d not turn on
Jehovah with the whore tricks learned from His apple. There is
consolation, however, in the fact that I, too, can remain indifferent.
Indifference is the wisdom of God.

"'You may play with me. Yet I know that the burn of your hand on my body
is an absurdity, of interest only to my idiot senses. My arms reach out
to embrace you. Your breasts surprise my fingers. Come, sit in my lap if
you wish. No, I would rather enjoy you as before--standing before me
naked. Take off your clothes.'

"While I talked she clung to me. Her lips passed kisses over my face. I
continued, however, to observe; to remain a spectator. She removed her
clothes, tearing them from her body and laughing. And standing before me
naked but for her black silk stockings and red slippers, she held out
her arms. But I shook my head and smiled.

"'I am the victim of an overwhelming desire to masturbate,' I said to
her, 'since I find it difficult to resist you. But if I yield to the
mysterious reality you have assumed I will become too grotesque for my
vanity to tolerate. I will remain aware while possessing you that my
penis is beating a ludicrous tattoo on a sofa cushion. I choose rather
to emulate the pride of St. Anthony, who shrewdly refused to play the
whoremonger with shadows.'

"I smiled at her and she laughed. She crouched on her feet staring up at
me. Raising my eyes from her, I saw Goliath. He was standing in the
curtains of his room, watching me with a curious, open-mouthed fury. I
saw that the little monster was beginning to understand that I was mad,
and this irritated me. There was danger in him, since even through his
stupid head must have passed a wonder of what had happened to Rita.

"I frowned at Goliath and his head rolled frightenedly on his heavy
shoulders.

"'Why do you bother me when I wish to be alone?' I cried. 'Go to your
bed and leave me.'

"I stood up and went for him. His head fell and he dragged himself back
into his room. This was, perhaps, the most curious thing in the
incident. 'I am ashamed of being seen with this nude phantom,' I
thought. For a moment the mad idea came to me that she was visible to
Goliath--that he was watching us--me and this figment of mine. My anger
was shame. My senses are logical in their pretenses. How can I stand
out against them, if they grow cleverer than I, more persuasive than I,
and lead me finally into the total madness of accepting them as
Mallare--the one Mallare, the lu