352
PARTISAN REVIEW
to the window. "No, there's no way not to suffer. But you try
all
kinds of ways to keep from drowning in
it,
to keep on top of it, and
to make it seem-well, like
you.
Like you did something, all right,
and now you're suffering for it. You know?" I said nothing. "Well
you know," he said, impatiently, "why
do
people suffer? Maybe
it's better to do something to give it a reason,
any
reason."
"But we just agreed," I said, "that there's no way not to suffer.
Isn't it better, then, just to-take it?"
"But nobody just takes it," Sonny cried, "that's what I'm telling
you!
Everybody
tries not to. You're just hung up on the
way
some
people try-it's not
your
way!"
The hair on my face began to itch, my face felt wet. "That's not
true," I said, "that's not true. I don't give a damn what other people
do, I don't even care how they suffer. I just care how
you
suffer."
And he looked at me. "Please believe me," I said, "I don't want to
see you-die-trying not to suffer."
"I won't," he said, flatly, "die trying not to suffer. At least,
not any faster than anybody else."
"But there's no need," I said, trying to laugh, "is there? in kill–
ing yourself."
I wanted to say more, but I couldn't. I wanted to talk about
will power and how life could be- well, beautiful. I wanted to say
that it was all within; but was it? or, rather, wasn't that exactly the
trouble? And I wanted to promise that I would never fail him again.
But it would all have sounded-empty words and lies.
So I made the promise to myself and prayed that I would keep it.
"It's terrible sometimes, inside," he said, "that's what's the
trouble. You walk these streets, black and funky and cold, and
there's not really a living ass to talk to, and there's nothing shaking,
and there's no way of getting it out- that storm inside. You can't
talk it and you can't make love with it, and when you finally try
to get with it and play it, you realize
nobody's
listening. So
you've
got to listen. You got to find a way to listen."
And then he walked away from the window and sat on the
sofa again, as though all the wind had suddenly been knocked out
of him. "Sometimes you'll do
anything
to play, even cut your
mother's throat." He laughed and looked at me. "Or your brother's."
Then he sobered. "Or your own." Then: "Don't worry. I'm all right
