Парфюмер. История одного убийцы

Chapter 49

           Foronceinhislife,hewantedtobelikeotherpeopleandemptyhimselfofwhatwasinsidehim—whattheydidwiththeirloveandtheirstupidadoration,hewoulddowithhishate.Foronce,justforonce,hewantedtobeapprehendedinhistruebeing,forotherhumanbeingstorespondwithananswertohisonlytrueemotion,hatred.Butnothingcameofthat.Nothingcouldevercomeofit.Andmostcertainlynotonthisday.Forafterall,hewasmaskedwiththebestperfumeintheworld,andbeneathhismasktherewasnoface,butonlyhistotalodorlessness.Suddenlyhewassicktohisstomach,forhefeltthefogrisingagain.Justasithadbacktheninhiscave,inhisdream,inhissleep,inhisheart,inhisfantasy,allatoncefogwasrising,thedreadfulfogfromhisownodor,whichhecouldnotsmell,becausehewasodorless.Andjustasthen,hewasfilledwithboundlessfearandterror,feltasifheweregoingtosuffocate.Butthistimeitwasdifferent,thiswasnodream,nosleep,butnakedreality.Anddifferent,too,becausehewasnotlyingaloneinacave,butstandinginapublicplacebeforetenthousandpeople.Anddifferentbecauseherenoscreamwouldhelptowakeandfreehim,noflightwouldrescuehimandbringhimintothegood,warmworld.Forhereandnow,thiswastheworld,andthis,hereandnow,washisdreamcometrue.Andhehadwanteditthus.Thehorrible,suffocatingfogroseupfromthemorassofhissoul,whileallaroundhimpeoplemoanedinorgiasticandorgasmicrapture.Amancamerunninguptohim.

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