Chapter 37 Poissy Lookout

Writing in Paris, for me, what I lack is the external environment, I cannot go out.In my surroundings, I was so deprived that no one could stand it.I need both the places I need for writing and the places I don't need for writing.In Paris, it was even more difficult for me to go outside.It is impossible for a person not to go outside.I can't walk outside for long.When I was outside, I felt breathless and suffocated.At the Black Rock Hotel, in the empty and dark corridors, I breathed well and felt comfortable, and walking around in it also felt good and comfortable.For twenty years people said I had something like emphysema.I sometimes believe so.I leave the apartment where I live.As soon as he stepped off the landing of the apartment, the attack began.As soon as I leave my abode, the situation changes, like entering an exterior cut like a razor blade.It's like "I enter" the "inside" of the street.The street was so well lit that the street became a big prison, which might have been the exterior, but tightly closed.In my mind, it was very close to a prison watchtower shining a strong light on the surface of an object, especially like the old prison in Poissy, in front of which I often walked.They are all illuminated by strong light without any shadow, and it is absolutely impossible for the flesh to stay in it for a while.I certainly hoped it was due to the kind of emphysema I had.But once the gate is shut, get in my car, and I'm saved.How on earth am I saved?I am saved because I escaped from you; I escaped from you because I am writing for you and for you, and wherever I go, even on the street, you will always recognize me anyway.This fear is hopeless for me.As soon as I enter the space in which I write, open, open, in broad daylight, as soon as I commit myself to it, as soon as I speak of streets, crosswalks, squares, cities, that horror overtakes me. .Others can get out of their homes, go for a walk outside, look around, just walk around, for me, it has been over for many years.I will never be like these people, like you.Fortunately I have a car.With a car, I can live.As long as I can hang out in a car, I'll see the Seine, Normandy, live.What to do in the future, I don't know.I don't know what to do if other people don't want to ride with me.This October, I went to Paris and came back the next day because no one was with me.Not because I'm tired and exhausted from driving like this, but because it's unbearable for me to drive for a long time without someone next to me.I can't walk five hundred kilometers and talk alone, not even once.I'd rather be locked in my apartment with the door out than drive long distances alone.Going to the parking lot to find a car, or where to park the car, doesn't work either.When I saw the parking lot, I panicked and frightened.Likewise, I can't drive with someone who knows me looking at me.This is the result of alcoholism.The treatment was horrific. "You've got to go through stages, you'll figure it out. Like when you used to drink. It's going to pass," my doctor told me.That's right.

①Poissy is the capital of a district along the Seine River near Paris in the Evelyn province of France, where there is an old prison. Once on the main road, I felt safe and secure, and I drove fast and well. My son is here, in Trouville, for a few days.He said to me, "You're home or you cook." That's right.I don't know what to do when they don't want to ride out with me and don't want me to cook at home.I knew that moment had to come, I knew it was inevitable.I knew the certainty had come, had begun. In Trouville, there is the sea.Day and night, even if you can't see the sea, the idea is always there.In Paris, only the windy and stormy days bring us into contact with the sea.Otherwise, you would have no sea.

Here, we are immersed in the same scenery. In the distance behind every hill, there is a vast and boundless emptiness.Where it is, the sky is different, more ethereal, brighter and, so to speak: louder in sound quality.This is true, the seagulls in the city are not as happy as they sing so frequently and happily on the water or on the beach. In Trouville, I live very well.In Paris, no.I should say no, because the space is menacing, scary, the streets are open, and there are people who always come to my house and call the door, and these people are from far away, from Germany, often from From France, they called the door and wanted to see me.

"Is there a problem?" "Want to see Madame Dora." They wanted to talk to me, to talk about me, as if my time belonged to them, as if it was my job to talk to them about myself.These are the people, you, whom I love and whom I write about. And it is you, you who scare me, you are terrible, sometimes as frightening as evildoers.