Anyone can see the way Mamet gets under the skin, it's just there to be seen. But once upon a time he had that gift for getting under the skin and nobody knew about it except the people who knew him. It might be a bit interesting to meet Mamet now, but it wouldn't be exciting, because that edgy, uncomfortable, manipulative talent is something everyone knows about. It's exciting to talk to someone completely unknown because anything could happen.
He says: But then it falls apart anyway, insane things happen that I can't remember, I get up the next day and I don't know what I did. There's this excess, this desire to go to the limit and then I can't remember what happens and I don't know why people aren't talking to me and then somebody else says Don't you remember, you spilled red wine on his suit and he said

words left the mouth, not the way there would have been: if Angelina or Posh or Kate Moss had said it. There was something else, , something stranger, the power to turn the words to gold. They were worthless now, but craziness might yet bring them into their own.
Meanwhile he talks. He says: I I should stop drinking, it would be good to do it, you know in Russia they think beer is a : soft drink, there's the attitude that if you're not doing it till you black out it doesn't really count. He says: I don't need it, it's just c another way of doing things to excess. He says: I can go into a social situation and people are just standing around awkwardly and I can see how to make it work, 1 2 3. Click. Just like that. But then I want &x turn around and undo it, 3 2 1. Alcohol isn't really a way of making it work. it's a way of resisting that impulse to pull it apart again.
The Ice Queen likes this. The Ice Queen likes this a lot. It makes her think of the friendliness and likeability of Joe Mantegna in David Mamet's House of Games, it's the con man's likeable way of inspiring confidence by sharing his tricks. The Ice Queen tries to sound human. She says: This is GREAT. This is GREAT. You HAVE to put this in your book!
I love the cleverness of Mamet, his lovely grasp of the easy slippery smoothness of fast talkers, and look, here is this Mametian loveliness lurking just under the Aussie friendliness of my find, kiss kiss kiss kiss.
Anyone can see the way Mamet gets under the skin, it's just there to be seen. But once upon a time he had that gift for getting under the skin and nobody knew about it except the people who knew him. It might be a bit interesting to meet Mamet now, but it wouldn't be exciting, because that edgy, uncomfortable, manipulative talent is something everyone knows about. It's exciting to talk to someone completely unknown because anything could happen.
He says: But then it falls apart anyway, insane things happen that l cant remember, I get up the next day and I don't know what I did. There's this excess, this desire to go to the limit and then can't remember what haP pens and I don't know why people aren't talking to me and then somebody else says Don't you remember, you spilled red wine on his suit and he sald

quand j'étais anxieuse. Mais je n'étais même pas anxieuse. Non. J'essayais simplement de me préparer à la mort de ma mère.
Puis en espagnol et puis en anglais on nous a dit d'attacher nos ceintures. On allait atterrir. Je n'avais plus envie d'atterrir. J'avais envie de rester dans l'avion pour toujours.
Mais on a atterri et les gens se sont bousculés vers la sortie de l'appareil, moi j'attendais. Quand tout le monde est descendu j'ai fini par me lever, je ne sentais pas mes jambes mais j'avançais.
Les valises tournaient. Je ne faisais pas attention. J'attendais là comme tout le monde mais j'avais oublié pourquoi.
Puis tout d'un coup je me suis souvenue que j'avais une valise et qu'il fallait que je la prenne sur le tapis roulant.
J'ai confondu. J'ai pris une valise qui n'était pas la mienne.
Quelqu'un est arrivé, m'a arraché la valise des mains en criant en espagnol.
J'ai dit sorry, gracias. Mucho gracias. J'ai compris que ce n'était pas ça que je devais dire alors je n'ai plus rien dit.
Je suis restée là devant le tapis roulant un moment et j'ai fini par prendre ma valise. C'était la seule qui restait, il fallait bien que ce soit la mienne.
Dans la synagogue, la synagogue était pleine, on attendait.
Déjà les photographes, les vidéastes étaient là juste devant mon nez. Je les ai poussés. Je voulais voir ce qui allait se passer. À côté de moi il y avait ma cousine.
Puis tout d'un coup la marche nuptiale a retenti, on s'est tous retournés.
Je ne sais plus exactement comment ça s'est passé, je sais que

