Toppi looked at me strangely, paled slightly and proceeded to clean his pipe. Then he arose and without lifting his eyes, said:
“I beg you not to speak to me thus, Mr. Wondergood. I am an honest citizen of the United States and I do not understand your insinuations.”
But he remembers. Not in vain did he grow pale. He is seeking to forget and will forget soon enough! This double play of earth and heaven is too much for him and he has surrendered entirely to the earth! There will come a time when he will take me off to an insane asylum or betray me to Cardinal X. if I dare to speak to him of Satan.
“I respect you, Toppi. You are quite a man,” I said and kissed his brow: I always kiss the brow of people I love.
Again I departed for the green Campagna desert: I follow the best models: when I am ill at ease I go into the desert. There I called for Satan and cursed his name but he would not answer me. I lay there long in the dust, pleading, when from somewhere in the depths of the desert I heard the muffled tread of feet, and a bright light helped Me to arise. And again I saw the Eden I had left behind, its green tents and unfading sunrise, its quiet lights upon the placid waters. And again I heard the silent murmurs of lips born of Immaculate Conception while toward my eyes I saw approaching Truth. And I stretched out my hands to Her and pleaded: Give me back my liberty!—
“Maria! ”
Who called: Maria? Satan again departed, the lights upon the placid waters were extinguished and Truth, frightened, disappeared—and again I sit upon the earth wearing my human form and gazing dully upon the painted world. And on my knees rested my shackled hands.
“Maria!”
...It is painful for me to admit that all this is really an invention: the coming of Satan with his “light and ringing step,” the gardens of Eden and my shackled hands. But I needed your attention and I could not get it without these gardens of Eden and these chains, the two extremes of your life. The gardens of Eden—how beautiful! Chains—how terrible! Moreover, all this talk is much more entertaining than merely squatting on a hill, cigar in one’s free hand, thinking lazily and yawning while awaiting the arrival of the chauffeur. And as far as Maria is concerned, I brought her into the situation because from afar I could see the black cypress trees above the Magnus home. An involuntary association of ideas...you understand.
Can a man with such sight really see Satan? Can a person of such dull ear hear the so-called “murmurs” born of Immaculate Conception? Nonsense! And, please, I beg of you, call Me just Wondergood. Call me just Wondergood until the day when I crack my skull open with that plaything which opens the most narrow door into limitless space. Call me just Henry Wondergood, of Illinois: you will find that I will respond promptly and obligingly.