PARTISAN REVIEW
327
walked off in the direction indicated by Nell. My step was light.
Too light, nearly wraithlike in the spacious, winding substance of this
apartment.
It
made me feel weak and sick, the apartment, the
creepy trivial way I walked in it. Like a man looking for his own
pathetic step on a huge ship at sea. A man who has never seen or
felt a high sea, never learned to walk with its long surge, its remorse–
less drag and lunge. I needed this moment away from the blazing,
loud incoherence of the crowded land, alone, out of sight, to practice
walking. And my feelings, while practicing, were like those of a young
captain in a novel by Conrad. His first opportunity to command. He
is alone, pacing the deck, getting a sense of himself. A storm is rising '
quickly on the horizon. Some members of the crew try to call
it
to
his attention, but he has already noticed it, and seen through it to
himself. He is sympathetic to their fears, yet more sympathetic to his
own. Could I get at that sense of myself required by this storm?
I notice it's a moral storm. The worst kind. I know the ship is fraught
with goods, and they are meant for the best people. Could I bring
it home intact? Was I the captain? I tried to walk right. One, two,
three, six, fifteen....
It
wasn't easy to walk right. But no prerequi–
site of honor is easy. I was afraid I might kick a jug, scratch a paint–
ing, the way I walked, like a crazy, spastic, stoned, drunken gawk.
Not a captain. I might even fall off the whole fucking ship. But then,
God knows why, I felt it begin: one, two, three, four. ... I was
walking, and all right. I was the captain. One, two, three, here comes
Captain Zombie.
6
A hallway led to hallways, to rooms opening into rooms, a laby–
rinth, a weight of money, accumulating in vistas of paintings, etch–
ings, hanging rugs, pewter, throbbing lacquers, silver, gold. Touch
these good things, I thought. Let sublimation steel you. Touch. Let
lech. Love any hole that feels. I smacked a door, both hands flat
to spare me a broken nose, and fell through it onto
I
my face. I looked
up minutes later and saw a girl at a dressing table. Her back was to
me. She was brushing long brown hair, like the household genie of
serene indifference. She didn't seem to know or care that I was in
the room. I lay on the floor watching her. She spoke:
"Please don't apologize for being late and slamming through my