quand j'étais s anxieuse. Mais je n'étais même pas anxieuse. Non. J'essayais simplement de me préparer à la mort de ma mère.
Puis en espagnol et puis en anglais on nous a dit d'attacher nos ceintures. On allait atterrir. Je n'avais plus envie d'atterrir. T'avais envie de rester dans l'avion pour toujours.
Mais on a atterri et les gens se sont bousculés vers la sortie de T'appareil, moi j'attendais. Quand tout le monde est descendu j'ai fini par me lever, je ne sentais pas mes jambes mais j'avançais.
Les valises tournaient. Je ne faisais pas attention. J'attendais là comme tout le monde mais j'avais oublié pourquoi. Puis toutd'un coup je me suis souvenue que j'avais une valise et qu'il fallait que je la prenne sur le tapis roulant.
J'ai confondu. J'ai pris une valise qui n'éait pas la mienne. Quelqu'un est arrivé, m'a arraché la valise des mains en criant en espagnol.
J'ai dit sorry, gracias. Mucho gracias. J'ai compris que ce n'était pas ça que je devais dire alors je n'ai plus rien dit. Je suis restée là devant le tapis roulant un moment et j'ai fini par prendre ma valise. C'était la seule qui restait, il fallait bien que ce soit la mienne.
Dans la synagogue, la synagogue était pleine, on attendait. Déjà les photog raphes, les vidéastes taient là juste devant mon nez. Je les ai poussés. Je voulais voir ce qui allait se passer. Ä côté de moi il y avait ma cousine.
Puis tout d'un coup la marche nuptiale a retenti, on s'est tous retournés.
Je ne sais plus exactement comment ça s'est passé, je sais que

de ce qui, n'étant plus un but pour notre volonté, nous apparaît en soi-même. Dès sa descente de voiture, au premier plan de ce résumé fictif de leur vie domestique que les maîtresses de maison prétendent offrir à leurs invités les jours de cérémonie et où elles cherchent à respecter la vérité du costume et celle du décor, Swann prit plaisir à voir les héritiers des « tigres » de Balzac, les grooms, suivants ordinaires de la promenade, qui, chapeautés et bottés, restaient dehors devant l'hôtel sur le sol de l'avenue, ou devant les écuries, comme des jardiniers auraient été rangés à l'entrée de leurs parterres. La disposition particulière qu'il avait toujours eue à chercher des analogies entre les êtres vivants et les portraits des musées s'exerçait encore mais d'une façon plus constante et plus générale ; c'est la vie mondaine tout entière, maintenant qu'il en était détaché, qui se présentait à lui comme une suite de tableaux. Dans le vestibule où autrefois, quand il était un mondain, il entrait enveloppé dans son pardessus pour en sortir en frac, mais sans savoir ce qui s'y était passé, étant par la pensée, pendant les quelques instants qu'il y séjournait, ou bien encore dans la fête qu'il venait de quitter, ou bien déjà dans la fête où on allait l'introduire, pour la première fois il remarqua, réveillée par l'arrivée inopinée d'un invité aussi tardif, la meute éparse, magnifique et désœuvrée de grands valets de pied qui dormaient çà et là sur des banquettes et des coffres et qui, soulevant leurs nobles profils aigus de lévriers, se dressèrent et, rassemblés, formèrent le cercle autour de lui.
L'un d'eux, d'aspect particulièrement féroce et assez semblable à l'exécuteur dans certains tableaux de la Renaissance qui figurent des supplices, s'avança vers lui d'un air implacable pour lui prendre ses affaires. Mais la dureté de son regard d'acier était compensée par la douceur de ses gants de fil, si bien qu'en approchant de Swann il semblait témoigner du mépris pour sa personne et des égards pour son chapeau. Il le prit avec un soin auquel l'exactitude de sa pointure donnait quelque chose de méticuleux et une délicatesse que rendait presque touchante l'appareil de sa force. Puis il le passa à un de ses aides, nouveau et timide, qui exprimait l'effroi qu'il ressentait en roulant en tous sens des regards furieux et montrait l'agitation d'une bête captive dans les premières heures de sa domesticité.
À quelques pas, un grand gaillard en livrée rêvait, immobile, sculptural, inutile, comme ce guerrier purement décoratif qu'on voit dans les tableaux les plus tumultueux de Mantegna, songer, appuyé

