ON MY WAY TO THE STATION I CALLED ON Mlle. ALPHA. IN HER SLACKS OF RUST COLORED LINEN - HER COPPERY HAIR, BLOWN INTO A FRESH SUNBURN, SHE APPEARED TO HAVE JUST SAILED IN FROM A LAGOON.

HER EYES LIKE COALS, CONTINENT, OF THEIR FIRE, WERE ROUND AS THE EYES OF THE WOODEN NEGRESSES SUPPORTING THE VIOLET DRAPERIES OF HER DAY-BED. HER LACQUERED TOE-NAILS PLAYED AT HIDE AND SEEK AMONG THE MESHES OF HER SANDALS. HER WHOLE BODY WAS IMPUDENT WITH A SLIGHTLY CRASS ADOLESCENCE; IT CENTERED IN HER LITTLE TUMMY, WHICH DARED TO BE ROUND.

A HARD YOUNG APPLE - IT WAS IMMEDIATELY PLAIN TO ME, HOW, HAD ONE BEEN ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE FENCE OF SEX - ONE WOULD HAVE WANTED TO BITE INTO IT.

IT WAS INSEL WHO HAD SPONSORED OUR MEETING AND I GAVE HER HIS MESSAGE - THAT HE WOULD KEEP AN APPOINTMENT AT FIVE O'CLOCK.

"HE'S ENTHUSIASTIC ABOUT YOU," SHE SAID - THEN, "WOULD YOU THINK ME VERY INDISCREET IF I ASKED YOU WHAT YOU FIND TO TALK TO HIM ABOUT FOR SIX HOURS ?"

"OH !" I EXPLAINED LOYALLY, "WE EXCHANGE OUR LITTLE ANECDOTES. THERE'S THE GIRL WHO WENT OFF WITH THE LESBIAN - IT'S STUPENDOUS - TO HALF THE ENDLESSNESS OF DRAMA IN THE MERE CONTEMPLATION OF A COUPLE OF SHOTS."

"SO HE TELLS YOU THAT ONE, TOO ?"

"LOOK HERE," I CONFESSED. "AT FIRST I WAS INDIGNANT WITH YOU FOR LAUNCHING THE OPINION THAT INSEL IS MAD--. NOW I AM NOT SURE--. IT OCCURS TO ME THAT I CAN'T EVEN MAKE OUT WHAT SANITY IS."

"WELL, I FIND HIM SUCH AN AWFUL BORE, I AM CONSTANTLY HAVING TO TURN HIM OUT--"

"THAT'S BECAUSE HE'S TOO SURREALISTIC FOR THE SURREALISTS."

-89-

BUT WHEN MLLE. ALPHA SPOKE OF HIS WORK, IT WAS WITH A
PROFOUND VENERATION I COULD HARDLY SHARE.

"I'M NOT SO FOND OF ELEMENTALS - I FIND THAT STRATA IN
THE SUBLIMINAL THIN-- . I KNOW HIS WORK IS A TECHNICAL
MIRACLE AND I SUBMIT TO THE ACTIVE HYPNOSIS WITH WHICH HE
HAS THE POWER TO INFUSE DEAD PAINT - STILL-- . THERE!
THAT'S ONE THING WE'RE ALWAYS TALKING ABOUT. HIS FUTURE WORK.
HE SHOWS ME WHAT HE IS GOING TO DO. SOMETIMES I FEEL HE HAS
FOUND A SHORT CUT TO CONSUMMATION IN DEFIANCE OF THE
CONCRETE. THAT HE IS FILLING THE GALLERIES OF THE INCREATE.
HE SEEMED SO WORTH HELPING, I'VE ONLY JUST BEGUN TO NOTICE
HE NEVER PAINTS. IF HE EVER DOES PAINT THE THINGS HE SEES --
GOD KNOWS WHERE -- THE RESULT WILL BE SPECTACULAR."

