PARTISAN REVIEW
the response as a whole. Understanding and compassion are
included in that response, were part of the complex of feeling
with which I met the experience.
Be sure, my Own One, that in every sense but the temporal
I was, from the start, beyond corruption, on the other side.
I was isolated and unrelated to a degree that allowed my
chastity to cut clean through the horror like a blade. And
at this very moment my whole being is all-consuming as the
fire that bore the Phoenix to burn into a white flame. I cry
from my heart.
2bS
With palpitating fingers I posted this explanation and returned
to analyze in my notebook the ramifying bearings that this whole
episode might possibly have on my relationship with Jockey, the
depth of which let no man underestimate. I concluded: "There is
one finality, one knowledge known absolutely, one relation that,
beyond consciousness on either part, is s,haping my responses and has
made its claims. Claims is a word too insignificant to show the way
in which this is part of my being. Beyond questions of desire,
choice, claim, there are existing in me, come from the darkness,
modes of response that are part of my whole relationship with
him. For this reason alone any simple idea of domination or power
on either side is irrelevant. What claims he has, and I know that
there are claims, were not made by him but by the fact of the
relationship itself."
I closed the book but recurrent waves of nausea throughout the
day obliged me to open it again and make something disposable
of my harrowing relivings. I decided, finally, that I could not have
been deeply touched and asked myself: "Am I not falling victim
to the last concepts of man given us which are now outworn and,
indeed, known to be wide of the mark?" This seemed so wise and
satisfying a conclusion that I copied it out and dispatched it Jockey–
ward. Mter changing the sheets I went to bed perfectly calm.
It
was two months before I saw him and could explain what
had in fact occurred. Invoking Sartre's name he accused me of bad
faith. I said it was more like bad luck but he assured me the case
was classic: an inert female experiencing the caresses of a male and
convincing herself that nothing is taking place. "There is a sense,"
I said with dignity, "in which nothing did take place." "Mon
semblable, rna soeur," was all his reply.
