276
PARTISAN REVIEW
which you are no longer capable, exhausted from adapting to so many
sna res , at every moment. The pretext - who would believe it? - was
ca ts!
"Are you leaving already?" The blonde behind the counter was evi–
dently intrigued .
He shrugged his shoulders, feeling guilty.
He sauntered along the boulevard . Spring. Words. Spring made up
of words. Trotyl. Dust. Red . Cherry. Delicate buds as in an adve rtise–
ment. A dog and a cat. Blows, fire, hooligans, crowbars, destruction of
the apartment, the blaze . Earth, air, water, and fire. Oxygen ation,
aphrodisiacs, aggression, the venom of loneliness. Spring, roll of words.
He sat down on a bench in the small dusty park. Words: the mind is
forever producing words; you hear them flowing all the time inside you.
Destruction. Fire. Crowbars, blows. Spite. Red . Crematorium. Mayflies.
The look and the body of mayflies. Magnetic encounters, the grating
silk, morbid idylls, night breeze. The fancies of tiredness wrapped him in
words, as in a protective film. Absent moments - he knew the danger of
such senile flights .
Maybe he should go to Tolea's, to show him the magazine. Tolea's
reactions are childish and unpredictable: they mimic vitality well and even
radiate a kind of therapeutic irritation . He might start shouting or curs–
ing, or set the magazine alight, or quite simply throw him out as an in–
truder. Well, it's hard to say who the intruder is. After all, Tolea, not
he, is the tenant. So yes, it would be good to visit Tolea, especially since
he didn't do it very often; the tenant would have no reason to
complain . Not very often - but then the last time was just yesterday.
He had knocked timidly. No answer. But Tolea was home. He felt
that Tolea was in but did not want to open the door. He knocked
again, once, twice , then cautiously opened the door. Mr. Tolea Voinov
barely turned his head. He seemed to recognize the intruder but did not
honor him with any gesture. The man remained at the door, unsure
whether to enter. The waiting lasted only a moment. The host cut
through the air with his legs and bounded straight up to the guest.
"So, old good-fellow! Just as well you've come."
Bowing down to the ground. Then a step sideways to make room
for the eminent guest, who decided on the only possible course: he
smiled. He looked at the professor and beamed. Yes, the tenant was the
same. White ribbed trousers , white sweater, white tennis shoes. Shaven,
bald, fresh. Yes, there was no mistaking him. He sat down on one of the
two chairs in the tiny room.
"I've got bad news."
"Thank God!" The professor crossed himself. "Let it all out, then.