de ce qui, n'étant plus un but pour notre volonté. nous apparait en soi-même. Dès sa descente de voiture, au premier plan de ce résumé fictif de leur vie domestique que les maîtresses de maison prétendent offrir à leurs invités les jours de cérémonie et où elles cherchent à respecter la vérité du costume et celle du décor, Swann prit plaisir à voir les héritiers des « tigres » de Balzac, les grooms, suivants ordinaires de la promenade, qui, chapeautés et bottés, restaient dehors devant l'hôtel sur le sol de l'avenue, ou devant les écuries, comme des jardiniers auraient été rangés à l'entrée de leurs parterres. La disposition particulière qu'il avait toujours eue à chercher des analogies entre les êtres vivants et les portraits des musées s'exerçait encore mais d'une façon plus Constante et plus générale ; c'est la vie mondaine tout entière, maintenant qu'il en était détaché, qui se présentait à lui comme une suite de tableaux. Dans le vestibule où autrefois, quand il était un mondain, il entrait enveloppé dans son pardessus pour en sortir en frac, mais sans savoir ce qui s'y était passé, étant par la pensée, pendant les quelques instants qu'il y séjournait, ou bien encore dans la fête qu'il venait de quitter, ou bien déjà dans la fête où on allait l'introduire, pour la première fois il remarqua, réveillée par l'arrivée inopinée d'un invité aussi tardif, la meute éparse, magnifique et désceuvrée des grands valets de pied qui dormaient çà et là sur des banquettes et des cofres et qui, soulevant leurs nobles profils aigus de lévriers, se dressèrent et, rassemblés, formèrent le cercle autour de lui. L'un d'eux, d'aspect particulièrement féroce et assez semblable à l'exécuteur dans certains tableaux de la Renaissance qui figurent des supplices, s'avança vers lui d'un air implacable pour lui prendre ses affaires. Mais la dureté de son regard d'acier était compenset par la douceur de ses gants de fil, si bien qu'en approchant de Sant il semblait témoigner du mépris pour sa personne et des egars pour son chapeau. Il le prit avec un soin auquel l'exactitude de sa pointure donnait quelque chose de méticuleux et une délicatesse que rendait presque touchante l'appareil de sa force. Puis il le passa à un de ses aides, nouveau et timide, qui exprimait l'ettroi qu'il ressentait en roulant en tous sens des regards furieux et montrait l'agitation d'une bête captive dans les premières heures de sa domesticité.
A quelques pas, un grand gaillard en livrée rêvait, immobile, sculptural, inutile, comme ce guerrier purement décoratif qu'on voit dans les tableaux les plus tumultueux de Mantegna, Songer, appuye

werden kann, daß ich eine Hochschule für Musik besucht habe und abgeschlossen habe und tatsächlich einer der besten Klavierspieler Österreichs, wenn nicht Europas gewesen bin, wie auch Wertheimer, dachte ich, heute schreibe ich diese Unsinnigkeiten, von welchen ich mir zu sagen getraue, sie seien essayistisch, um auch dieses gehaßte Wort wieder einmal zu gebrauchen auf dem Weg meiner Selbstzerstörung, schreibe diese essayistischen Auslassungen, die ich am Ende doch immer verfluchen und zerreißen und also vernichten muß, und kein Mensch weiß mehr, daß ich einmal selbst die Goldbergvariationen gespielt habe, wenn auch nicht so gut, wie Glenn Gould, den zu beschreiben ich mich seit Jahren bemühe, weil ich mich für authentischer halte in dieser Beschreibung als andere, daß ich auf das Mozarteum gegangen bin, das noch immer als eine der allerersten Musikhochschulen auf der ganzen Welt gilt und daß ich selbst Konzerte gegeben habe und nicht nur in Bad Reichenhall und Bad Krozingen, dachte ich. Daß ich einmal ein fanatischer Musikschüler gewesen bin, ein fanatischer Klaviervirtuose, der sich ebenbürtig mit Glenn Gould an Brahms und an Bach und an Schönberg gemessen hat. Während mir persönlich aber diese Verheimli-

