with rage, after he had left her, at—she hardly knew what: she tried to think it had been at his want of consideration.
After that she was rich and free. There was nothing to do but drink.
She walked on, pleased with the adventure, thinking that perhaps the only satisfactory way of life was to live for the minute.
I remarked in jest that he had surely found his man. (We had sex in the laundry room of his apartment building a few times.) I’ve never cultivated his society, and he apparently has never found mine indispensable to his happiness. Later she was unfaithful to him: openly; deliberately; defiantly.
If there was anything childish or demure about her as a bride, that soon vanished. “I had an awful love affair,” she said, still weeping. She expected that I would disapprove. “Then I went home for the summer to Indiana.” She looked at me blankly and then, little by little, almost imperceptibly, a smile, or the irrepressible prelude to a smile, slightly rearranged her features. Mentally, I rolled my eyes. I didn’t love her, and she certainly didn’t love me, but perhaps in a way we could have made a life together.
Alone unchanging are women’s ambitions and men’s desires.
21.
Something very strange is happening to me, every face I see seems to be smiling. You know what I mean when I say that. Desirelessness.
So one day my son was taking a nap and I was looking at the local free throwaway newspaper and I spotted a curious ad in the classifieds: a dominatrix with a transsexual assistant was offering $100 one-hour sessions.
“Do come in,” she said, trying to sound gracious.
I make sure not to come out looking too damaged. It was like a victory.
The result is not the point; it is the effort to improve ourselves that is valuable.
Are you constantly conscious of the clock ticking?
How much time does love take? This is Freud’s implicit question. It is some sort of defense against death.
Noon slumbers.
22.
A high-class restaurant where everything is special. There, milling about, whirling around, flitting here and there, were the most beautiful women of Paris, the richest, the noblest, dazzling, stately, resplendent with diamonds, flowers in their hair, on their bosoms, on their heads, strewn over dresses or in garlands at their feet. People had to be looked at before being admitted, but everyone was always let in. The mostly faded wallpaper still showed a few traces of yellow. It was the first time I’d been to a place like that, such an expensive place, I mean, and I must admit a ravenous hunger possessed me all of a sudden, because although I’m as thin as a rake, put food in front of me and I’m liable to fall upon it like the Unrepentant Glutton of the Southern Cone, or the Emily Dickinson of Bulimia, especially if it’s an assortment of cheeses to beggar belief and a variety of wines to set your head spinning. Champagne does wonders for boosting the morale, everyone knows that.
“But, what am I to do?” she said. Here we have, I believe, the only philosophical question of any merit whatsoever. Like all the women in the world, she wanted a real lover. Whereas what I want is someone to fuck. We all love to tell those we love that we love them, and to hear from them that we are loved—but as grownups we are not quite as sure we know what this means as we once were, when we were children and love was a simple thing. We sat for a moment in silence, and then the waiter delivered our meals.
“Listen, my dear,” I said gently. “You mustn’t be worried, he will come back.” Eleanor was silent for a moment. “To forgive, it is best to know as little as possible.”
“Yes, I can imagine,” she said dryly.
I was having a good time, I realized suddenly. “The ancients have a saying,” I said. I wanted to seem like I was in the process of focusing in on something important. “What every man knows best about himself is how to masturbate. And I confess that I continue to masturbate
After that she was rich and free. There was nothing to do but drink.
She walked on, pleased with the adventure, thinking that perhaps the only satisfactory way of life was to live for the minute.
I remarked in jest that he had surely found his man. (We had sex in the laundry room of his apartment building a few times.) I’ve never cultivated his society, and he apparently has never found mine indispensable to his happiness. Later she was unfaithful to him: openly; deliberately; defiantly.
If there was anything childish or demure about her as a bride, that soon vanished. “I had an awful love affair,” she said, still weeping. She expected that I would disapprove. “Then I went home for the summer to Indiana.” She looked at me blankly and then, little by little, almost imperceptibly, a smile, or the irrepressible prelude to a smile, slightly rearranged her features. Mentally, I rolled my eyes. I didn’t love her, and she certainly didn’t love me, but perhaps in a way we could have made a life together.
Alone unchanging are women’s ambitions and men’s desires.
21.
Something very strange is happening to me, every face I see seems to be smiling. You know what I mean when I say that. Desirelessness.
So one day my son was taking a nap and I was looking at the local free throwaway newspaper and I spotted a curious ad in the classifieds: a dominatrix with a transsexual assistant was offering $100 one-hour sessions.
“Do come in,” she said, trying to sound gracious.
I make sure not to come out looking too damaged. It was like a victory.
The result is not the point; it is the effort to improve ourselves that is valuable.
Are you constantly conscious of the clock ticking?
How much time does love take? This is Freud’s implicit question. It is some sort of defense against death.
Noon slumbers.
22.
A high-class restaurant where everything is special. There, milling about, whirling around, flitting here and there, were the most beautiful women of Paris, the richest, the noblest, dazzling, stately, resplendent with diamonds, flowers in their hair, on their bosoms, on their heads, strewn over dresses or in garlands at their feet. People had to be looked at before being admitted, but everyone was always let in. The mostly faded wallpaper still showed a few traces of yellow. It was the first time I’d been to a place like that, such an expensive place, I mean, and I must admit a ravenous hunger possessed me all of a sudden, because although I’m as thin as a rake, put food in front of me and I’m liable to fall upon it like the Unrepentant Glutton of the Southern Cone, or the Emily Dickinson of Bulimia, especially if it’s an assortment of cheeses to beggar belief and a variety of wines to set your head spinning. Champagne does wonders for boosting the morale, everyone knows that.
“But, what am I to do?” she said. Here we have, I believe, the only philosophical question of any merit whatsoever. Like all the women in the world, she wanted a real lover. Whereas what I want is someone to fuck. We all love to tell those we love that we love them, and to hear from them that we are loved—but as grownups we are not quite as sure we know what this means as we once were, when we were children and love was a simple thing. We sat for a moment in silence, and then the waiter delivered our meals.
“Listen, my dear,” I said gently. “You mustn’t be worried, he will come back.” Eleanor was silent for a moment. “To forgive, it is best to know as little as possible.”
“Yes, I can imagine,” she said dryly.
I was having a good time, I realized suddenly. “The ancients have a saying,” I said. I wanted to seem like I was in the process of focusing in on something important. “What every man knows best about himself is how to masturbate. And I confess that I continue to masturbate
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