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PARTISAN REVIEW
persecution. This simple thought provoked a host of others. Not that
I compared Gregory's uneasiness in front of the Negro (the dream
Negro?) with a Gentile's awkward feelings vis-a-vis a Jew--of course,
I at once recalled that this comparison could easily become a -doc–
trine which would gain in scientific value to the degree that it was
equipped with as yet unknown qualifications. Rather, I thought that
perhaps we both, Gregory and I, harbored some hidden hostilities and
that, who knows, he was a step further than I, who had not had a
dream, toward overcoming them. Or were my present reflections the
equivalent of his dream? Be this as it may-had I not explained his
dream in terms of his experience as a persecuted Jew, a Jew? Help–
lessly I answered myself that Jews are different from Gentiles. I even
realized the danger, the cowardice, of hiding behind this statement,
which thus prevents us from understanding one another. What is more,
I contrasted this last proposition with another one: that if we under–
stand one another completely the differences disappear and there can
be no more talk of Jews and Gentiles. Nay, I went further, clear up
to the subtlety of asking myself how I knew that Gregory's dream
should be interpreted in terms of his being a Jew. Here I stopped,
although I felt considerably closer to a solution--of whatever it was
that troubled me. But the sheer multitude of my thoughts was over–
whelming; at the same time I appeared to myself an incorrigible in–
tellectual who was caught in his own, inescapable stupidity. I longed
to thrash out these problems with Gregory. Also, I was not unaware of
my feeling that the very dealing with them on this intellectual plane
might help him to become more detached from his dream, in case this
should still appear to be desirable; yet, too, I remember having blushed
at this, because it had something patronizing in it. But eventually I
came to the point where I had no time to think further. I was at the
door of Gregory's apartment and had rung the bell.
I was surprised that nobody answered. Gregory was usually home
at this hour. Also, very likely he expected me. When I was about to
ring a second time I saw a note sticking out of his letterbox and found
that the box was open. The note was for me; he had indeed expected
me. It was pencil-written, obviously in a hurry. All it said was, "I am
off for New York to look for my Negro. See you soon. G."
At first I was stupefied, then I thought Gregory was a fool. But
immediately I checked myself by thinking of my friend who decidedly
was not a fool. Finally it dawned upon me that really he would not
find his Negro in his brain, and much less in mine, in our conversa–
tion, and that New York was as likely a place as any to find him.
Perhaps he was also looking forward to stumbling across his dream
