It was just about a week before Valeska committed suicide that I ran into Mara. The week or two preceding that event was a veritable nightmare. A series of sudden deaths and strange encounters with women. First of all there was Pauline Janowski, a little Jewess of sixteen or seventeen who was without a home and without friends or relatives. She came to the office looking for a job. It was towards dosing time and I didn't have the heart to turn her down cold. For some reason or other I took it into my head to bring her home for dinner and if possible try to persuade the wife to put her up for a while. What attracted me to her was her passion for Balzac. All the way home she was talking to me about Lost Illusions.The car was packed and we were jammed so tight together that it didn't make any difference what we were talking about because we were both thinking of only one thing. My wife of course was stupefied to see me standing22 at the door with a beautiful young girl. She was polite and courteous23 in her frigid24 way but I could see immediately that it was no use asking her to put the girl up. It was about all she could do to sit through the dinner with us. As soon as we had finished she excused herself and went to the movies. The girl started to weep. We were still sitting at the table, the dishes piled up in front of us. I went over to her and I put my arms around her. I felt genuinely sorry for her and I was perplexed25 as to what to do for her. Suddenly she threw her arms around my neck and she kissed me passionately26. We stood there for a long while embracing each other and then I thought to myself no, it's a crime, and besides maybe the wife didn't go to the movies at all, maybe she'll be ducking back any minute. I told the kid to pull herself together, that we'd take a trolley28 ride somewhere. I saw the child's bank lying on the mantelpiece and I took it to the toilet and emptied it silently. There was only about seventy-five cents in it. We got on a trolley and went to the beach. Finally we found a deserted29 spot and we lay down in the sand. She was hysterically30 passionate27 and there was nothing to do but to do it. I thought she would reproach me afterwards, but she didn't. We lay there a while and she began talking about Balzac again. It seems she had ambitions to be a writer herself. I asked her what she was going to do. She said she hadn't the least idea. When we got up to go she asked me to put her on the highway. Said she thought she would go to Cleveland or some place. It was after midnight when I left her standing in front of a gasoline station. She had about thirty-five cents in her pocket-book. As I started homeward I began cursing my wife for the mean son of a bitch that she was. I wished to Christ it was she whom I had left standing on the highway with no place to go to. I knew that when I got back she wouldn't even mention the girl's name.
I got back and she was waiting up for me. I thought she was going to give me hell again. But no, she had waited up because there was an important message from O'Rourke. I was to telephone him soon as I got home. However, I decided31 not to telephone. I decided to get undressed and go to bed. Just when I had gotten comfortably settled the telephone rang. It was O'Rourke. There was a telegram for me at the office - he wanted to know if he should open it and read it to me. I said of course. Thetelegram was signed Monica. It was from Buffalo32. Said she was arriving at the Grand Central in the morning with her mother's body. I thanked him and went back to bed. No questions from the wife. I lay there wondering what to do. If I were to comply with the request that would mean starting things all over again. I had just been thanking my stars that I had gotten rid of Monica. And now she was coming back with her mother's corpse33. Tears and reconciliation34. No, I didn't like the prospect35 at all. Supposing I didn't show up ? What then ? There was always somebody around to take care of a corpse. Especially if the bereaved36 were an attractive young blonde with sparkling blue eyes. I wondered if she'd go back to her job in the restaurant. If she hadn't known Greek and Latin I would never have been mixed up with her. But my curiosity got the better of me. And then she was so god-damn poor, that too got me. Maybe it wouldn't have been so bad if her hands hadn't smelled greasy37. That was the fly in the ointment38 - the greasy hands. I remember the first night I met her and we strolled through the park. She was ravishing to look at, and she was alert and intelligent. It was just the time when women were wearing short skirts and she wore them to advantage. I used to go to the restaurant night after night just to watch her moving around, watch her bending over to serve or stooping down to pick up a fork. And with the beautiful legs and the bewitching eyes a marvellous line about Homer, with the pork and sauerkraut a verse of Sapho's, the Latin conjugations, the Odes of Pindar, with the dessert perhaps the Rubaiyat or Cynara.But the greasy hands and the frowsy bed in the boarding house opposite the market place - Whew! I couldn't stomach it. The more I shunned39 her the more clinging she became. Ten page letters about love with footnotes on Thus Spake Zarathustra.And then suddenly silence and me congratulating myself heartily40. No, I couldn't bring myself to go to the Grand Central Station in the morning. I rolled over and I fell sound asleep. In the morning I would get the wife to telephone the office and say I was ill. I hadn't been ill now for over a week ~ it was coming to me.
