have liked to pause. Better still he would have liked to lie down, to press his face into those sharp, crumbly plants, his body against the ground, as he so often did when he was alone, because then he felt he could slowly merge with the earth, really get inside it with his knees, his chest, and his chin, with everything that was hard and bony about him. Thus he would not be like a cat lying on a cushion. No, he would be more like the half silted-up wreckage of a ship. But for that kind of love affair, there was no place on a woodland walk with Arnold Taads. He was convinced that if he slowed down, his name would boom across the heath as if he were a dog.
Or had Taads already forgotten him? He did not look up or back and would probably have been able to walk the same route blindfolded, with the same rhythmic, mechanical movements. A wound-up toy soldier on the march. As they reached the house, the clock struck seven.
* *
Time, Inni learned that day, was the father of all things in Arnold Taads's life. He had divided the empty, dangerous expanse of the day into a number of precisely measured parts, and the boundary posts at the beginning and end of each part determined his day with unrelenting sternness. Had he been older, Inni would have known that the fear that dominated Arnold Taads demanded its tithes in hours, half hours, and quarter hours, randomly applied points of fracture in the invisible element through which we must wade as long as we live. It was as if, in an endless desert, someone had singled out a particular grain of sand and decided that only there could he eat and read. Each of these preappointed grains of sand called forth, with compelling force, its own complementary activity. A mere ten millimetres further and fate would strike. Someone arriving ten minutes early or late was not welcome. The maniacal second hand turned the first page, played the first note on the piano, or, as now, put a pan of goulash on the stove on the last stroke of seven.
"I cook once a week," said Arnold Taads, "usually a stew. And soup. I make exactly enough, seven portions for myself and one for a guest. If no one comes, Athos gets it."
Inni was pleased he would be eating the dog's portion. He did not care much for dogs, especially when they lived in such suffocating symbiosis with their masters. It struck quarter past seven, and they sat down at the table.
"When we visit your Aunt Therese next week," said Taads, "you will find it a complete madhouse. Most of the Wintrops have a screw loose, but when it comes to choosing a mate, total lunacy takes over. Mostly they tend to pick someone who is quite normal, and then they drive him insane in the shortest possible time, or else they take someone they don't have to spend any effort on because he is soft in the head already. After I had given your aunt the push, she married an absolute imbecile, with money of course, and she became very unhappy as a result, as you have been able to observe for yourself. A number one neurotic. I am glad I got out in time. She was a beautiful woman in the old days, very attractive, but with a kind of impetuous possessiveness that frightened me. Your whole family frightened me, actually. They have two faults: they never know where to draw the line, and they refuse to suffer. By that I mean this: they deny everything that borders on the unpleasant. They turn away from it. They know sentimentality but not loyalty. When things get tough, they are off. Your aunt finds it amusing to dump you here on my doorstep, but she should have known better than to pick an ex-notary. We shall concoct a tidy little settlement out of this for you. Why I bother, God knows. Probably out of spite. But you seem to have a certain talent, although I wouldn't know what for."
He ate in the same way that he walked — fast, with mechanical movements. A feeding automaton. If for whatever reason, thought Inni, he suddenly looked sideways, that independent arm,
Or had Taads already forgotten him? He did not look up or back and would probably have been able to walk the same route blindfolded, with the same rhythmic, mechanical movements. A wound-up toy soldier on the march. As they reached the house, the clock struck seven.
* *
Time, Inni learned that day, was the father of all things in Arnold Taads's life. He had divided the empty, dangerous expanse of the day into a number of precisely measured parts, and the boundary posts at the beginning and end of each part determined his day with unrelenting sternness. Had he been older, Inni would have known that the fear that dominated Arnold Taads demanded its tithes in hours, half hours, and quarter hours, randomly applied points of fracture in the invisible element through which we must wade as long as we live. It was as if, in an endless desert, someone had singled out a particular grain of sand and decided that only there could he eat and read. Each of these preappointed grains of sand called forth, with compelling force, its own complementary activity. A mere ten millimetres further and fate would strike. Someone arriving ten minutes early or late was not welcome. The maniacal second hand turned the first page, played the first note on the piano, or, as now, put a pan of goulash on the stove on the last stroke of seven.
"I cook once a week," said Arnold Taads, "usually a stew. And soup. I make exactly enough, seven portions for myself and one for a guest. If no one comes, Athos gets it."
Inni was pleased he would be eating the dog's portion. He did not care much for dogs, especially when they lived in such suffocating symbiosis with their masters. It struck quarter past seven, and they sat down at the table.
"When we visit your Aunt Therese next week," said Taads, "you will find it a complete madhouse. Most of the Wintrops have a screw loose, but when it comes to choosing a mate, total lunacy takes over. Mostly they tend to pick someone who is quite normal, and then they drive him insane in the shortest possible time, or else they take someone they don't have to spend any effort on because he is soft in the head already. After I had given your aunt the push, she married an absolute imbecile, with money of course, and she became very unhappy as a result, as you have been able to observe for yourself. A number one neurotic. I am glad I got out in time. She was a beautiful woman in the old days, very attractive, but with a kind of impetuous possessiveness that frightened me. Your whole family frightened me, actually. They have two faults: they never know where to draw the line, and they refuse to suffer. By that I mean this: they deny everything that borders on the unpleasant. They turn away from it. They know sentimentality but not loyalty. When things get tough, they are off. Your aunt finds it amusing to dump you here on my doorstep, but she should have known better than to pick an ex-notary. We shall concoct a tidy little settlement out of this for you. Why I bother, God knows. Probably out of spite. But you seem to have a certain talent, although I wouldn't know what for."
He ate in the same way that he walked — fast, with mechanical movements. A feeding automaton. If for whatever reason, thought Inni, he suddenly looked sideways, that independent arm,
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