Коллекционер
Chapter 2
Justadesperateimitationofwhathemustthinktherealthing’slike.Patheticallyunconvincing.
Hecan’tdoit.
There’snomaninhim.
Igotup,wewerelyingonthesofa,andkneltbyhimandtoldhimnottoworry.Motheredhim.Weputourclothesbackon.
Andgraduallyitallcameout.Thetruthabouthim.Andlater,hisrealself.
Apsychiatristhastoldhimhewon’teverbeabletodoit.
Hesaidheusedtoimagineuslyinginbedtogether.Justlying.Nothingelse.Iofferedtodothat.Buthedidn’twantto.Deepdowninhim,sidebysidewiththebeastliness,thesourness,thereisatremendousinnocence.Itruleshim.Hemustprotectit.
Hesaidhelovedme,evenso.
Isaid,whatyouloveisyourownlove.It’snotlove,it’sselfishness.It’snotmeyouthinkof,butwhatyoufeelaboutme.
Idon’tknowwhatitis,hesaid.
AndthenImadeamistake,Ifeltithadallbeenasacrificeinvain,IfeltIhadtomakehimappreciatewhatI’ddone,thatheoughttoletmego—soItriedtotellhim.Andhistrueselfcameout.
Hegotbeastly.Wouldn’tanswerme.
Wewerefurtherapartthanever.IsaidIpitiedhimandheflewatme.Itwasterrible.Itmademecry.
Theterriblecoldness,theinhumanityofit.
Beinghisprisoner.Havingtostay.Still.
Andrealizingatlastthatthisiswhatheis.
Impossibletounderstand.Whatishe?Whatdoeshewant?WhyamIhereifhecan’tdoit?
AsifI’dlitafireinthedarknesstotryandwarmus.