At noon I find Kronski waiting for me outside the office. He wants me to have lunch with him ... there's an Egyptian girl he wants me to meet. The girl turns out to be a Jewess, but she came from Egypt and she looks like an Egyptian. She's hot stuff and the two of us are working on her at once. As I was supposed to be ill I decided not to return to the office but to take a stroll through the East Side. Kronski was going back to cover me up. We shook hands with the girl and we each went our separate ways. I headed towards the river where it was cool, having forgotten about the girl almost immediately. I sat on the edge of a pier41 with my legs dangling42 over the stringpiece. A scow passed with a load of red bricks. Suddenly Monica came to my mind. Monica arriving at the Grand Central Station with a corpse. A corpse f.o.b. New York! It seemed so incongruous and ridiculous that I burst out laughing. What had she done with it? Had she checked it or had she left it on a siding? No doubt she was cursing me out roundly. I wondered what she would really think if she could have imagined me sitting there at the dock with my legs dangling over the stringpiece. It was warm and sultry despite the breeze that was blowing off the river. I began to snooze. As I dozed43 off Pauline came to my mind. I imagined her walking along the highway with her hand up. She was a brave kid, no doubt about it. Funny that she didn't seem to worry about getting knocked up. Maybe she was so desperate she didn't care. And Balzac! That too was highly incongruous. Why Balzac? Well, that was her affair. Anyway she'd have enough to eat with, until she met another guy. But a kid like that thinking about becoming a writer! Well, why not? Everybody had illusions of one sort or another. Monica too wanted to be a writer. Everybody was becoming a writer. A writer! Jesus, how futile44 it seemed!
I dozed off... When I woke up I had an erection. The sun seemed to be burning right into my fly. I got up and I washed my face at a drinking fountain. It was still as hot and sultry as ever. The asphalt was soft as mush, the flies were biting, the garbage was rotting in the gutter45. I walked about between the pushcarts46 and looked at things with an empty eye. I had a sort of lingering hard-on all the while, but no definite object in mind. It was only when I got back to Second Avenue that I suddenly remembered the Egyptian Jewess from lunch time. I remembered her saying that she lived over the Russian Restaurant near Twelfth Street. Still I hadn't any definite idea of what I was going to do. Just browsing47 about, killing48 time. My feet nevertheless were dragging me northward49, towards Fourteenth Street. When I got abreast50 of the Russian restaurant I paused a moment and then I ran up the stairs three at a time. The hall door was open. I climbed up a couple of flights scanning the names on the doors. She was on the top floor and there was a man's name under hers. I knocked softly. No answer. I knocked again, a little harder. This time I heard some one moving about. Then a voice dose to the door asking who is it and at the same time the knob turning. I pushed the door open and stumbled into the darkened room. Stumbled right into her arms and felt her naked under the half-opened kimono. She must have come out of a sound sleep and only half realized who was holding her in his arms. When she realized it was me she tried to break away but I had her tight and I began kissing her passionately and at the same time backing her up towards the couch near the window. She mumbled51 something about the door being open but I wasn't taking any chance on letting her slip out of my arms. So I made a slight detour52 and little by little I edged her towards the door and made her shove it with her ass17. I locked it with my one free hand and then I moved her into the centre of the room and with the free hand I unbuttoned my fly and got my pecker out and into position. She was so drugged with sleep that it was almost like working on an automation. I could see too that she was enjoying the idea of being fucked half asleep. The only thing was that every time I made a lunge she grew more wide awake. And as she grew more conscious she became more frightened. It was difficult to know how to put her to sleep again without losing a good fuck. I managed to tumble her on to the couch without losing ground and she was hot as hell now, twisting and squirming like an eel9. From the time I had started to maul her I don't think she had opened her eyes once. I kept saying to myself- "an Egyptian fuck ... an Egyptian fuck" - and so as not to shoot off immediately I deliberately53 began thinking about the corpse that Monica had dragged to the Grand Central Station and about the thirty-five cents that I had left with Pauline on the highway. Then bango! a loud knock on the door and with that she opens her eyes and looks at me in utmost terror. I started to pull away quickly but to my surprise she held me tight. "Don't move", she whispered in my ear. "Wait!" There was another loud knock and then I heard Kronski's voice saying "It's me, Thelma ... it's me Izzy."At that I almost burst out laughing. We slumped54 back again into a natural position and as her eyes softly closed I moved it around inside her, gently so as not to wake her up again. It was one of the most wonderful fucks I ever had in my life. I thought it was going to last forever. Whenever I felt in danger of going off I would stop moving and think - think for example of where I would like to spend my vacation, if I got one, or think of the shirts lying in the bureau drawer, or the patch in the bedroom carpet just at the foot of the bed. Kronski was still standing at the door -1 could hear him changing about from one position to another. Every time I became aware of him standing there I jibbed her a little for good measure and in her half sleep she answered back, humorously, as though she understood what I meant by this put-and-take language. I didn't dare to think what she might be thinking or I'd have come immediately. Sometimes I skirted dangerously close to it, but the saving trick was always Monica and the corpse at the Grand Central Station. The thought of that, the humorousness of it, I mean, acted like a cold douche.
