suddenly it’s she who’s imploring, she doesn’t say what for, and he, he shouts to her to be quiet, that he doesn’t want to have anything more to do with her, doesn’t want to have his pleasure of her any more. And now once more they are caught together, locked together in terror, and now the terror abates again, and now they succumb to it again, amid tears, despair, and happiness.
They are silent all evening long. In the black car that takes her back to the boarding school she leans her head on his shoulder. He puts his arm around her. He says it’s a good thing the boat from France is coming soon to take her away and separate them. They are silent during the drive. Sometimes he tells the driver togo around by the river. She sleeps, exhausted, on his shoulder. He wakes her with kisses.
In the dormitory the light is blue. There’s a smell of incense, they always burn incense at dusk. The heat is oppressive, all the windows are wide open, and there’s not a breath of air. I take my shoes off so as not to make any noise, but I’m not worried, I know the mistress in charge won’t get up, I know it’s accepted now that I come back at night at whatever time I like. I go straight to where H.L. is, always slightly anxious, always afraid she may have run away during the day. But she’s there. She sleeps deeply, H.L. An obstinate, almost hostile sleep, I remember. Expressing rejection. Her bare arms are flung up in abandon around her head. Her body is not lying down decorously like those of the other girls, her legs are bent, her face is invisible, her pillow awry. I expect she was waiting for me but fell asleep as she waited, impatient and angry. She must have been crying too, and then lapsed into oblivion. I’d like to wake her up, have a whispered conversation. I don’t talk to the man from Cholon any more, he doesn’t talk to me, I need to hear H.L.’s questions. She has the matchless attentiveness of those who don’t understand what is said to them. But I can’t wake her up. Once she’s awakened like that, in the middle of the night, H.L. can’t go back to sleep again. She gets up, wants to gooutside, does so, goes down the stairs, along the corridors, out all alone into the big empty playgrounds, she runs, she calls out to me, she’s so happy, it’s irresistible, and when she’s not allowed to go out with the other girls, you know that’s just what she wants. I hesitate, but then no, I don’t wake her up. Under the mosquito net the heat is stifling, when you close the net after you it seems unendurable. But I know it’s because I’ve come in from outside, from the banks of the river where it’s always cool at night. I’m used to it, I keep still, wait for it to pass. It passes. I never fall asleep right away despite the new fatigues in my life. I think about the man from Cholon. He’s probably in a nightclub somewhere near the Fountain with his driver, they’ll be drinking in silence, they drink arrack when they’re on their own. Or else he’s gone home, he’s fallen asleep with the light on, still without speaking to anyone. That night I can’t bear the thought of the man from Cholon any more. Nor the thought of H.L. It’s as if they were happy, and as if it came from outside themselves. And I have nothing like that. My mother says, This one will never be satisfied with anything. I think I’m beginning to see my life. I think I can already say, I have a vague desire to die. From now on I treat that word and my life as inseparable. I think I have a vague desire to be alone, just as I realize I’ve never been alone any more since I left childhood behind, and the family of the hunter. I’m going to write.That’s what I see beyond the present moment, in the great desert in whose form my life stretches out before me.
I forget the words of the telegram from Saigon. Forget whether it said my younger brother was dead or whether it said, Recalled to God. I seem to remember it was Recalled to
They are silent all evening long. In the black car that takes her back to the boarding school she leans her head on his shoulder. He puts his arm around her. He says it’s a good thing the boat from France is coming soon to take her away and separate them. They are silent during the drive. Sometimes he tells the driver togo around by the river. She sleeps, exhausted, on his shoulder. He wakes her with kisses.
In the dormitory the light is blue. There’s a smell of incense, they always burn incense at dusk. The heat is oppressive, all the windows are wide open, and there’s not a breath of air. I take my shoes off so as not to make any noise, but I’m not worried, I know the mistress in charge won’t get up, I know it’s accepted now that I come back at night at whatever time I like. I go straight to where H.L. is, always slightly anxious, always afraid she may have run away during the day. But she’s there. She sleeps deeply, H.L. An obstinate, almost hostile sleep, I remember. Expressing rejection. Her bare arms are flung up in abandon around her head. Her body is not lying down decorously like those of the other girls, her legs are bent, her face is invisible, her pillow awry. I expect she was waiting for me but fell asleep as she waited, impatient and angry. She must have been crying too, and then lapsed into oblivion. I’d like to wake her up, have a whispered conversation. I don’t talk to the man from Cholon any more, he doesn’t talk to me, I need to hear H.L.’s questions. She has the matchless attentiveness of those who don’t understand what is said to them. But I can’t wake her up. Once she’s awakened like that, in the middle of the night, H.L. can’t go back to sleep again. She gets up, wants to gooutside, does so, goes down the stairs, along the corridors, out all alone into the big empty playgrounds, she runs, she calls out to me, she’s so happy, it’s irresistible, and when she’s not allowed to go out with the other girls, you know that’s just what she wants. I hesitate, but then no, I don’t wake her up. Under the mosquito net the heat is stifling, when you close the net after you it seems unendurable. But I know it’s because I’ve come in from outside, from the banks of the river where it’s always cool at night. I’m used to it, I keep still, wait for it to pass. It passes. I never fall asleep right away despite the new fatigues in my life. I think about the man from Cholon. He’s probably in a nightclub somewhere near the Fountain with his driver, they’ll be drinking in silence, they drink arrack when they’re on their own. Or else he’s gone home, he’s fallen asleep with the light on, still without speaking to anyone. That night I can’t bear the thought of the man from Cholon any more. Nor the thought of H.L. It’s as if they were happy, and as if it came from outside themselves. And I have nothing like that. My mother says, This one will never be satisfied with anything. I think I’m beginning to see my life. I think I can already say, I have a vague desire to die. From now on I treat that word and my life as inseparable. I think I have a vague desire to be alone, just as I realize I’ve never been alone any more since I left childhood behind, and the family of the hunter. I’m going to write.That’s what I see beyond the present moment, in the great desert in whose form my life stretches out before me.
I forget the words of the telegram from Saigon. Forget whether it said my younger brother was dead or whether it said, Recalled to God. I seem to remember it was Recalled to
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