werden kann, daß jch eine Hochschule für Musik besucht habe und abgeschlossen hab und tatsächlich einer der besten Klavierspieler Österreichs, wenn nicht Europas gewesen bin. wie auch Wertheimer, dachte ich, heute schreibe ich diese Unsinnigkeiten, Von welchen ich mir zu sagen getraue, sie seien essayistisch, um auch dieses gehaste Wort wieder einmal zu gebrauchen auf dem Weg meiner Selbstzerstörung, schreibe diese essayistischen Auslassungen, die ich am Ende doch immer verfluchen und zerreißen und also vernichten muß, und kein Mensch weiß mehr, daß ich einmal selbst die Goldbergvariationen gespielt habe, wenn auch nicht so gut, wie Glenn Gould, den zu beschreiben ich mich seit Jahren bemühe, weil ich mich für authentischer halte in dieser Beschreibung als andere, daß ich auf das Mozarteum gegangen bin, das noch immer als eine der allerersten Musikhochschulen auf der ganzen Welt gilt und daß ich selbst Konzerte gegeben habe und nicht nur in Bad Reichenhall und Bad Krozingen, dachte ich. Das ich einmal ein fanatischer Musikschüler gewesen bin, ein fanatischer Klaviervirtuose, der sich ebenbürtig mit Glenn Gould an Brahms und an Bach und an Schönberg gemessen hat Während mir persönlich aber diese Verheimli-

puissent rendre malade, comme un poison qu'on absorberait. Involontairement Swann pensa à ce mot qu'il avait entendu chez Mme de Saint-Euverte : « C'est ce que j'ai vu de plus fort depuis les tables tournantes. » Cette souffrance qu'il ressentait ne ressemblait à rien de ce qu'il avait cru. Non pas seulement parce que dans ses heures de plus entière méfiance il avait rarement imaginé si loin dans le mal, mais parce que même quand il imaginait cette chose, elle restait vague, incertaine, dénuée de cette horreur particulière qui s'était échappée des mots « peut-être deux ou trois fois », dépourvue de cette cruauté spécifique aussi différente de tout ce qu'il avait connu qu'une maladie dont on est atteint pour la première fois. Et pourtant cette Odette d'où lui venait tout ce mal, ne lui était pas moins chère, bien au contraire plus précieuse, comme si au fur et à mesure que grandissait la souffrance, grandissait en même temps le prix du calmant, du contrepoison que seule cette femme possédait. Il voulait lui donner plus de soins comme à une maladie qu'on découvre soudain plus grave. Il voulait que la chose affreuse qu'elle lui avait dit avoir faite « deux ou trois fois » ne pût pas se renouveler. Pour cela il lui fallait veiller sur Odette. On dit souvent qu'en dénonçant à un ami les fautes de sa maîtresse, on ne réussit qu'à le rapprocher d'elle parce qu'il ne leur ajoute pas foi, mais combien davantage s'il leur ajoute foi ! Mais se disait Swann, comment réussir à la protéger ? Il pouvait peut-être la préserver d'une certaine femme mais il y en avait des centaines d'autres, et il comprit quelle folie avait passé sur lui quand il avait, le soir où il n'avait pas trouvé Odette chez les Verdurin, commencé de désirer la possession, toujours impossible, d'un autre être. Heureusement pour Swann, sous les souffrances nouvelles qui venaient d'entrer dans son âme comme des hordes d'envahisseurs, il existait un fond de nature plus ancien, plus doux et silencieusement laborieux, comme les cellules d'un organe blessé qui se mettent aussitôt en mesure de refaire les tissus lésés, comme les muscles d'un membre paralysé qui tendent à reprendre leurs mouvements. Ces plus anciens, plus autochtones habitants de son âme, employèrent un instant toutes les forces de Swann à ce travail obscurément réparateur qui donne l'illusion du repos à un convalescent, à un opéré. Cette fois-ci, ce fut moins comme d'habitude dans le cerveau de Swann que se produisit cette détente par épuisement, ce fut plutôt dans son cœur. Mais toutes les choses de la vie qui ont existé une fois tendent à se recréer, et comme

