“Here my thinking ended. I sat contemplating the imbecile, the blubberer. He pressed himself upon me with his shameless importunings. He snivelled and his lips moved with my name. I watched them say, ‘Mallare’ and [One Hundred Fifty-two] repeat ‘Mallare’ till I grew dizzy with the pantomime of my name. I will study this later and discover the secret of his lips. My name drifting continually over them has a way of hypnotizing me. But later—later.
“I began thinking once more.
“‘This lodge brother weeps while Goliath takes liberties with my phantom. There is a connection there. But it is unimportant for the present. I must discover something else.’
“Then, like a victory too long withheld, it came to me. He was mad. Goliath, my servant, was mad. But more than that—a telepathic madness. I have elaborated my understanding since. Goliath suffers from a contagion. His constant attendance upon me has proved fatal to his stupidity. His senses are the victims of my puppets. He has entered my world and my madness creates for him, as it does for me, shadows that deceive him. But there is no Mallare in him. Unlike me, he does not sit in amused judgment upon himself.
[One Hundred Fifty-three]
“It is an interesting phenomenon—this strange mesmerism. It remains to be studied. Goliath and I are mad brothers. This understanding arrived in time. Or else I would have flung myself in despair upon the ever-imploring bosom of my lugubrious sniveler.
“Rita was real to Goliath. I watched him excitedly and continued to think. I addressed myself:
“‘Observe,’ I said, ‘here you have a distressing visualization. Goliath, your dwarf, mimics your madness. And it is not pleasant to look at. His eyes roll with passion. His fat lips chew upon lewd expectations. His fingers raise themselves like frightened blasphemies to her breasts. And he watches you. Yes, his eyes sneak glimpses of you. For you are his rival! You and this nigger monster are vaginal comrades. It is pleasant to see that you have the decency to feel enraged.’ Five infatuated Mallares sputtered and wept and gnashed their teeth.
“As I talked I turned my attention to her. In my excitement over Goliath I had ignored [One Hundred Fifty-four] her. Her hands were fumbling with the clothes of this doting rival. But her eyes were on me. They blazed.
“‘This pantomime of shadows grows involved,’ I thought. But I was experimenting with rhetoric. For the thing was absurdly simple. Hate still animated my phantom. And this was her revenge. She was about to give herself to the black dwarf Goliath. She was about to commit sexual hari-kari.
“I watched her hands remove his clothes, his red jacket, his fine shirt. He jumped up and down like a distracted child, his own hands bewildered with too many activities. They fondled her, they tugged at his trousers. They became insane and flapped at his sides. She helped him, her eyes still watching me.