Peter Nadas - A Book of Memories

"Just what do you think you're doing, my dear sir? You think you can just come and go as you please and do your smutty little things, is that what you think? I haven't slept for days. I can't stand it anymore. And I don't want to! Who are you, anyway? What do you want here? And where do you get the nerve, after all these months, to pretend I'm nothing but air? Go on, tell me! It's not your fault I know everything about you; you can't help that, but nobody can expect me to keep my mouth shut forever. And I do know everything, everything, it's no use being so mysterious, I know all about you. But may I remind you, dear sir, that I'm a human being, too, and I want to hear it said, I want to hear it from your lips. I suffer because of you. I'm afraid to look at you. You had me fooled: I thought you were good and kind, but the truth is, you are cruel, horribly cruel, do you hear? I'd be most grateful if you people told me what you were up to. You want the police after me, is that it? Don't I have enough problems as it is, without you people? Yes, I want to know what's going on. You have some nerve to ask me what happened when it's I who want to know just what's going on, and what happened to him. The least you can do is tell me, so I can prepare myself for the worst. And don't act like I was your maid, who must take whatever you feel like dishing out. Did you have a mother? Do you still? Has anybody ever loved you? Do you really think we need the money you pay us? Your lousy money is just what I need. I thought I was taking in a good friend. But will you please tell me just what it is you do? What do you do besides ruin everybody, turn other people's lives upside down, is that what you occupy yourself with all day? Some occupation, I must say. But what is your occupation? When can I expect the police? Maybe you killed him. Well, did you? I wouldn't put it past you, so help me, you with your innocent blue eyes and polite little smile. Why, even now you act as if you didn't know anything and I was just a raving lunatic. Where did you bury him, huh? Now that I've found out about you, all I ask is that you get your things and get out. Go wherever you like. To a hotel. I am not running a criminals' hangout, you know. I don't want to get mixed up in anything. I've been scared long enough. When a telegram comes I get the shivers. When I hear the doorbell I get sick, do you understand? Haven't you noticed I'm an ill and tortured person who needs a little consideration? Didn't I confide in you, fool that I am, trust you enough, you of all people, to tell you my life story? And what about my goodness, my kindness, doesn't anybody want that? I'm asking you. Am I here only to be used by everybody? Why don't you answer me? As if I was some hole for everybody to toss their garbage in. Answer me, goddamn it! What's in that telegram?"

"But you've read it already! Haven't you?"

"Well, look at it."

"What do you want from me? That's what I'd like to know!"

We were standing quite close, and in the sudden silence, perhaps because of this closeness, her face seemed to relax, became almost translucently delicate, grew larger and even pretty in a sense, as if her irregular and ill-proportioned features had been held together only by the rigid frame of her glasses and her suppressed desires, and now that she had taken off her mask, her face was freed and regained its natural proportions; against her white skin the reddish freckles became more pronounced, decidedly charming, her thick lips seemed more expressive, her dense eyebrows more striking, and when she spoke again, much more softly than before, in her pleasantly penetrating prompter's voice, I surprised myself by thinking that, no matter how disheveled, distraught, and washed-out she might look, especially without her glasses, beauty might be nothing but the proximity of utter nakedness, the enthralling sensation of closeness; I wouldn't have been surprised if I had leaned over and unexpectedly kissed her on the lips, just so as not to see her eyes anymore.

"What could I possibly want from you, my dear sir? What do you think I would want? Could it be that I want to be loved, not a lot, just a very little? oh, not that way, don't get scared, though at first, yes, I was in love with you a little, you may have even felt it, and I can admit it now because it's over, but don't leave now, I don't want you to, you mustn't take seriously what I said before, it was silly, I take it back, you mustn't leave us; I do get scared, you see, please forgive me, but I am so very much alone and always fear that something unpredictable may happen, something dreadful, that some terrible disaster is approaching, so I don't want anything except that you read the telegram here, in front of me, because I'd like to know what happened, that's all I want you to tell me, nothing else. I didn't open it, you should know that. It came in an open envelope, that's how telegrams are delivered here. But please, look at it already, I beg of you!"

"But you did read it, didn't you?"

"Please look at it."

As it to emphasize her words, she placed her hand on my arm, a little above the wrist, so gently but at the same time so peremptorily that it seemed to mean that she would not only take back the envelope but also eliminate the tiny distance still remaining between us and in some way— the way itself being of no consequence in that millisecond — to possess me; she touched me, and I did not have the strength to resist, in fact was struggling with a little guilt of my own, knowing that the stray glance at her breast and the thought of possibly kissing her could not have left her unaffected, for there is no thought, however furtive, that in highly charged situations is not detected by the other person, and for a split second, therefore, it seemed entirely possible that our heated exchange might take an unexpected and dangerous turn, all the more so because not only could I not move or, by turning my head away, escape the gentle thrusts of her breath and her fixed stare, but also, against my will, I was becoming aware of the telltale signs of sexual excitement — so pleasurable but in the circumstances somewhat humiliating: mild tingling of the skin, dwindling lucidity of the mind, pressure in the groin, and faltering breath, all of which could have been the direct consequence of that one touch, occurring almost independently of me but in a very edifying way proving that seduction can completely bypass the conscious mind and need not even be physical or flattering, for most often physical desire is not the cause but the consequence of a relationship — just as ugliness from a certain distance may be seen as beauty — when tension has increased to a point where only sexual release can offer hope, and at such moments a single touch is enough to defuse the almost unbearable psychological tension or release it into sheer sensual pleasure.

''No, I won't look at it!"

Perhaps she did not exclude the possibility that I might strike her, because, hearing my somewhat delayed and rather hysterically shouted retort, she quickly withdrew her hand, as it was clear to her that my outburst, which must have seemed quite unusual, had less to do with the mysterious business of the telegram than with our immediate physical proximity, and not satisfied with removing her hand, she also stepped back a little, at the same time pushing her glasses up on her nose, and regarded me with a sudden look of blunt sobriety, as if nothing at all had happened between us.

"I see. There's no need to shout."

"Tomorrow I'll be going away for a few days."

"Where to, may I ask?"

"It would be helpful if I didn't have to take all my things with me. By next week I'll be gone for good."

"But where will you go?"

"Home."

"You'll be missed."

I started toward my room.

"You go ahead, I'll be here, waiting by your door; I can't sleep anyway, not if you won't tell me."