"WHY? HAVEN'T YOU HEARD ABOUT INSEL ?" ASKED MLLE.
ALPHA, "HE AND THE FRIEND WITH WHOM HE CAME TO PARIS TOOK
MORPHINE TOGETHER AND TWO YEARS AGO THIS FRIEND DIED. HIS
DEATH GAVE INSEL SUCH A JOLT, HE DROPPED THE DRUG, AND EVER
SINCE HAS PAINTED NOTHING OF ANY ACCOUNT.

"WHY ON EARTH DOESN'T HE TAKE HIS OLD MORPHINE ?" SHE
DEMANDED OF THE UNIVERSE IN GENERAL, "AND LET HIMSELF DIE ?
AT LEAST HE WOULD HAVE PAINTED HIS PICTURES - WHILE THIS
WAY - WHERE IS THE GOOD IN HIS REMAINING ALIVE ?"

NOW DRUGS MEANT NOTHING TO ME. I HAD SUPPOSED THEY WERE
A SUBSTITUTE FOR IMAGINATION IN THE UNIMAGINATIVE. I WAS
PREJUDICED AGAINST THE STORIES AFLOAT OF THEIR AWFUL DESTRUC-
TIVENESS, ASCRIBING THEM TO ONE OF THOSE OFFICIAL DODGES FOR
PREVENTING AN EXASPERATED HUMANITY FROM HAVING A LITTLE FUN.
SUBCONSCIOUSLY, I WAIVED THIS INFORMATION. AS IF MY MIND
WERE A JURY REFUSING TO BE INFLUENCED BY EXTRANEOUS EVIDENCE.
BEING THUS LUCKILY PREVENTED FROM PUTTING TWO AND TWO
TOGETHER, I WAS FREE TO PURSUE MY INVESTIGATION OF INSEL IN
MY OWN REACTIVE WAY.

MOREOVER, WAS NOT INSEL'S MORPHINISM A THING OF THE
PAST ?

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BEFORE I LEFT MLLE. ALPHA TOLD ME THAT STIEF USSIF, THE SURREALIST, HAD PAINTED A PICTURE I OUGHT TO SEE. REMEMBERING (THAT UNDER THE INFLUENCE OF HIS FELINE SCREECH) I HAD MADE NO APPOINTMENT WITH MY STRANGE BOON COMPANION, I ARRANGED TO GO TO USSIF'S THE FOLLOWING WEEK ON MY RETURN TO TOWN.

"BY THE WAY" - I EXCLAIMED, " I FORGOT--. WHEN INSEL WROTE TO YOU - DID HE PREDICT THE DAY AND HOUR WHEN HIS RESISTANCE MUST GIVE OUT --?"

"NOTHING OF THE KIND," SHE ANSWERED. "HE WROTE AS USUAL, 'I AM STARVING TO DEATH.'"

WHEN THE TIME CAME FOR ME TO RETURN I ARRIVED TO FIND A TELEPHONE MESSAGE FROM THE DRESSMAKER, WHO WAS ILL. SO I HURRIED OFF TO DO SOME SHOPPING. AFTERWARDS, ON MY WAY TO THE SURREALIST'S STUDIO, I STOPPED THE TAXI AT MY FLAT FOR ME TO CHANGE MY GLOVES.

AS I RAN UP THE ONE FLIGHT OF STAIRS, I HAD TO SLOW DOWN. SURPRISINGLY, ON THIS WARM DAY, AN ICINESS WAS CREEPING UP MY ANKLES. I PROCEEDED INTO A CHILL DRAUGHT.

"INSEL!" I REALIZED.

THERE WAS NOBODY STANDING AT MY FRONT DOOR. ALTHOUGH WELL LIT BY A STAIRCASE WINDOW, IT WAS HUNG WITH A SQUARE CURTAIN OF BLACK MIST.

SLOWLY, THIS MIST PUT FORTH AN ABSTRACT SIGN OF CONCAVITY, AND STILL MORE SLOWLY, A TRANSPARENT DIAGRAM OF MY FRIEND GREW ON TO IT.

HUNCHING INTO MATERIALIZATION, AS A DEAD MAN WHO SHOULD VOMIT HIMSELF BACK TO LIFE, INSEL, WHOSE ILLNESS WAS DISSOLUTION, MOANED TO ME IN THE VOICE OF A WRAITH.