When it was all over she opened her eyes wide and stared at me, as though she were taking me in for the first time. I hadn't a word to say to her; the only thought in my head was to get out as quickly as possible. As we were washing up I noticed a note on the floor near the door. It was from Kronski. His wife had just been taken to the hospital - he wanted her to meet him at the hospital. I felt relieved! it meant that I could break away without wasting any words.
The next day I had a telephone call from Kronski. His wife had died on the operating table. That evening I went home for dinner; we were still at the table when the bell rang. There was Kronski standing at the gate looking absolutely sunk. It was always difficult for me to oner words of condolence;
with him it was absolutely impossible. I listened to my wife uttering her trite55 words of sympathy and I felt more than ever disgusted with her. "Let's get out of here," I said.
We walked along in absolute silence for a while. At the park we turned in and headed for the meadows. There was a heavy mist which made it impossible to see a yard ahead. Suddenly, as we were swimming along, he began to sob56. I stopped and turned my head away. When I thought he had finished I looked around and there he was staring at me with a strange smile. "It's funny", he said, "how hard it is to accept death." I smiled too now and put my hand on his shoulder. "Go on," I said, "talk your head off. Get it off your chest." We started walking again, up and down over the meadows, as though we were walking under the sea. The mist had become so thick that I could barely discern his features. He was talking quietly and madly. "I knew it would happen," he said. "It was too beautiful to last." The night before she was taken ill he had had a dream. He dreamt that he had lost his identity. "I was stumbling around in the dark calling my own name. I remember coming to a bridge, and looking down into the water I saw myself drowning. I jumped off the bridge head first and when I came up I saw Yetta floating under the bridge. She was dead." And then suddenly he added: "You were there yesterday when I knocked at the door, weren't you? I knew you were there and I couldn't go away. I knew too that Yetta was dying and I wanted to be with her, but I was afraid to go alone." I said nothing and he rambled57 on. "The first girl I ever loved died in the same way. I was only a kid and I couldn't get over it. Every night I used to go to the cemetery58 and sit by her grave. People thought I was out of my mind. I guess I was out of my mind. Yesterday; when I was standing at the door, it all came back to me. I was back in Trenton, at the grave, and the sister of the girl I loved was sitting beside me. She said it couldn't go on that way much longer, that I would go mad. I thought to myself that I really was mad and to prove it to myself I decided to do something mad and so I said to her it isn'therI love, It's you,and I pulled her over me and we lay there kissing each other and finally I screwed her, right beside the grave. And I think that cured me because I never went back there again and I never thought about her any more -until yesterday when I was standing at the door. If I could have gotten hold of you yesterday I would have strangled you. I don't know why I felt that way but it seemed to me that you had opened up a tomb, that you were violating the dead body of the girl I loved. That's crazy isn't it? And why did I come to see you to-night? Maybe it's because you're absolutely indifferent to me ... because you're not a Jew and I can talk to you... because you don't give a damn, and you're right... Did you ever read The Revolt of the Angels?"
