PHILIP ROTH
161
utterly breaks my heart. His concern. That intense face of his. I like
him. I
believe
him. Seven thousand piles of paper and the writing on
it all in blood-that's my mania for myself. My upbringing.
That
took courage. I don't think he understands what to do with me . I'm
confusing to such an orderly mind. He thinks I have so far to go and
I have gone so far! To change , to become someone else would be
greatly welcomed, but I don't think it was ever possible. I did a fan–
dango in the hall after his letter came. I don't think I exhaled while
reading. Every single comma the best thing under the sun. I almost
passed out. My astrologer will see great things in this letter: the slop
is gone , she'll say. All you need is to let your hair grow back in and
you are on your way. I'm afraid of him. I was mildly afraid all along.
Oh , the flailing out and the attempt to do something! And it goes
where it wants anyhow! It was on a Friday, couldn't get out of bed .
When I finally did I went into the bathroom and cut off my hair. A
kind of plague came over me, then it's gone like it came . But blindly
driving inward with it , there's the agony. To spring the trap with
suicide, with hemmorhaging down my belly to the floor- that's the
terror. It's the distant bell tolling- it devastates me.
I had a nosebleed from laughing, reading his letter. Never had
one before . But I sat up in the bed reading with this downpour. It
must have been the third time I read it. Reading it so many times
because I love it, that's all . Particularly the end, his name there blaz–
ing away .
In
the afternoon when I'm falling asleep at four on the
sofa, I hear his letter breathing safely by my side. Sofas are better
than beds . Safer. I love sleeping on them. I could sleep in a second
on anyone's sofa, but not on anyone's bed . I told him myoid story.
He wasn't bored by it. You feel when he listens how in touch he is
with that part that isn't fooling. One sequence in particular he liked
a lot. He said it was an exquisite performance on a dime . Which
meant my scope wasn't big enough for him . I suppose he'd prefer
some huge and possibly fatal hemmorhage. I said, "You know, who
ever thinks things out cerebrally? Certainly not
I."
Gentlemen prefer
"I."
What he did was simply talk to me in a very broad, large way.
Great scale, and I drifted away from him in a kind of pink freeze.
Keep away from debauchery , I told myself. Stay away from the zil–
lionaire. Stay away from the pilot. Stay away from the D.A. I had a
wild fight with the D.A. on the phone. I ran outside and vomited
right near the back door. Kind of gave up for a moment. I was out–
side of myself, floating, a bit detached, remembering what people
said about the D .A. It'll never work, they said, he loves to kill people
