Business tycoons make deals, and politicians speeches. Profiteers worry about their reputations, and artists about their art. As for me, I too like to attend a good concert or smile back at a pretty girl. I bless bread and sanctify the wine, and no one is happier than I when, under my pen, words fall into place, fit into a design and create the illusion that they are leading somewhere.
In truth, I know where they lead. To where there are no words. To the mysterious forests where fathers and sons, Jews already marked by the executioner, always the same, tell each other a story, always the same. To where women with dark dilated pupils, violated and drunk with pain, escort their children to the altar and beyond.
Then there arises from the very depths of my being an irresistible desire to let everything go. To throw away the pen, burn all bridges and start to run and curse and leave the present far behind. To seek the moment that gave birth to these images, and never again to hear the laughter, and the moaning of the wind whipped by the shadows, always the same shadows.
DIALOGUES II
Are you angry with me?
Sometimes. A little.
Because I didn’t suffer like you?
Because you were here and did nothing.
What could we have done?
Cry. Scream. Break the conspiracy of silence.
We didn’t know
.
Not true. Everybody knew. Nobody bothers to deny that any more.
All right, we knew. But we didn’t believe
.
In spite of all the proof, the diagrams, the confidential reports?
Because of them. Don’t you see? They were so horrible, we couldn’t believe them
.
You should have.
And you, would you have believed them? What’s more, you who lived through this experience, do you really believe, today, that it took place?
No. But …
Yes?
… with me, it’s different. Sometimes I wonder if I still have the right to say “I.”
*
Here he is! That’s him! Quick, grab him!
What are you talking about?
That’s him, I tell you! He is dangerous, he must be put away!
But what do you want from him? What has he done?
Nothing, but …
He’s done nothing? And you want to lock him up, punish him?
Just lock him up. He is capable of anything; he knows too much about man and his planet. He must be protected; we must be protected. If he starts talking, we’re done for. We must do everything to keep him quiet!
But he hasn’t said anything yet, has he?
All the more reason to lock him up right away while there’s still time! Lock him up with the madmen without memory, without future! As long as he is free, I feel threatened
.
Did you ever speak to him?
Never. But he spoke to me
.
What did he tell you?
He asked my forgiveness
.
That’s all?
You don’t think that’s enough? He was joking, I know. I’m the one who should ask his forgiveness. I don’t dare; I’m afraid of his voice, of
his eyes. In his presence, I feel cold. I become his secret, the very one he means to carry into his grave. He frightens me; I don’t dare move or breathe. Or even look. My head hits the wall, and the wall is he, is you—and I, where am I? Who am I? He alone knows and that is his vengeance. I am telling you: he is dangerous! Help!
*
You don’t look well, you really don’t
.
Oh, I’ll be all right.
Are you sad?
Could be. Nothing serious.
You should see yourself
.
I believe you.
You can’t go on like this
.
What do you want me to do?
How should I know? Look around you. The trees in bloom. The shop windows. The pretty girls. What the hell, let yourself go. I promise you that after …
After? Did you say: after? Meaning what?
*
Tell me something
.
Anything in particular?
That you like me
.
I like you.
That you missed me
.
I missed you.
That you love me
.
I love you.
That you want to live with me
.
I want to live with you.
Does that frighten you?
Yes.
I am frightened only when you’re away
.
So am I.
Then stay with me
.
I’ll try.
And you’ll speak to me?
I’ll try.
You don’t trust words?
Worse.
In truth, I know where they lead. To where there are no words. To the mysterious forests where fathers and sons, Jews already marked by the executioner, always the same, tell each other a story, always the same. To where women with dark dilated pupils, violated and drunk with pain, escort their children to the altar and beyond.
Then there arises from the very depths of my being an irresistible desire to let everything go. To throw away the pen, burn all bridges and start to run and curse and leave the present far behind. To seek the moment that gave birth to these images, and never again to hear the laughter, and the moaning of the wind whipped by the shadows, always the same shadows.
DIALOGUES II
Are you angry with me?
Sometimes. A little.
Because I didn’t suffer like you?
Because you were here and did nothing.
What could we have done?
Cry. Scream. Break the conspiracy of silence.
We didn’t know
.
Not true. Everybody knew. Nobody bothers to deny that any more.
All right, we knew. But we didn’t believe
.
In spite of all the proof, the diagrams, the confidential reports?
Because of them. Don’t you see? They were so horrible, we couldn’t believe them
.
You should have.
And you, would you have believed them? What’s more, you who lived through this experience, do you really believe, today, that it took place?
No. But …
Yes?
… with me, it’s different. Sometimes I wonder if I still have the right to say “I.”
*
Here he is! That’s him! Quick, grab him!
What are you talking about?
That’s him, I tell you! He is dangerous, he must be put away!
But what do you want from him? What has he done?
Nothing, but …
He’s done nothing? And you want to lock him up, punish him?
Just lock him up. He is capable of anything; he knows too much about man and his planet. He must be protected; we must be protected. If he starts talking, we’re done for. We must do everything to keep him quiet!
But he hasn’t said anything yet, has he?
All the more reason to lock him up right away while there’s still time! Lock him up with the madmen without memory, without future! As long as he is free, I feel threatened
.
Did you ever speak to him?
Never. But he spoke to me
.
What did he tell you?
He asked my forgiveness
.
That’s all?
You don’t think that’s enough? He was joking, I know. I’m the one who should ask his forgiveness. I don’t dare; I’m afraid of his voice, of
his eyes. In his presence, I feel cold. I become his secret, the very one he means to carry into his grave. He frightens me; I don’t dare move or breathe. Or even look. My head hits the wall, and the wall is he, is you—and I, where am I? Who am I? He alone knows and that is his vengeance. I am telling you: he is dangerous! Help!
*
You don’t look well, you really don’t
.
Oh, I’ll be all right.
Are you sad?
Could be. Nothing serious.
You should see yourself
.
I believe you.
You can’t go on like this
.
What do you want me to do?
How should I know? Look around you. The trees in bloom. The shop windows. The pretty girls. What the hell, let yourself go. I promise you that after …
After? Did you say: after? Meaning what?
*
Tell me something
.
Anything in particular?
That you like me
.
I like you.
That you missed me
.
I missed you.
That you love me
.
I love you.
That you want to live with me
.
I want to live with you.
Does that frighten you?
Yes.
I am frightened only when you’re away
.
So am I.
Then stay with me
.
I’ll try.
And you’ll speak to me?
I’ll try.
You don’t trust words?
Worse.
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