“Father doesn’t like it. If she loves him
first, then she doesn’t want us around.”
An airline’s beauty queen arrived at the beach.
She walked and carried herself as if she knew she were on display and should
hold herself as still as possible, arranged for others’ eyes as if to allow
them to photograph her. The way she held herself and did not look at others made
her seem an image cut out of a poster which incited young men to go to war. A
surface unblurred , unruffled, no frown of thought to
mar the brow, she exposed herself to others’ eyes with no sign of recognition.
She neither transmitted nor received messages to and from the nerves and
senses. She walked toward others without emitting any vibrations of warmth or
cold. She was a plastic perfection of hair, skin, teeth, body, and form which
could not rust, or wrinkle, or cry. It was as if only synthetic elements had
been used to create her.
Edward’s children were uneasy with this girl
because they imagined their father would be spellbound by the perfect image she
presented, the clear blue eyes, the graceful hair, the flawless profile. But
soon she made her own choice of companion and it was the ex-Marine who had been
pensioned off for exposing himself voluntarily to an experiment with the atom
bomb, and had been damaged inside. No one dared to ask, or even to imagine the
nature of the injury. He himself was laconic: “I got damaged inside.” No injury
was apparent. He was tall, strong, and blond, with so rich a coloring he could
not take the sun. His blue eyes matched those of the American airline’s beauty
queen; both were untroubled and designed to be admired. He was reluctant to
tell his story, but when he drank he would admit: “I offered myself as a
volunteer to be stationed as close as possible…and I got damaged, that’s all.”
Neither one had seemed to make any movement
toward the other, but as if they had both been moving in the same sphere, at
the same altitude, with the same spectator’s detachment, they encountered each
other and continued to walk together. They did not keep their eyes fastened on
each other as the Mexican lovers did.
They both carried cameras, and they
methodically photographed everything. But as for themselves, it was as if they
agreed to reveal nothing of themselves by word or gesture.
Edward treated them casually, like walking
posters, like one-dimensional cut-outs. But Lillian believed their facade to be
a disguise like any other. “They’re just not acquainted with their own selves,”
she said.
“Will you introduce them?” asked Edward
ironically.
“But you know that’s a dangerous thing to do.
They wouldn’t recognize each other; they would treat me like a trespasser, and
their unrecognized selves like house breakers.”
“It is dangerous to confront people with an
image of themselves they do not wish to acknowledge.”
These words reawakened in her the sense of
danger and mystery she felt each time she saw Doctor Hernandez. She remembered
his saying: “I get bored with physical illness, which I have fought for fifteen
years. As an amateur detective of secret lives, I entertain myself.”
Another time he had said: “I’m fully aware, of
course, that you’ve thrown me off the scent by involving me in the secret lives
of all your friends in place of your own. But I will tell you one shocking
truth. It’s not the sun you’re basking in, it’s my people’s passivity and
fatalism. They believe the character of man cannot be altered or tampered with,
that man is nature, unpredictable, uncontrollable. They believe whatever he is
should be accepted along with poverty, illness, death. The concept of effort
and change is unknown. You are born poor, good or bad, or a genius, and you
live with that just as you live with your relatives.”
“Do people ever run amok in Golconda? As they
do in Bali or Africa, or the South Sea Islands?”
“Yes, they do. Because having based all their
lives on
first, then she doesn’t want us around.”
An airline’s beauty queen arrived at the beach.
She walked and carried herself as if she knew she were on display and should
hold herself as still as possible, arranged for others’ eyes as if to allow
them to photograph her. The way she held herself and did not look at others made
her seem an image cut out of a poster which incited young men to go to war. A
surface unblurred , unruffled, no frown of thought to
mar the brow, she exposed herself to others’ eyes with no sign of recognition.
She neither transmitted nor received messages to and from the nerves and
senses. She walked toward others without emitting any vibrations of warmth or
cold. She was a plastic perfection of hair, skin, teeth, body, and form which
could not rust, or wrinkle, or cry. It was as if only synthetic elements had
been used to create her.
Edward’s children were uneasy with this girl
because they imagined their father would be spellbound by the perfect image she
presented, the clear blue eyes, the graceful hair, the flawless profile. But
soon she made her own choice of companion and it was the ex-Marine who had been
pensioned off for exposing himself voluntarily to an experiment with the atom
bomb, and had been damaged inside. No one dared to ask, or even to imagine the
nature of the injury. He himself was laconic: “I got damaged inside.” No injury
was apparent. He was tall, strong, and blond, with so rich a coloring he could
not take the sun. His blue eyes matched those of the American airline’s beauty
queen; both were untroubled and designed to be admired. He was reluctant to
tell his story, but when he drank he would admit: “I offered myself as a
volunteer to be stationed as close as possible…and I got damaged, that’s all.”
Neither one had seemed to make any movement
toward the other, but as if they had both been moving in the same sphere, at
the same altitude, with the same spectator’s detachment, they encountered each
other and continued to walk together. They did not keep their eyes fastened on
each other as the Mexican lovers did.
They both carried cameras, and they
methodically photographed everything. But as for themselves, it was as if they
agreed to reveal nothing of themselves by word or gesture.
Edward treated them casually, like walking
posters, like one-dimensional cut-outs. But Lillian believed their facade to be
a disguise like any other. “They’re just not acquainted with their own selves,”
she said.
“Will you introduce them?” asked Edward
ironically.
“But you know that’s a dangerous thing to do.
They wouldn’t recognize each other; they would treat me like a trespasser, and
their unrecognized selves like house breakers.”
“It is dangerous to confront people with an
image of themselves they do not wish to acknowledge.”
These words reawakened in her the sense of
danger and mystery she felt each time she saw Doctor Hernandez. She remembered
his saying: “I get bored with physical illness, which I have fought for fifteen
years. As an amateur detective of secret lives, I entertain myself.”
Another time he had said: “I’m fully aware, of
course, that you’ve thrown me off the scent by involving me in the secret lives
of all your friends in place of your own. But I will tell you one shocking
truth. It’s not the sun you’re basking in, it’s my people’s passivity and
fatalism. They believe the character of man cannot be altered or tampered with,
that man is nature, unpredictable, uncontrollable. They believe whatever he is
should be accepted along with poverty, illness, death. The concept of effort
and change is unknown. You are born poor, good or bad, or a genius, and you
live with that just as you live with your relatives.”
“Do people ever run amok in Golconda? As they
do in Bali or Africa, or the South Sea Islands?”
“Yes, they do. Because having based all their
lives on
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