Коллекционер

           Iwasrestlessoneevening.Iwentroundtohisflat.Aboutten.Hehadhisdressing-gownon.

           Iwasjustgoingtobed,hesaid.

           Iwantedtohearsomemusic,Isaid.I’llgoaway.ButIdidn’t.

           Hesaid,it’slate.

           IsaidIwasdepressed.IthadbeenabeastlydayandCarolinehadbeensosillyatsupper.

           Heletmegoupandmademesitonthedivanandheputonsomemusicandturnedoutthelightsandthemooncamethroughthewindow.Itfellonmylegsandlapthroughtheskylight,alovelyslowsilvermoon.Sailing.Andhesatinthearmchairontheothersideoftheroom,intheshadows.

           Itwasthemusic.

           TheGoldbergVariations.

           Therewasonetowardstheendthatwasveryslow,verysimple,verysad,butsobeautifulbeyondwordsordrawingoranythingbutmusic,beautifulthereinthemoonlight.Moon-music,sosilvery,sofar,sonoble.

           Thetwoofusinthatroom.Nopast,nofuture.Allintensedeepthat-time-only.Afeelingthateverythingmustend,themusic,ourselves,themoon,everything.Thatifyougettotheheartofthingsyoufindsadnessforeverandever,everywhere;butabeautifulsilversadness,likeaChristface.

           Acceptingthesadness.Knowingthattopretenditwasallgaywastreachery.Treacherytoeveryonesadatthatmoment,everyoneeversad,treacherytosuchmusic,suchtruth.

           InallthefussandanxietyandtheshoddinessandthebusinessofLondon,makingacareer,gettingpashes,art,learning,grabbingfranticallyatexperience,suddenlythissilentsilverroomfullofthatmusic.