"Oh yes, he and I remember one another very well; he and I have had a disagreement," I say as winningly as I can. So now he looks at me sharply with not so much suspicion as self-doubt, since he doesn't remember this disagreement, and is trying to guess what sort of thing we might have disagreed about, and which of us was really in the wrong.
I continue to smile, offering him nothing, wondering if he will finally decide it is his own superstition that constitutes the difference between us, or, less charitably, if he will conclude the slight is my reluctance to reveal the slight, quite overlooking the fact he has as much responsibility as I do to remember a grievance, and if he cannot remember it for himself, he can make no claim upon me to help him remember.
It is enough that I have sown the suspicion in his mind, for his not remembering is more powerful than any remembering; it is centred nowhere and has nowhere as its check; his mind is as adequate a labyrinth for him as any world.
Posted by: |