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PARTISAN REVIEW
fell into a panic and desperate shame such as I have never seen in
you ever, either before or since. And as your anxiety and your em–
barrassment grew, so your organ shrank at my fingers' touch until it
was almost swallowed up in its lair, like a little boy's. And I , close to
tears of joy, covered your whole body with my kisses and cradled
your handsome, crew-cut head all night long in my arms, and I
kissed you even in the corners of your eyes , because you were as
precious to me that night as you would have been had I given birth
to you. Then I knew that we were fused in each other. That we had
become one flesh.
It
was a few weeks after that that you took me to see your
father .
And by the autumn we were married.
Now you tell me this: Why have I written to you about these
long-forgotten events? To scratch at old scars? To reopen our
wounds for no reason? To decipher a black box? To hurt you all over
again? To arouse your longings? Perhaps this too is a scheme to
catch you once again in my net?
I plead guilty on all six counts. I know no extenuating cir–
cumstances . Except, perhaps for one: I loved you not despite your
cruelty; I loved the dragon itself. And those Friday evenings when
we used to entertain five or six Jerusalem couples, high-ranking
army officers, clever young university lecturers , promising politi–
cians. You used to serve the drinks at the start of the evening, ex–
change some witticisms with the female partners, and curl up in a
corner armchair in the shade of your bookshelves . You followed the
political discussion with an expression of suppressed irony, but
without participating. As the discussion heated up, the faint wolf
grin gradually spread on your lips. You stealthily kept the glasses
topped up, and went back to concentrating on filling your pipe.
When the discussion was at its height and they were all tearing each
other limb from limb, shouting and red in the face , you would
choose your moment with the precision of a ballet dancer, and inter–
ject softly: "Hold on . I'm sorry. I don't follow that." The hubbub
would die down at once and all eyes would fix on you. Lazily draw–
ing out the syllables, you would say: "You're all moving a little too
fast for me. I've got a really elementary question ." And then you
would have shut up. You would concentrate on your pipe for a mo–
ment as though you were alone in the room, and then , out of the
thick cloud , you would deliver a short Katyusha salvo at your
guests . Demanding definitions of the terms they had been using
