116
I'A I1...TISAN I1..EVI EW
impo tence woul d grow from the very th o ught of m y fa ther, w ho mi ght
fi nd o ut abo ut m y adve ntures and speak to me abo llt th ell1. An d hi s da ily
presence, th e looks and conversa ti o ns we re o nl y th e preve nti o n and
des tructio n of th e g rowth and fl o uri shin g of m y idea, w hi ch could fl ow
o ut and away on ly fa r fr om him . Furth ermore, I could no t even te ll m y
fat he r that thi s was w hat I needed, le t alo ne ask him about hi s youth . T hus
all our conversatio ns would anxio usly evade the subj ec t w hi ch may have
been m y o nly cru cial ques ti o n and th e reason fo r o ur animos ity. And w hen
I saw him ill , powerl ess and d egenera ted , m y tho ught th at had crep t for
eighteen yea rs and was keeping its ta il betwee n its legs suddenl y eleva ted
m y w ho le bein g, from head to foot.
It is amazin g; it stupefies me and makes me t hink ; I beli eve I sho ul d
sooner mi ss m y fa th er's fun eral than a da te. An d I'm no t fi ghtin g thi s fe el–
in g, but neith er does it enchant Ill e like it did yesterday. And t hi s thin g, so
amazing w hen I think abo u t it, becomes so natural, wh en I begin to fee l.
N o r am I ashamed th at it is imprope r, shameful and criminal; that it is
beas tl y, savage and to tal cor rup tion . T here is no fi ght betwee n good and
ev il in me now, bu t ri ght now ev il does n't fasc in ate me either. Th at vom–
itin g th at had des troyed me, shamed me and give n me a bad conscience
makes all m y enchantment a na·l·ve illusio n . And I beli eve th at even m y
fa th er would laugh sadly and mock ingly abo ut it,just li ke he di d abo ut that
dead landscape. At the verge of death-what is it all to him ' Hi s adv ice,
m y mother's tea rs, m y vomitin g.
" Hi s breathing is heavy," m y mother w hi spered. I fe lt he r hands on
m y back and we both shi vered . " H e wa nted Aun tie to leave th e room.
Yo ur bro the rs are coming to ni ght, but he's o nl y as kin g fo r yo u."
I we nt o ut slowly. My mothe r's unu sual vo ice con fused and fI- ighte ned
me. I tho ught of meeti ng m y fa th er's gaze.
T he sun is yell ow and th e wes t is ba th ed in thi ck li ght. T he w indow–
panes re fl ect colo rs like li ghted ca ndl es in a mirro r. I am ove rcome by
curi osity: m y fa th er is askin g fo r me. What w ill he say
to
me' What does
he want to tell me' I'll ki ss hi s hand, if he is dyin g.
Everythin g aro un d me tells me that someth ing ho ly, g rea t and o rdi–
nary is happening. Th e dog li es un der the ta bl e and th e fli es have stopped
buzzin g.
My mo th er to uched m y sleeve, then ki ssed nl e. My eyes fill ed with
tea rs. I feel as if mo th s we re buzz in g in bo th o ri fices, and maggo ts we re
laz il y crawlin g alo ng m y bo nes. I ente r m y fa the r's room very cu r io usly.
There are just th e three of us. He is go ing to say something, I thi nk, and I
wa it sil ently. Thi s g rea t sil ence rea ll y does co nvey somethin g grea t, ho ly
and magn ifi cent. Mothe r and I wa it patientl y. Father speaks on ly thro ugh
mo ti on: would I close th e door' We close it. Coul d we raise him up a li t-
