his knees spread apart, his body bent forward, it was a 19
miracle that he was able to maintain this posture. Thomas clung to him all the more tightly, and they were welded together into a single block. Such intimacy had its drawbacks. First of all, he had to put up with the nause ating odor that grew more unpleasant with each passing moment. Then there was something unnerving in this interweaving that forced them to mingle their breaths and that linked the two bodies in a wearisome union. Thomas was aware of all this, but he did not loosen his grip. In truth, it was not simply to ensure his protection that he lent himself to these em braces; he thought that such familiarity would lead to a conversation full of candor, and he was waiting for the right moment to ask questions. Thus he let time pass without changing his position, with a clammy face and a paralyzed body. He fixed his eyes on a point on the wall. After distin guishing a vague patch of color, he recognized the painting that had first attracted him. "Tell me, what's that portrait?" he asked. It was the portrait of a young woman; only half of her face was visible, for the other part was almost blotted out. The expression was sweet and gentle, and although it was not without sadness, one felt attached to the smile that brightened it. How to interpret this smile? This was the moment to lean forward and look more closely. But it was futile. Thomas could not release his own grip. He turned around and pressed his pouting lips against his companion. In this posture, which his fatigue forced him to ac cept, he drifted into sleep, enjoying as though in a dream the sensations that came over him. So he did not hear at first the groanings of the young man. The latter had to speak to him to arouse his attention. "Could you not," he said, "give me some room? A little air, a little fresh ness; your company is not very pleasant." Thomas had to listen with great care, for the voice was shaky and almost drowned out by the noisy buzzing sound that became louder when the young man's mouth was open. To hear better, he clamped himself with renewed force against the body he was squeezing. Then he said, "What's your name?" "Why are you squeezing me like that?" said the voice in distress. "Let me catch my breath. Your only pleasure is inflicting torture." "You think so?" said Thomas. He set little store by what he himself was saying but was interested in the responses. "How would you like me to position myself? Do you want us to share the bed?" 20
The young man did not like these words; nevertheless, he responded more calmly: "I see that they warned you about me." Now they both fell silent. For fear of suddenly disturbing his compan ion, Thomas did not change his position, and he continued to smell the sweat that seeped through his clothes and penetrated him with the violent odor of another body. "Why don't you tell me about the portrait?" he asked him. He had to wait for a response; the young man raised his head and tried to gaze at Thomas, trying to read in his eyes the hidden meaning of his question. "Naturally," he said, "you would like to leave." Thomas did not respond directly. "You have no doubt been here for a long time," he said. "You must know the ways of the house. Can you not speak to me frankly? I am stronger and in better shape than you. I can help you." The young man seemed shaken by this proposition. He asked Thomas again with insistence, as though to make this notion familiar to him, if he did not wish to leave. "I will leave when the time comes," said Thomas, "but first I want to fulfill my obligations, although I can see that I will encounter more difficulties than I had foreseen." At that moment he thought he heard the little bell that had called him into this room, and it terrified him. Was it already time to leave? Was he wrong to complain, and did they want to punish him? He listened care fully, but since everything was quiet, he wondered if he had not dreamt it.
miracle that he was able to maintain this posture. Thomas clung to him all the more tightly, and they were welded together into a single block. Such intimacy had its drawbacks. First of all, he had to put up with the nause ating odor that grew more unpleasant with each passing moment. Then there was something unnerving in this interweaving that forced them to mingle their breaths and that linked the two bodies in a wearisome union. Thomas was aware of all this, but he did not loosen his grip. In truth, it was not simply to ensure his protection that he lent himself to these em braces; he thought that such familiarity would lead to a conversation full of candor, and he was waiting for the right moment to ask questions. Thus he let time pass without changing his position, with a clammy face and a paralyzed body. He fixed his eyes on a point on the wall. After distin guishing a vague patch of color, he recognized the painting that had first attracted him. "Tell me, what's that portrait?" he asked. It was the portrait of a young woman; only half of her face was visible, for the other part was almost blotted out. The expression was sweet and gentle, and although it was not without sadness, one felt attached to the smile that brightened it. How to interpret this smile? This was the moment to lean forward and look more closely. But it was futile. Thomas could not release his own grip. He turned around and pressed his pouting lips against his companion. In this posture, which his fatigue forced him to ac cept, he drifted into sleep, enjoying as though in a dream the sensations that came over him. So he did not hear at first the groanings of the young man. The latter had to speak to him to arouse his attention. "Could you not," he said, "give me some room? A little air, a little fresh ness; your company is not very pleasant." Thomas had to listen with great care, for the voice was shaky and almost drowned out by the noisy buzzing sound that became louder when the young man's mouth was open. To hear better, he clamped himself with renewed force against the body he was squeezing. Then he said, "What's your name?" "Why are you squeezing me like that?" said the voice in distress. "Let me catch my breath. Your only pleasure is inflicting torture." "You think so?" said Thomas. He set little store by what he himself was saying but was interested in the responses. "How would you like me to position myself? Do you want us to share the bed?" 20
The young man did not like these words; nevertheless, he responded more calmly: "I see that they warned you about me." Now they both fell silent. For fear of suddenly disturbing his compan ion, Thomas did not change his position, and he continued to smell the sweat that seeped through his clothes and penetrated him with the violent odor of another body. "Why don't you tell me about the portrait?" he asked him. He had to wait for a response; the young man raised his head and tried to gaze at Thomas, trying to read in his eyes the hidden meaning of his question. "Naturally," he said, "you would like to leave." Thomas did not respond directly. "You have no doubt been here for a long time," he said. "You must know the ways of the house. Can you not speak to me frankly? I am stronger and in better shape than you. I can help you." The young man seemed shaken by this proposition. He asked Thomas again with insistence, as though to make this notion familiar to him, if he did not wish to leave. "I will leave when the time comes," said Thomas, "but first I want to fulfill my obligations, although I can see that I will encounter more difficulties than I had foreseen." At that moment he thought he heard the little bell that had called him into this room, and it terrified him. Was it already time to leave? Was he wrong to complain, and did they want to punish him? He listened care fully, but since everything was quiet, he wondered if he had not dreamt it.
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