We had just arrived at the bicycle path which encircles the park. The lights of the boulevard were swimming in the mist. I took a good look at him and I saw that he was out of his head. I wondered if I could make him laugh. I was afraid, too, that if he once got started laughing he would never stop. So I began to talk at random59, about Anatole France at first, and then about other writers, and finally, when I felt that I was losing him, I suddenly switched to General Ivolgin, and with that he began to laugh, not a laugh either, but a cackle, a hideous60 cackle, like a rooster with its head on the block. It got him so badly that he had to stop and hold his guts61; the tears were streaming down his eyes and between the cackles he let out the most terrible, heart-rending sobs62. "I knew you would do me good," he blurted63 out, as the last outbreak died away. "I always said you were a crazy son of a bitch... You're a Jew bastard64 yourself, only you don't know it... Now tell me, you bastard, how was it yesterday? Did you get your end in? Didn't I tell you she was a good lay? And do you know who she's living with, Jesus, you were lucky you didn't get caught. She's living with a Russian poet - you know the guy, too. I introduced you to him once at the Cafe Royal. Better not let him get wind of it. He'll beat your brains out... and he'll write a beautiful poem about it and send it to her with a bunch of roses. Sure I knew him out in Stelton, in the anarchist65 colony. His old man was a Nihilist. The whole family's crazy. By the way, you'd better take care of yourself. I meant to tell you that the other day, but I didn't think you would act so quickly. You know she may have syphilis. I'm not trying to scare you. I'm just telling you for your own good. . . ."
This outburst seemed to really assuage66 him. He was trying to tell me in his twisted Jewish way that he liked me. To do so he had to first destroy everything around me - the wife, the job, my friends, the "nigger wench", as he called Valeska, and so on. "I think some day you're going to be a great writer," he said. "But," he added maliciously67, "first you'll have to suffer a bit. I mean reallysuffer, because you don't know what the word means yet. You only thinkyou've suffered. You've got to fall in love first. That nigger wench now... you don't really suppose that you're in love with her, do you? Did you ever take a good look at her ass ... how it's spreading, I mean? In five years she'll look like Aunt Jemima. You'll make a swell68 couple walking down the avenue with a string of pickaninnies trailing behind you. Jesus, I'd rather see you marry a Jewish girl. You wouldn't appreciate her, of course, but she'd be good for you. You need something to steady yourself. You're scattering69 your energies. Listen, why do you run around with all these dumb bastards70 you pick up? You seem to have a genius for picking up the wrong people. Why don't you throw yourself into something useful? You don't belong in that job - you could be a big guy somewhere. Maybe a labour leader ... I don't know what exactly. But first you've got to get rid of that hatchet-faced wife of yours. Ugh! when I look at her I could spit in her face. I don't see how a guy like you could ever have married a bitch like that. What was it - just a pair of streaming ovaries? Listen, that's what's the matter with you -you've got nothing but sex on the brain... No, I don't mean that either. You've got a mind and you've got passion and enthusiasm ... but you don't seem to give a damn what you do or what happens to you. If you weren't such a romantic bastard I'd almost swear that you were a Jew. It's different with me -1 never had anything to look forward to. But you've got something in you - only you're too damned lazy to bring it out. Listen, when I hear you talk sometimes I think to myself - if only that guy would put it down on paper! Why you could write a book that would make a guy like Dreiser hang his head. You're different from the Americans I know; somehow you don't belong, and it's a damned good thing you don't. You're a little cracked, too - I suppose you know that. But in a good way. Listen a little while ago, if it had been anybody else who talked to me that way I'd have murdered him. I think I like you better because you didn't try to give me any sympathy. I know better than to expect sympathy from you. If you had said one false word to-night I'd have really gone mad. I know it. I was on the very edge. When you started in about General Ivolgin I thought for a minute it was all up with me. That's what makes me think you've got something in you ... that was real cunning! And now let me tellyousomething ... if you don't pull yourself together soon you're going to be screwy. You've got something inside you that's eating you up. I don't know what it is, but you can't put it over on me. I know you from the bottom up. I know there's something griping you - and it's not just your wife, nor your job, nor even that nigger wench whom you think you're in love with. Sometimes I think you were born in the wrong time. Listen, I don't want you to think I'm making an idol71 of you but there's something to what I say... if you had just a little more confidence in yourself you could be the biggest man in the world to-day. You wouldn't even have to be a writer. You might become another Jesus Christ for all I know. Don't laugh -1 mean it. You haven't the slightest idea of your own possibilities ... you're absolutely blind to everything except your own desires. You don't know what you want. You don't know because you never stop to think. You're letting people use you up. You're a damned fool, an idiot. If I had a tenth of what you've got I could turn the world upside down. You think that's crazy, eh? Well, listen to me... I was never more sane72 in my life. When I came to see you to-night I thought I was about ready to commit suicide. It doesn't make much difference whether I do it or not. But anyway, I don't see much point in doing it now. That won't bring her back to me. I was born unlucky. Wherever I go I seem to bring disaster. But I don't want to sick off yet... I want to do some good in the world first. That may sound silly to you, but it's true. I'd like to do something for others ..."
