114
PARTISAN
I~EVIEW
I drag her
to
the side. She resists. She's crying. Her wrists are breaking.
"Your father! Your father!"
The forces desert Ille. I hated Illy father. I wished he would die. Anka's
words are full of venOIll and narcosis. She goes back. I lag behind. I don't
know whether I walked Anka hOllle. I'm hurrying somewhere, pushing
and stumbling. Nobody wants
to
tell me I'm being rude. And that's al l I'm
waiting for. I understand nothing but my anger. I can't justifY anyth ing but
my absurd desire for sOlllebody to ca ll me rude. I went into a brothel. Zora
is inviting me
to
her room. The passion has fj-ozen inside Ille. I drown it
in beer and then we went up. I offered her a lot of nlon ey. She lay on her
stomach. We are both suffering. It's the first til11e that she can feel the pain
of a man .... l3ut I fallon her back olllnipotently :lI1d sob_ I'm disgusted
with myself. I can do anything I want with her. .. while what I wanted to
do out of spite and anger. .. 1 couldn't. ... My fi-l'l'dom has to be purchased.
I went looking for it in a brothel, alllong slaves . ... 1 left.
The lalllPs, the stars and the lighted windows tirl' my eyes. I'm strug–
gling to find a thought, bur I find only sweat, noise and melancholy. What
is this now? I see this aftl'rnoon and the ecstasy of my senses. A great sigh
of pleasure and fj-eedom penetrates the t()rest, thl' skies and the images of
my fantasy. A bloody breath comes from Ill y Elthn's body alld falls , thick–
ened, onto the whiteness of my love. I know, what I can do. Dew is
glittering on the flowers , the leaves and the grass, and thl' big, icy scythe of
death ravages the meadows. Why don ' t I murder Anka' My words drank
all my blood'
Can I go home now' Something hugl' was inside nil' ,md it wanted out.
And now it seemed as if it had been nothing, ,md as if there is nothing
inside me. I ca ll my verses, the visions of Illy illlagin,ltion, the illusions of
my images
f()f
help. The house stopped l'nchanting nil' so long ago-the
brothel profaned fjTl'dom. And there I could do what I wanted to.. _so llle–
thing unnatural-out of spite, anger, curiosity. L3ut what I wanted, I could
not do.
The night is filling down a stccp cliff. Our l'arth is an abyss. The
whole lighted city looks like a hole tIlled with flil's and worms. The sky
is also a hol e, a starry one. And whnl'Vl'r I look, I Sl'e holes. My sighs linger
around the hole, which is humid , dark and endless.
Last night I came home a bit drunk, but fully awarc. I threw up in the
bathroom. My mothn poured water and tcars on ml'. I said:
"I haw been drinking. Why did you let Illl' ch;lI1ge the dressing on
father's wounds? Why did I have to SCl' his wounds?" I drank out of des–
peration. I was disgusted, so I drank. I drank and got sick again.
I staycd at hOllle today. That brandy shou ld ha1"l11 mc bothers me more
than everything else. It is a disaster in my age, likc bl'ing impotent with a
