SLEEP NO MORE
He ignored my question and proceeded to one of
his
own.
"What was Miss Caruso's occupation?"
235
"She was some kind of writer, at least she called herself one,
maybe a ghost writer or a publicity writer who dreamed of becoming
the great American novelist."
At this point I recalled having seen mail addressed to Miss
Caruso from some kind of writers' organization that sounded as
though it were made up of writers who could not get published
in any of the standard media, and by way of compensation put out
little mimeographed bulletins displaying their unrecognized genius.
I was about to inform my visitor of this fact, though I must confess
I hesitated because I thought it would be very difficult
to
explain
to Intelligence that it was quite normal for writers without any rec–
ognized talents to set up writers' organizations,
to
publish hand-made
magazines, and generally to act in every way as though they really
were writers. But I decided to make the effort, when it suddenly oc–
curred to me that the representative of Intelligence should certainly
have known the answers to the questions he was asking me. Surely
Intelligence knew more than I did about Miss Caruso; and
if
there
was a legitimate reason for investigating her, one could at the very
least expect that her occupation and her places of residence would
be known. Of course, my interrogator's ignorance could have been
explained by assuming that the decision to investigate Miss Caruso
was a purely arbitrary one on the
part
of Intelligence, made in the
course of investigating some other person, and that it was no more
interested in Miss Caruso, herself, than it was
in
me. But this was
really too frightening an idea to entertain seriously, for in that case
Intelligence might just as arbitrarily decide at some point to switch
the investigation to me. Besides it was becoming clear that my effort
to figure out for myself all the possibilities of the case, and thus usurp
the very function of Intelligence, far from illuminating the situation
for me had the effect only of making me more uneasy. The best
thing
to do, therefore, was to be direct and ask Intelligence why it was so
ignorant of the most elementary facts
in
the case.
"I must interrupt at
this
point," I said, "to tell you, quite frankly,
that I am baftled by your questions, which makes it difficult for me
to cooperate with you, as I'm the kind of person who must know
at all times just what it is I'm engaged in. I mean that I cannot
