Chapter 20 twenty

Dirk Stroeve promised to come to me the next evening and take me to a café where I was likely to find Strickland.I found it very interesting because I found out that this is exactly where we drank absinthe the last time I was in Paris to see Strickland.For so many years, he hasn't even changed the place where he hangs out at night, which shows that his habits are not easy to change. According to my opinion, this is also a kind of his personality. "There he is," Stroeve said when we reached the café. Even though it was October, it was still warm after dinner, and the coffee tables on the sidewalk were full.I looked around the crowd for a while, but did not see Strickland.

"Look, he's sitting there, in a corner. He's playing chess." I saw a man leaning over the chessboard, all I could see was a big felt hat and a handful of red beards.We walked between the tables and came up to him. "Strickland." He looked up. "Hello, fat man. What do you want?" "I'm bringing you an old friend who wants to see you." Strickland glanced at me, obviously not recognizing who I was.His eyes returned to the chessboard. "Sit down and be quiet," he said. He made a move, and immediately concentrated on the game in front of him.Poor Stroeve gave me an anxious look, but I didn't feel any discomfort.I ordered something to drink, and sat there quietly waiting for Strickland to finish his game.I would rather welcome the opportunity to observe him at his leisure.If I had come alone, I would not have recognized him.First of all, I found that most of his face was covered by a shaggy beard, and his hair was also very long; but the most startling change was his extreme thinness, which made his big nose stick up even more arrogantly. , the cheekbones are more prominent, and the eyes appear larger than before.Two deep pits appeared below his temples.His body was so thin that only skin and bones remained, and he was still wearing the same clothes I saw five years ago, but they were tattered, oil-stained, and dangling on his body, as if they had been given to others It looks like it's done.I noticed that his two hands were not very clean, the nails were very long, and there were only bones except the tendons, which looked big and powerful, but I didn't remember that his hand shape was so perfect in the past.He sat there concentrating on playing chess, giving me a very strange impression-as if there was an incomparable power in his body.I don't know why, but his thinness accentuates that.

Immediately after he had taken a move, he leaned back and gazed at his opponent with a strangely absent-minded expression.His opponent was a fat Frenchman with a long beard.The Frenchman inspected his chess position, suddenly cursed with a smile, and angrily collected the pieces together and threw them into the chess box.He cursed Strickland mercilessly, then called the waiter, paid for both, and left.Stroeve moved his chair towards the table. "I think now we can talk," he said. Strickland's eyes fell upon him, and there was a gleam of malicious irony in them.I dare say he was looking for some sarcasm, and as he couldn't find one, he held back.

"I'm bringing you an old friend who wants to see you," Stroeve repeated with a smile on his face. Strickland looked at me thoughtfully for almost a minute.I never spoke. "I've never seen this person in my life," he said. I don't know why he said that, because I'm sure he knows me from the look in his eyes.I'm not as self-conscious as I was a few years ago. "I saw your wife the other day," I said, "and I thought you'd like to hear some news about her." He gave a dry laugh, his eyes sparkling. "We had a nice evening together," he said. "How long ago was that?"

"Five years." He ordered another glass of absinthe.Stroeve explained at length how he and I had met and had stumbled upon both knowing Strickland.I wonder if Strickland took these words to heart.For most of the time he seemed to be brooding over his own affairs, except for a time or two when he glanced at me as if recalling something.If Stroeve hadn't been babbling on and on, the conversation would have been cold.After half an hour the Dutchman looked at his watch and declared he had to go back.He asked me if I wanted to go with him.I thought I might get something out of Strickland when I was the only one left, so I replied that I would sit down a while.

After the fat man left, I said: "Dirk Stroeve said you were a great painter." "I don't fucking care what he says!" "Can you show me your drawing?" "Why should I show you?" "Maybe I'd like to buy a picture or two." "Maybe I don't want to sell it yet." "Are you doing well?" I said with a smile. He giggled twice. "Do I seem to be doing well?" "You look like you can't even get enough to eat." "I just can't even eat enough." "Then let's go eat something."

"Why did you invite me to dinner?" "It's not out of charity," I said coldly, "you're not doing my business if you're full." His eyes sparkled again. "Come on, then," he said, rising to his feet. "I'd rather have a good meal of it."