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PARTISAN REVIEW
- that the blockhead had already turned around, slowly, that his smooth
pate was like a bright sphere beneath a thin aura of rush light. Yes, he
had moved the clasp and lightbulb to a shelf so that its holy light fell on
the bald head, and now he was looking astonished at the beanstalk, as if
he had only just discovered his presence.
"Have I annoyed you in some way, sir? Is it my shameless good hu–
mor? It's just harmless playacting, really. You should ignore it. Don't
worry, I'm not such a bore as to pester you with my melodramatics. As
for the loan, make it some other day. When the time comes. When we
start our walks down memory lane."
Then he fell silent. Probably he was gathering strength for the last
bombshell. And his voice became grave, calm, low, without any sharp–
ness.
"You know, sir, I don't care about anything. I really don't care
about anything. Do you remember my father? He thought he'd escape.
Philosopher! Sorbonne!
Magna cum laude!
Pah! and he built up a stock of
wine - to escape . He thought he'd escape : wine is an ever necessary fuel.
Including in days of wrath - especially then. Just look at how everyone
jostles in lines to get some of that stinking sawdust-and-garbage wine.
The receptionist at the Hotel Vancea doesn't care whether he escapes or
not! I don't care about anything, remember. But that one did.
Philosopher, Sorbonne! When he realized what awaited him in the par–
adise he'd gone back to, he went into hiding. Relations, money, wine
stocks - we'll shake all that off. That's what the philosopher thought.
He didn't escape, as you know; he didn't escape. And as for me, I don't
care even if I do escape somehow. I really don't, you know. My indif–
ference is harder than a diamond! It is a diamond indifference, sir, harder
than the heart of His Majesty the Chief Scriptwriter, hidden everywhere,
never to be found. Everywhere and nowhere, a fine old trick."
He had suddenly opened the window. The darkness rushed in -
swift, perfumed, cunning. A sudden lashing. The professor tottered, raised
himself up, and took his guest by the shoulders.
With an air of boredom he had gently pushed him toward the door,
into the night. And that had been only yesterday.
"You're back?" the library blonde murmured in astonishment.
Pensioner Matei Gafton gave a smile of complicity. He was a regular
customer, as they say. But although he spent much of his time at the
li–
brary, he hesitated to give any explanation.
"Yes, I've given up the idea of going home. I'd only disturb my
wife, who'll be giving private lessons there until this evening. And my
