—I am alone. That is the blessing of talking with you here on cool small matters. You do not touch me as the world does when I am alone with no one. O you heal me: will you at least, after these years, these years, such years, be my healer? Not touching! The heal and the health and the miracle of that. Not touched, at last. The years full of bloody bubbles, each year a bubble of my blood unhealed. I shall not tell you of myself. You will feel....
—For thanks of God ... your God.... I embrace you, Boy. When one has a God one can have cool small matters. Let us talk on, for your God’s sake, of your cool small matters.
* * *
“Why do you drink? O Harry ... why, why now?”
“You are not always there. At College you were not there, Fanny. Drink was. One took what was to take.”
“But now....”
“Drink was there first. O I don’t know. When I am drunk I am wrapped in warm smooth clinging stuffs—like entrails—like insides of a great warm creature. When I drink I am wrapped in a woman.... Let me creep into you, Beloved. Farther, nearer. O you are so whole. Won’t you let me creep away inside of you?”
“Harry I am all open to you. Come.”
“No dear. O my love! No, dear, I can’t. God damn you. You entice me ... impossibly. There you are—you are a woman, there. I can’t touch you ... you’re there. I am here. Touch you? Break you. I’d smash you into this air if I could. Damn you! Damn you. Why shouldn’t I have another drink? It goes inside of me ... all of it ... serves me ... warms me. It’s mine, that. Going inside of me, same as me going inside of it. Inside of you ... impossibilities. God damn your sure solid eyes. Let me get out.”
She lifted his head from her lap. “Go then.”