Chapter 11 Chapter Eleven

I'm fast approaching a pivotal moment in Sebastian's love life.I thought about the task I still had before me, and when I looked at the work done against it, I was deeply disturbed.Does my description of Sebastian's life so far do it justice?Is it as I had hoped to do?Is it as I now hope to describe the last phase of his life?Neither the difficulty of using foreign language idioms nor the lack of experience in literary creation makes people feel overconfident.But despite the mistakes I may have made in the course of writing the first few chapters, I was determined to go on, supported by a secret realization that Sebastian's ghost was trying to give me provide help.

Besides, I don't get that much spiritual help now.The poet P. G. Sheldon was close to Clare and Sebastian between 1927 and 1930.I visited Sheldon not long after my hasty encounter with Clare, and he was kind enough to tell me all he knew.Two months later (when I had begun writing the book), it was Sheldon who told me of Claire's death.Claire seemed such a normal, healthy young woman, how could she have bled to death beside the empty cradle?Sheldon told me how delighted she was when it proved to be worthy of its title.Because this time it did work.Why is this so?The reasons why this excellent book failed and an equally excellent book received the recognition it deserves will always remain a mystery.As was the case with Sebastian's first novel, Sebastian didn't lift a finger in order to receive enthusiastic publicity and rapturous praise, nor did he try to pull the strings through the back door.When a newspaper clipping agency started sending him incessant proofs of book reviews praising him, he refused to order the clippings, and he never thanked the well-meaning critics.In Sebastian's view, it is inappropriate, even insulting, to thank a reviewer who expresses his or her opinion about a book as merely performing his duties, since the reviewer's judgment is not meant to be. To thank him with any tinge of emotion meant to return warm affection to his icy calm demeanor.Besides, once Sebastian started thanking a reviewer, he had to thank each subsequent line of his review, lest he might hurt someone by stopping suddenly; So no matter how famously honest this or that reviewer may be, the grateful writer may never be sure whether personal sympathy creeps in between the lines of a review.

In our time, fame is too commonplace to be confused with the aura that always surrounds a book worthy of praise.But no matter what kind of fame, Claire is willing to enjoy it.She wanted to meet people who wanted to see Sebastian, and Sebastian definitely didn't want to see them.She wanted to hear strangers talk about it, but Sebastian said that he was no longer interested in the book.She wants Sebastian to join a literary club and socialize with other writers.Once or twice, Sebastian had gone in a starched shirt, returned without saying a word to a dinner party arranged for him, and taken it off.He feels very uncomfortable.He can't sleep.He had fits of tantrums - a new addition to Clare's life.Sebastian was in his study one afternoon working on Funny Mountain, trying to walk a slippery, steep path between the dark rocks of Neuralgia, when Claire came in and asked in the softest voice Whether he would like to meet a visitor.

"No," he said, grinning at what he had just written. "But you asked him to come at five o'clock, and..." "You screwed up..." Sebastian yelled, throwing the fountain pen at the disturbed white wall, "Can't you let me work in peace?" he yelled, his voice It got bigger and bigger, and even P.G. Sheldon, who had been playing chess with Claire in the next room just now, stood up and closed the door leading to the hall.In the hall, a humble little man was waiting. Sometimes, Sebastian will have a crazy playful mood.One afternoon, he was with Clare and some friends, and he had devised a brilliant prank on a friend they were going to meet after dinner.Oddly enough, Sheldon had forgotten exactly what the ruse was.Sebastian laughed and turned away, pounding his fists together, as he always does when he's genuinely happy.They were about to leave, everyone couldn't wait, and Claire had ordered a taxi on the phone beforehand, her new silver silk shoes were shining, she had found her handbag, but suddenly, Sebastian seemed Lost interest in these.He looked bored, yawned almost without opening his mouth, looked very annoyed, and immediately said he was going to walk the dog and go to bed.In those days he had a little black pit bull terrier; eventually the dog got sick and had to be killed.

