Коллекционер
Chapter 2
Isaid,I’mnotabletoputlifeincompartmentsyet.That’sall.
Look,Miranda,hesaid,thosetwentylongyearsthatliebetweenyouandme.I’vemoreknowledgeoflifethanyou,I’velivedmoreandbetrayedmoreandseenmorebetrayed.Atyourageoneisburstingwithideals.YouthinkthatbecauseIcansometimesseewhat’strivialandwhat’simportantinartthatIoughttobemorevirtuous.ButIdon’twanttobevirtuous.Mycharm(ifthereisany)foryouissimplyfrankness.Andexperience.Notgoodness.I’mnotagoodman.PerhapsmorallyI’myoungereventhanyouare.Canyouunderstandthat?
HewasonlysayingwhatIfelt.Iwasstiffandhewassupple,anditoughttobetheotherwayround.Thefaultallmine.ButIkeptonthinking,hetookmetotheconcert,andhecamebackheretoher.IrememberedtimeswhenIrangthebellandtherehadbeennoanswer.Iseenowitwasallsexualjealousy,butthenitseemedabetrayalofprinciples.(Istilldon’tknow—it’sallmuddledinmymind.Ican’tjudge.)
Isaid,I’dliketohearRaviShankar.Icouldn’tsay,Iforgiveyou.
Sowelistenedtothat.Thenplayedchess.Andhebeatme.NoreferencetoToinette,exceptattheveryend,onthestairs,whenhesaid,it’sallovernow.
Ididn’tsayanything.
Sheonlydiditforfun,hesaid.
Butitwasneverthesame.Itwasasortoftruce.Isawhimafewtimesmore,butneveralone,IwrotehimtwoletterswhenIwasinSpain,andhesentapostcardback.
