Peter Nadas - A Book of Memories

"You are a believer, my pet, how reassuring; I envy you!" Father said this in the same intimately soft voice his friend had used, and all this time not only their heads and bodies remained motionless but their eyes hardly flickered; they were looking straight into each other's eyes as openly as they could, as if this eye contact were more important than any other form of communication; the two pairs of eyes did not even approach the perilous edge of an amorous union, they did not seek that particular refuge: what was actually happening had a much more significant and powerful effect on them, perhaps because they knew that a physical relationship was impossible, and they held each other captive with their eyes, gradually overcoming the sensual excitement two eyes immersed in each other can offer, though at the same time exploiting these natural centers of sensuality, from there to shift their glances just enough to notice the tiny movements in the wrinkles around the lashes, the eyelids, the eye sockets, leading to two identical involuntary and discreet smiles; "Should I express myself more plainly?" said Frick, his question a response to a request never made, and Father said, "It wouldn't hurt," supporting his friend in what I think he wanted to do anyway: they didn't merely venture over the slippery topic of the body but moved with equal ease through the subtler folds of each other's thoughts; did not give in to any possible weakness, and in this sense there was something cold and cruel in their confabulation; try as they might to elude all-powerful Eros, still, in the utter shamelessness with which they observed, controlled, and read each other's mind, and in the meticulous regard they had for each other, crafty Eros did manage to gratify them, and itself: "Look, it may be a bit much to say that it's all between our legs," continued Frick; "But I thought that's exactly what you had in mind," Father retorted. When exchanging such short, clipped sentences, the depth, color, and strength of their voices seemed to adjust to and blend themselves into each other so fully that one had the impression of a single person speaking, arguing, debating with himself: "No, no, far from it! If it were so, I'd be committing the same reprehensible error," Frick said, somewhat louder, but still without much emotion; "Elaborate!" Father said, and his request, like a short pause, remained suspended in midair.

"True to our old habit, let's start with the obvious: here I stand and here you are facing me," said Frick, who now appeared taller than Father because he was slim, though proportionately so, not in the least gaunt— and I don't mean just his body, which I had an opportunity to observe fully on the beach, as he was wearing one of those newly fashionable swimsuits that cling to the body when wet, for his face, too, was lean, the skin adhering to his skull in a smooth, tight fit; he was beginning to grow bald, and to mask this as much as possible — he was quite vain — he had his fine sun-bleached hair cut short in military fashion; "If we swept aside with one grand gesture all the ethical norms drummed into us, the only certainty left to us is this, that we are here, the sense and sight of our sheer existence, that's all we can contemplate, and that is no small thing; and I must admit that unlike the educated dilettantes I referred to before, I am not interested in anything else."

At this point, however, Father gave a quiet laugh, and as this short, not unintentional chuckle bespoke sarcasm, Frick's vehemence slackened a bit, and on his face, surely one of the most extraordinary faces I ever laid eyes on, the strain of concentration eased, loosened by momentary embarrassment, which was remarkable because his face was defined by an inner calm, a natural hauteur, an unruffled superiority, and of course its starkness, as if nature had shaped it in bold strokes, adding neither fussy details nor charming little folds of fat to the skull which carried the face and, let's note this now, to which it would be pared down in death: no matter how quickly Frick spoke, or how much, at times his face struck me as a skull, a death's-head, a grim paperweight on a desk, or as a structure of boiled-down bones, while at other times, as on that day, it was its perfect roundness that caught the eye, the taut, dark-toned skin turned almost black in summer, gleaming on his forehead, the hairline wrinkles neatly tucked away on the close-shaven cheeks, yet not even these dry furrows made him look older than he was, for what stood out in all their brilliance was his huge expressive eyes, cool gray eyes with a piercing, ruthless gaze, their sternness further emphasized by his pointed nose and rather thin lips, though the soft dimple of the chin, like a child's, gave the face an appealing gentleness; "Don't think that the desire for power doesn't imply physical pleasure," he continued, his momentary embarrassment relaxing into a gently sardonic smile; standing motionless, they were still holding each other's unaverted gaze; "On the contrary, the desire for and wielding of power can immerse you in pleasure so deep, or lift you up so high, that the only comparable thrill, deeper and higher still, would have to be that of sexual climax, the very greatest of physical pleasures which each of us ought to reach in the manner best suited to our nature, and that is just what I was getting at, my dear, that everything around us desires, and offers, the pleasure of ejaculation, if we are free enough to note these desires and offers, so it was perfectly sweet of you to interrupt me with your little chuckle, to sidetrack me in this direction, leading to the very essence of things! I don't mind a bit," he said, pausing long enough to catch his breath; "That's right, there's a kind of congenial balance between our senses and our thoughts, between instinct and reason, the balance of counterbalances, if you will; and who is better suited to revel in the pleasures of existence than he who holds power? Power alone can carry him to the limits of the mind, of the intellect; and when he returns from those frontiers, if he can make it back, that is, he can truly indulge his senses, because having lost his fear of perilous extremes and shaken off all moral constraints, he can be equally uninhibited when turning to sensual pleasures, seeking out the extreme limits of that realm as well; and who is freer than the man who delves into the pleasure and pain of his own limited possibilities — limited because predetermined— which he will explore to the utmost, my friend, yes, even if our freedom doesn't allow us to know what these possibilities are for, what anything is for; freedom is indeed limited, but only in that it is never an abstraction but rather the practical exercise of the will, which is fully aware of its own possibilities but which the mind cannot conceive. But why am I blathering on, you know what I mean."

"Another exciting little adventure?" Father asked.

"Something like that," he sighed.

"Tell me about it," Father said.

"An actress," he answered.

"I wager she is blond and indecently young" — thus Father.

"Oh, that's the least that can be said of her!"

And he would have continued, too, describing the affair not just in general terms but in great detail, as I had the good fortune to hear him do on another occasion, but at that moment they had to turn toward the wide staircase leading from the park to the terrace, cutting the conversation short just when it promised to turn most exciting — for, returning from her leisurely afternoon coffee break, Mother had appeared in the company of Fräulein Wohlgast, with a clear air of shared intimacy as they slowly walked up the stairs, and the young lady, in her usual loud manner and somewhat raspy voice, was launching into a playful attack: "Oh, the men," she exclaimed at the bottom of the staircase, her words almost coinciding with Frick's last sentence, "just when we are discussing such weighty matters, too; I am telling you, Frau Thoenissen, there was a time when men held our destiny in their hands; those days, I daresay, are over; while we make plans and reach important decisions, they engage in frivolous chitchat, or am I wrong? will they be honest with us, might I ask them not to tell us fibs just this once?"