"I THOUGHT YOU WOULD NEVER COME."

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WHEN I GOT HIM INSIDE, WE WERE ALREADY LAUGHING - HALF APOLOGETICALLY - AS IF WE FOUND IT ABSURD, THIS MEETING IN NO-MAN'S LAND WITHOUT EXPLANATIONS TO OFFER.

"WHY DIDN'T YOU SAY YOU WERE COMING ?"

"BUT I THOUGHT - SURELY--" WITH AN ANGUISHED GRIN, "FRIDAY IS MY 'LITTLE AFTERNOON'."

"OF COURSE IT'S YOUR LITTLE AFTERNOON, INSEL," I LAUGHED. "ONLY WHEN YOU HAVE TURNED THE LADY DOWN IS JUST WHEN YOU HAVE TO SPECIFY THE HOUR OF YOUR RETURN; IF SHE IS TO EXPECT YOU -- I'VE GOT AN ENGAGEMENT."

"MY LITTLE AFTERNOON," HE RAVED, COLLAPSING, "I WAS GOING TO TAKE YOU TO MY ROOM TO SEE MY PICTURE."

-92-

"IF YOU WANT TO MAKE A FORTUNE" I ADVISED HIM, "YOU SHOULD GO ON THE MUSIC HALLS -- HAVE YOU EVER HEARD OF BAGGESSON - ONE OF THE GENIUSES OF THE CENTURY ? HE BROKE WHITE PLATES."

"YOU ARE EVEN MORE WONDERFUL FOLDING WHITE THINGS UP --"

"IT WOULD BE UTTERLY USELESS," INSEL PROTESTED. "NOBODY EVER SEES IN ME WHAT YOU SEE IN ME --"

"WELL, YOU FRIGHTEN THE 'PEOPLE' OUT OF THEIR WITS, THAT OUGHT TO GIVE YOU A HOLD ON YOUR AUDIENCE. OF COURSE, YOU'D NEED TO REHEARSE - HAVE SOMEONE SIT IN THE BACK OF THE THEATRE AND TELL YOU WHERE YOU GET YOUR EFFECTS. YOU SHOULD 'COME ON' IN THE FEARFUL CLATTER OF AN EARTHQUAKE AND THEN ALL YOU'D HAVE TO DO WOULD BE TO LEISURELY TIDY IT UP -- I ASSURE YOU YOU'D HAVE THE WHOLE THEATRE HALUCINATED."

WHEN HE HAD STACKED UP HIS COVERS LIKE A DECK OF CARDS, THERE WAS STILL ONE CEREMONY TO PERFORM, I TOOK HIM INTO THE KITCHEN AND GAVE HIM WHATEVER FOOD THERE WAS LEFT.

UNDER MY EYES, AS HE PACKED IT UP, IT DIMINISHED AND FROZE INTO A CHINESE PUZZLE. THE ESSENTIAL, HE SAID, WAS A MINIMUM BULK. IT DID NOT IN THE LEAST CONCERN ME THAT IT WOULD ALL BE THROWN AWAY. HIS TYING OF THE STRING WAS THE CLOSE OF A LINEAR SYMPHONY.

INSEL LEFT WITH A FAREWELL FLASH FROM HIS CRANIUM AND HIS FORLORN-HOWL-IN-THE-WILDERNESS OF WHEN SHALL I SEE YOU AGAIN-- THEN HE CREPT BACK TO THE DOORMAT AND WHISPERED SHYLY, "I SHALL EXPLAIN EVERYTHING TO YOU NEXT TIME."

-88-

-89-

"WHY ? HAVEN'T YOU HEARD ABOUT INSEL ?" ASKED MLLE.
ALPHA, "HE AND THE FRIEND WITH WHOM HE CAME TO PARIS TOOK
MORPHINE TOGETHER AND TWO YEARS AGO THIS FRIEND DIED. HIS
DEATH GAVE INSEL SUCH A JOLT, HE DROPPED THE DRUG, AND EVER
SINCE HAS PAINTED NOTHING OF ANY ACCOUNT.

-90-

"INSEL!" I REALIZED.

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