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PARTISAN REVIEW
dear friends at that, never speak of Auschwitz at all. Others talk
about it incessantly, and I'm one of them. I exaggerated a bit when I
quoted Coleridge. My heart isn't constantly burning. Many years
have passed and, above all, I've written many books on the subject,
I've given a huge number of talks in schools and at conferences, and
I've talked with a tremendous amount of people. All this has built up
a sort of diaphragm, a barrier, so you can say I was really a bit
rhetorical in quoting Coleridge.
RS:
It's a beautiful passage!
PL:
I know! I was struck by it when I first read it. I was struck by
this fact in particular: if you remember the scene of the Ancient
Mariner, he grabs the weddings guests, who pay him no heed-they
have the wedding on their minds - and forces them to listen to his
tale. Well, when I had just come back from the camp, I acted in the
same way. I had an impelling need to tell this story to whomever at
all! I had just gotten a job as a chemist in a little paint factory near
Turin, and the workers there considered me something of a harmless
kook because I did the exact same thing: I told my story to anyone
and everyone, at the drop of a hat, from the plant manager to the
yardman, even if they had other things to do - just like the Ancient
Mariner. And then I would type into the night (because I also lived
in the factory). I typed every night, and this was considered even
crazier!
RS:
And what was their reaction to your story?
PL:
It was ... correct. I don't know. They listened, some were even
very interested.
RS:
Did you tell your story in spite of yourself or with the precise
idea that you had to tell it?
PL:
I really needed to tell it. Now, if you ask me
why
I needed to tell
it, I'd have a hard time answering you. But I had the feeling that I
think Catholics must have when they go to confession: it's a great
relief to confess. Or the feeling you have if you're in therapy with a
psychoanalyst and by telling your story, you break free of it. But
there's more to it than that. A very intelligent friend of mine once
said to me, "That period was in Technicolor and the rest of your life
has been in black and white." And that's pretty close to the truth. For
example, it's true (and I wrote this in
I
sommersi e i salvatI)
that my
memory of my imprisonment is much sharper and more detailed
than anything before or since. For example, I remember that a few
times, even recently, I have run into former prisonmates and, even
though I hadn't seen them in forty years, I have been able to
