Thérèse and Isabelle by Violette Leduc Page B

listening to your heart. Such a prison . . . Are you listening to it too?”
    â€œI don’t feel sad,” said Isabelle.
    I turned to face her:
    â€œYou’re not sleeping?”
    â€œI was seeing us in a cinema. I was misbehaving, not being good,” said Isabelle.
    â€œIn a cinema . . . That is strange . . . It’s possible that reminds me of something. Yet it isn’t a memory. It’s as if I had been to this cinema that I don’t know,” I said.
    â€œIt won’t happen. We aren’t free,” said Isabelle.
    â€œLet’s run away.”
    â€œI’ve no money.”
    â€œMe neither. We’ll sell what can be sold, then we’ll take the train, let’s try. We won’t starve to death.”
    â€œWe shan’t run away. We have to be here. We can have every night to ourselves if we are careful. Do you hate the school?”
    â€œNot at all. I’m afraid they’ll make me leave . . . Will you see me between your classes? Say, will you see me?”
    She didn’t reply.
    Two rosettes became one.
    â€œWho told you?”
    â€œI’ve always known,” said Isabelle.
    â€œI’m hungry.”
    She opened the drawer in her night table, without looking away she pushed a bar of dusty chocolate into my mouth.
    â€œEat,” said Isabelle, “eat and calm down.”
    My cheek bumped against the flashlight on the pillow.
    One after the other I lit up the palms of her hands, far from our union.
    â€œI need you,” I said.
    â€œI need you,” said Isabelle.
    â€œYes. Yes,” I moaned.
    â€œSomeone’s there,” said Isabelle, calmly.
    She stood up, looked out into the passage.
    â€œNo one. No one was there,” said Isabelle.
    She leaned over the bed. Isabelle was not going to lie down again.
    She was frolicking between my thighs,she drew alarming figure eights, drawing them bigger and bigger, she was stroking as she bent over me.
    Three fingers entered, three guests that my flesh swallowed up.
    So she came back to bed, like the acrobat bending low who carries his partner balanced on his fingertip.
    â€œYou aren’t listening to me,” said Isabelle.
    â€œI’m listening. You’re telling me little things, you have come back, you are inside me. The rain . . . Oh, yes . . . yes! I don’t hate it. It’s a friend. Yes, yes . . . Let’s die together, Isabelle, die while you are me and I am you. I’ll stop thinking that we will be parted. Let’s die, don’t you think?”
    â€œI don’t want to. I want this. I want to be deep inside you. Dying . . . that’s too stupid.”
    â€œIf I had leprosy would you abandon me?”
    â€œI don’t have it, you don’t have it, we haven’t got it. Why are you turning the light on?”
    Isabelle took her hand away, she crossed her arms over her face.
    â€œWould you leave me?”
    She shrugged.
    â€œLook at me,” I said.
    â€œI’m looking with my eyes closed.”
    â€œIf I were to die tomorrow would you stay alive?”
    She turned to me. She appeared within a frost-edged bramble each time she turned around like this.
    â€œYou would stay alive. You’re not answering.”
    Isabelle pressed her hands together. Impulses, twitches were flying across her face: her spirit was in ferment.
    â€œIt’s a difficult question,” said Isabelle.
    She would not open her eyes.
    â€œAnswer!”
    â€œThese questions are too big.”
    Isabelle lifted her eyes. Now she was staring at me:
    â€œDo you really want to die with me when you say that? Truly? You would really like us to die at the same time?”
    Isabelle threw back her head. She was thinking hard.
    â€œI don’t know anymore,” I said.
    â€œGive me your hand,” she said. “No . . . don’t give me your hand. Not now.”
    â€œYou are so beautiful . . . I really would like to but I couldn’t. I