"Funny Mountain" was finished, then "The Albino in Black," and then his third and final short story, "The Far Side of the Moon."You remember the delightful character in "The Far Side of the Moon"—the humble little man waiting for the train, who helped three poor travelers in three different ways.This Mr. Schiller is probably the most vivid of Sebastian's many characters, and also happens to be the last representative of his "study subject", which I have reviewed in "The Slope of the Prism" and "The Slope of the Prism". time has been talked about.Something that gradually developed in those two books seemed suddenly to be something real and concrete, so that every detail of Mr. Schiller's bow conformed to the norms of custom and etiquette, was striking and distinctive— —his bushy eyebrows and thinner beard, his soft collar and Adam's apple "moving like the bulge of an eavesdropper behind a curtain," his brown eyes, his burgundy The fat nose of the veins, "of a shape that makes one wonder if he has lost his sarcoma somewhere"; his little black bow tie and old umbrella ("a duck in mourning"); the thick black nostrils Nose hair; the sweet surprise of his fresh, perfect movement as he takes off his hat.But the better Sebastian's work was, the worse he felt about it—especially in the interval between two works.Sheldon believes that the world reflected in Sebastian's last book ("Suspicious Periwinkle"), which was not written until a few years later, cast shadows on everything around him by then , his novels and short stories were but shining masks, cunning lures leading him unerringly to some near-term goal in the name of artistic adventure.He may still like Claire as much as ever, but a strong sense of mortality begins to haunt him, making his relationship with Claire seem more tenuous than it really is.As for Clare, she had inadvertently, through good intentions and naivety, spent time in some pleasant, sunny corner of Sebastian's life, which Sebastian had never lingered; I didn't know whether to try to catch up with him or try to call him back.Sebastian had kept her happily busy, letting her take care of his literary affairs and help him organize his life; she must have sensed that something was wrong, that she and Sebastian It is dangerous to lose contact with the imaginative life, but she may subjectively think that this is just a momentary uneasiness, and comfort herself by thinking that "everything will slowly return to normal".Naturally I can't touch the intimate side of their relationship, first of all because it would be ridiculous to discuss something that no one can say for sure.The second is because the pronunciation of the word "sex," including the vulgar hiss and the "[ks], [ks]" hiss, seems so absurd to me that I can't help but wonder if the word is really real. What concept does the represent.To be honest, I believe that when we deal with human nature, it is a special situation for us to give "sex" a special situation, let the "concept of sex" circulate (if such a thing exists), and use it to "explain" everything else. Serious error of reasoning. "The stirring of one wave cannot account for the whole sea, from the sea-moon to the sea-serpent; but the water in the rock-mortar is as much water as the sparkling sea-way to China." (See "The Moon." the back of")

"Physical love is just another way of saying the same thing, not a special note played by the 'sex pipes', and once you hear that note, it reverberates through all the other regions of your soul "(See "Lost Belongings", p. 82) "All things belong to the same order of things, for this is the unity of human perception; the unity of personality; the unity of matter, whatever matter may be What is it. The only real number is 'one', and the other numbers are nothing more than repetitions of 'one'." (see Lost Property, p. Sebastian's standard of sex, and I don't want to attribute Sebastian's frequent anxiety and tension to his dissatisfaction with his sex life.But since he's so often dissatisfied with everything, he may also be dissatisfied with the coloring of the romance.Note that I use the word "dissatisfied" in a broad sense, because Sebastian was emotionally complex at that stage in his life, much more complex than Weltschmerz or melancholy.We can only understand this through his last work "Suspicious Periwinkle".At that time, "The Suspicious Evergreen" was just a distant fog.It will soon become the outline of the coast.In 1929, Dr. Oates, a well-known cardiologist, advised Sebastian to live in Blobel, Alsace, for a month. a patient similar to his.There seemed to be a tacit understanding at the time that Sebastian would go there alone.Sebastian had tea with Miss Pratt, Sheldon, and Claire in his apartment before leaving, and he was jovial and talkative, and made fun of Claire for ignoring him when she helped him pack. He was picky, and dropped his crumpled handkerchief in his clothes in front of his face.Then he snapped at Sheldon's cuff (he never wore a watch himself), squinted at the time, and sprinted out, despite leaving the car for about an hour.Claire hadn't offered to walk him to the station—she knew he didn't like that.Sebastian kisses her on the forehead, and Sheldon helps Sebastian carry the travel bag out (Did I just say that? Sebastian doesn't usually hire servants, except for an absent-minded cleaning lady and a waiter delivering food from a nearby restaurant).After he left, the three sat in silence for a while.

Suddenly Claire put down the teapot and said: "I think the handkerchief wants to go with him, and I take that hint very well." "Don't be a fool," said Mr. Sheldon. "why not?" "If you mean you want to catch that train too," said Miss Pratt... "Why not?" repeated Claire. "I've got forty minutes to catch that train. I'm going to run back to my place right now, grab a thing or two, hop in a taxi..." She did.We don't know what happened at Victoria Station, but more than an hour later, she called Sheldon, who was home, and told him with a wry smile that Sebastian didn't even want her to wait on the platform. Drive away.For some reason, a very clear vision appeared in my mind: Claire arrived at the station, handbag, about to open her mouth to a humorous smile, her bleary eyes were struggling to find Sebastian in the window. Ann, I finally found it, maybe Sebastian saw her first... "Hello, I'm here." Claire must have said cheerfully, maybe a little too cheerfully...