puissent rendre malade, comme un poison qu'on absorberait.
involontairement Swann pensa à ce mot qu'il avait entendu chez Mme de Saint- -Ouverte:
« C'est ce que j'ai vu de plus fort depuis les tables tournantes. » Cette souffrance qu'il ressentait ne ressemblait à rien de ce qu'il avait cru. Non pas seulement parce que dans ses heures de plus entière méfiance il avait rarement imaginé si loin dans le mal, mais parce que, même quand il imaginait cette chose, elle restait vague, incertaine, dénuée de cette horreur particulière qui s'était échappée des mots « peut-être deux ou trois iois », dépourvue de cette cruauté spécifique aussi différente de tout ce qu'il avait connu qu'une maladie dont on est atteint pour la première fois. Et pourtant cette Odette d'où lui venait tout ce mal, ne lui était pas moins chère, bien au contraire plus précieuse, comme si au fur et à mesure que grandissait la souffrance, grandissait en même temps le prix du calmant, du contrepoison que seule cette femme possédait. Il voulait lui donner plus de soins comme à une maladie qu'on découvre soudain plus grave. Il voulait que la chose affreuse qu'elle lui avait dit avoir faite « deux ou trois fois » ne pût pas se renouveler. Pour cela il lui fallait veiller sur Odette. On dit souvent qu'en dénonçant à un ami les fautes de sa maîtresse, on ne réussit qu'à le rapprocher d'elle parce qu'il ne leur ajoute pas foi, mais combien davantage s'il leur ajoute foi ! Mais se disait Swann, comment réussir à la protéger? Il pouvait peut-être la préserver d'une certaine femme mais il y en avait des centaines d'autres, et il comprit quelle folie avait passé sur lui quand il avait, le soir où il n'avait pas trouvé Odette chez les Verdurin, commencé de désirer la possession, toujours impossible, d'un autre être. Heureusement pour Swann, sous les souffrances nouvelles qui Venaient d'entrer dans son âme comme des hordes d'envahisseurs, 1l existait un fond de nature plus ancien, plus doux et silencieusement laborieux, comme les cellules d'un organe blessé qui se mettent aussitôt en mesure de refaire les tissus lésés, comme les muscles d'un membre paralysé qui tendent à reprendre leurs mouvements. Ces plus anciens, plus autochtones habitants de son âme, employèrent un instant toutes les forces de Swann à ce travail obscurément réparateur qui donne l'illusion du repos à un convalescent, à un opéré. Cette fois-ci, ce fut moins comme d'habitude dans le cerveau de Swann que se produisit cette détente par épuisement, ce fut plutôt dans son coeur. Mais toutes les choses de la vie qui ont existé une fois tendent à se recréer, et comme

J'ai fait le tour du bloc avec elle, la tenant fermement par le bras.
Ses jambes étaient flageolantes et on a avancé doucement. C'était le premier jour de soleil et cela faisait sept semaines qu'elle n'était pas sortie.
Au bout de quelques pas on s'est assises toutes les deux sur une terrasse au soleil. C'était à un croisement et il y avait plein de voitures qui passaient. Elle a mis son visage au soleil, elle a fermé les yeux. Elle était belle, elle était heureuse.
Elle a dit, ça fait du bien, c'est bon. J'avais tant besoin de soleil.
Oui, ça fait du bien j'ai dit.
Le soleil tapait fort et j'ai commencé à transpirer et à avoir du mal à supporter le croisement et la poussière. Mais elle, elle ne transpirait pas, elle buvait le soleil.
Elle mettait son visage dans le soleil et elle fermait les yeux. Elle souriait presque. Elle avait l'air terriblement concentré. C'était à cause du soleil.
Elle portait ses lunettes de soleil parce que l'oculiste le lui

T'ai fait le tour du bloc avec elle, la tenant fermement par le bras. Ses jambes étaient flageolantes et on a avancé doucement. C'était le premier jour de soleil et cela faisait sept semaines quelle n'était pas sortie.
Au bout de quelques pas on s'est assises toutes les deux sur une terrasse au soleil. C'était à un croisement et il y avait plein de voitures qui passaient. Elle a mis son visage au solei, elle a fermé les yeux. Elle était belle, elle était heureuse.
Elle a dit, ça fait du bien, c'est bon. J'avais tant besoin de soleil.
Oui, ça fait du bien j'ai dit.
Le soleil tapait fort et j'ai commencé à transpirer et à avoir du mal à supporter le croisement et la poussière. Mais elle, elle ne transpirait pas, elle buvait le soleil.
Elle mettait son visage dans le soleil et elle fermait les yeux. Elle souriait presque. Elle avait l'air terriblement concentré. C'était à cause du soleil.
Elle portait ses lunettes de soleil parce que l'oculiste le lui