Парфюмер. История одного убийцы

Chapter 29

           Andheshuddered,too,fromthepleasureofthewarmthhefeitonhisback.Itwasgood,really,thatthisexternalworldstillexisted,ifonlyasaplaceofrefuge.Norcouldhebeartheawfulthoughtofhowitwouldhavebeennottofindaworldattheentrancetothetunnel!Nolight,noodor,nonothing-onlythatghastlyfoginside,outside,everywhere…Graduallytheshocksubsided.Graduallythegripofanxietyloosened,andGrenouillebegantofeelsafer.Towardnoonhewashisoldcold-bloodedself.Helaidtheindexandmiddlefingersofhislefthandunderhisnoseandbreathedalongthebacksofhisfingers.Hesmelledthemoistspringairspicedwithanemones.Hedidnotsmellanythingofhisfingers.Heturnedhishandoverandsniffedatthepalm.Hesensedthewarmthofhishand,butsmellednothing.Thenherolleduptheraggedsleeveofhisshirt,buriedhisnoseinthecrookofhiselbow.Heknewthatthiswasthespotwhereallhumanssmelllikethemselves.Buthecouldsmellnothing.Hecouldnotsmellanythinginhisarmpits,noronhisfeet,notaroundhisgenitalswhenhebentdowntothemasfarashepossiblycould.Itwasgrotesque:he,Grenouille,whocouldsmellotherpeoplemilesaway,wasincapableofsmellinghisowngenitalsnotahandspanaway!Nevertheless,hedidnotpanic,butconsidereditallcoollyandspoketohimselfasfollows:“ItisnotthatIdonotsmell,foreverythingsmells.Itis,rather,thatIcannotsmellthatIsmell,becauseIhavesmelledmyselfdayindayoutsincemybirth,andmynoseisthereforedulledagainstmyownsmell.

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