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1
cataclysm
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| n.洪水，剧变，大灾难 | |
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plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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engulfing
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| adj.吞噬的v.吞没，包住( engulf的现在分词 ) | |
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fathoms
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| 英寻( fathom的名词复数 ) | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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surfeited
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| v.吃得过多( surfeit的过去式和过去分词 )；由于过量而厌腻 | |
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purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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divested
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| v.剥夺( divest的过去式和过去分词 )；脱去（衣服）；2。从…取去…；1。（给某人）脱衣服 | |
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eel
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| n.鳗鲡 | |
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veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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fecundity
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| n.生产力；丰富 | |
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illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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encompass
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| vt.围绕，包围；包含，包括；完成 | |
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encompassed
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| v.围绕( encompass的过去式和过去分词 )；包围；包含；包括 | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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decomposed
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| 已分解的，已腐烂的 | |
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molecule
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| n.分子，克分子 | |
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durable
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| adj.持久的，耐久的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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courteous
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frigid
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| adj.寒冷的，凛冽的；冷淡的；拘禁的 | |
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perplexed
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passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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trolley
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| n.手推车，台车；无轨电车；有轨电车 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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hysterically
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| ad. 歇斯底里地 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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buffalo
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| n.(北美)野牛；(亚洲)水牛 | |
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corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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reconciliation
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| n.和解，和谐，一致 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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bereaved
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| adj.刚刚丧失亲人的v.使失去（希望、生命等）( bereave的过去式和过去分词)；（尤指死亡）使丧失（亲人、朋友等）；使孤寂；抢走（财物） | |
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greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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ointment
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| n.药膏，油膏，软膏 | |
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shunned
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| v.避开，回避，避免( shun的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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pier
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| n.码头；桥墩，桥柱；[建]窗间壁，支柱 | |
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dangling
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| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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dozed
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| v.打盹儿，打瞌睡( doze的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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gutter
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| n.沟，街沟，水槽，檐槽，贫民窟 | |
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pushcarts
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| n.手推车( pushcart的名词复数 ) | |
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47
browsing
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| v.吃草( browse的现在分词 )；随意翻阅；（在商店里）随便看看；（在计算机上）浏览信息 | |
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48
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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49
northward
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| adv.向北；n.北方的地区 | |
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50
abreast
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| adv.并排地；跟上(时代)的步伐，与…并进地 | |
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51
mumbled
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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52
detour
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| n.绕行的路，迂回路；v.迂回，绕道 | |
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53
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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54
slumped
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| 大幅度下降，暴跌( slump的过去式和过去分词 )； 沉重或突然地落下[倒下] | |
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55
trite
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| adj.陈腐的 | |
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56
sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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57
rambled
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| （无目的地）漫游( ramble的过去式和过去分词 )； （喻）漫谈； 扯淡； 长篇大论 | |
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58
cemetery
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| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
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59
random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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60
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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61
guts
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| v.狼吞虎咽，贪婪地吃，飞碟游戏（比赛双方每组5人，相距15码，互相掷接飞碟）；毁坏（建筑物等）的内部( gut的第三人称单数 )；取出…的内脏n.勇气( gut的名词复数 )；内脏；消化道的下段；肠 | |
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62
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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63
blurted
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| v.突然说出，脱口而出( blurt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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64
bastard
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| n.坏蛋，混蛋；私生子 | |
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anarchist
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| n.无政府主义者 | |
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66
assuage
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| v.缓和，减轻，镇定 | |
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67
maliciously
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| adv.有敌意地 | |
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68
swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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69
scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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70
bastards
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| 私生子( bastard的名词复数 )； 坏蛋； 讨厌的事物； 麻烦事 （认为别人走运或不幸时说）家伙 | |
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71
idol
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| n.偶像，红人，宠儿 | |
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72
sane
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| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
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