A few days later, Sebastian wrote to Clare, telling her that Blobel was very pleasant and that he was in excellent health.Then there was no news, and it was only after Clare sent him a telegram expressing concern that he sent a postcard saying that he was cutting short his time at Blobel and going to Paris for a week before returning home. . It was that weekend that Sebastian called me, and the two of us went to a Russian restaurant for dinner.I haven't seen him since 1924, and it's 1929 now.He looked tired and ill, and because of his pallor, he gave the impression of being unshaven, even though he had just been to the barber.He had a boil on the back of his neck covered in pink bandage.

He asked me a few questions, got to know me, and then both of us felt uncomfortable continuing the conversation.I asked him how the girl I saw last time with him was doing. "Which girl?" he asked. "Oh, Claire. Yeah, she's all right. Let's get married." "You look a little sick," I said. "I don't care if I'm sick. Would you like 'Pelmini dumplings'?" "I don't think you remember the taste of that stuff," I said. "Why shouldn't I remember?" he said dryly. We ate and didn't speak for a few minutes.Then we drink coffee.

"What was the name of that place you said just now? Blobel?" "Yes, Blobel." "How is it there?" "It depends on what you think of it," he said, moving his jaw muscles, biting his teeth, and suppressed the yawn that was about to come. Get some sleep." He suddenly grabbed my wrist. "Eight thirty." I replied. "I have to make a call," he muttered, striding across the restaurant floor, napkin still in hand.Five minutes later, he came back with half his napkin sticking out of his jacket pocket.I pulled it out. "Look," he said, "I'm so sorry, I have to go. I forgot I had an appointment."

"It always frustrates me," writes Sebastian Knight in Lost Belongings, "that people in restaurants never pay attention to the active mysterious figures who serve their meals, deposit their coats, and open doors. A few weeks ago, I reminded a businessman I just had lunch with that the woman who handed us the hat just now had cotton stuffed in her ears. He looked confused and said he hadn't even noticed that there was any Women... I think it's paranoid not to notice a taxi driver with a cleft lip because he's so busy driving. When I think I'm the only one in the group who pays attention to that girl who sells chocolate candies slightly, very slightly When I'm limping, I often feel as if I'm sitting among many blind and crazy people." Just as we were leaving the hotel and heading towards the taxi rank, an old man with blind eyes licked his thumbs and handed Sebastian, or me, or both of us, an advertisement he was distributing.Neither of us answered, staring straight ahead; we were sullen-faced dreamers, ignoring his gifts.Sebastian was gesturing to a taxi, and I said to him, "See you then." "Come and see me in London someday," he said, and glanced back. "Wait a minute," he added, "it won't work. I've hurt a beggar's feelings..." He left me, Soon came back again, holding a small piece of paper in his hand.He read it carefully before throwing it away. "Would you like a ride?" he asked. I feel like he wants to get rid of me quickly. "No thanks," I said.I didn't catch the address he gave the driver, but I remember him telling the driver to drive faster. When he got back to London... no, the thread of the story broke, and I had to beg someone else to put it back on. Did Claire notice right away that something was going on?Did she immediately wonder what had happened?Shall we guess what she asked Sebastian, how Sebastian answered, what she said?I don't think so... Sheldon saw both of them shortly after Sebastian's return and found Sebastian to be very strange.But he used to look weird too... "I started worrying pretty quickly," Sheldon said.He meets Claire alone and asks if she thinks Sebastian is okay. "Sebastian?" Claire said, a terrible smile slowly forming on her face. "Sebastian is crazy, crazy crazy," she repeated with wide pale eyes. "He doesn't talk to me anymore," she whispered again. Sheldon then makes an appointment with Sebastian to ask him what's wrong. "Does this have anything to do with you?" Sebastian asked calmly with disgust. "I like Claire," Sheldon says, "so wonder why she's lost all day." (She goes to Sebastian's every day, and sits in a corner she never used to sit in. She sometimes brought Sebastian candy or a tie. The candy was still there, the tie was hanging half-dead on the back of the chair. She walked through Sebastian like a ghost. Then she will disappear silently, as silently as it came.) "Well," said Sheldon, "tell me, man, what did you do to her?"