Notes

How clearly I remember from this moment on!
I aquired an added awarness of other people and of myself.
An unthinking, easy egoism had been natural to me. I had always lived like this.
But the last few days had upset me deeply, forcing me to reflect, to look at myself with a
critical eye.
I endured all pangs of introspection, and still couldn’t become reconciled with myself.
"This feelings," I thought, "these feelings about Anne are mean and stupid; this desire to
separate her from my father is vicious."
But after all, why was I so hard on myself?
Wasn’t I free to judge what happened?
For the first time in my life my "self" to be split, and I discovered opposing forces within that
shocked me.
I found good excuses, I whispered them to myself, trying to be honest, and suddenly another
"me" rose up which answered all my arguments, saying that I was fooling myself with them,
although they had all appearance of truth.
But truly, wasn’t it this other "me" who was wrong?
Wasn’t this clear-headedness my worst mistake?
Up in my room I reasoned with myself for hours on end in attempt to discover whether the
fear and hostility which Anne inspired in me were justified, or if I was merely a silly, spoiled,
selfish girl pretending to be adult.
In the meantime I grew thinner every day. On the beach I did nothing but sleep and at
mealtime I maintained a strained silence that finally made the others uneasy.
All the time I watched Anne. At dinner I would say to myself, "Everything she does shows
how much she loves him. Could anyone be more in love? How can I be angry with her when she
smiles at me with that worried look in her eyes?"
But when she would say, "When we get home to Paris, Raymond..." And the thought that she
was going to share our life and our life and interfere with us would anger me again.
She seemed calculating and cold. I thought: "She is cold, we are warm-hearted. She is
dictatorial; we are easy-going. She is standoffish; other people don't interest her though we love
them. She is reserved; we are gay. Here we are, the two of us, and she will glide in between us
quietly. She will warm herself at our fire and gradually absorb our carefree warmth. She will have
us all on her coils, like a beautiful serpent." I repeated, "just like a beautiful serpent."
Then she passed me the bread, and suddenly I came to my senses. I thought: "But I’m crazy.
That's Anne, your friend who was so kind to you, who is so clever. Her aloofness is a mere habit,
there is nothing calculated about it. Her reserve is just to shield her from countless sordid tings in
life. It’s a sign of nobility."
A beautiful serpent... I felt myself turn pale with shame. I looked at her, silently imploring her
forgiveness.
At times she noticed my expression and a shadow of surprise and concerns would cloud her face and make her break off in the middle of a sentence.
Then her eyes would turn instinctively to my farther; but his glance never showed anything
but admiration or desire. He did not understand the cause of her disquiet.
Little by little I made the atmosphere unbearable, and I detested myself for it.
My father suffered as much as his nature permitted, that is to say, hardly at all.
He was mad about Anne, intensely proud and happy, and nothing else existed for him.
However, one day when I was dozing on the beach after morning swim, he was sat down next
to me and looked at me closely.
I felt his eyes upon me and with my air of false gaiety that was fast becoming a habit, I was
about to ask him to come in for swim when he put his hand on my head and called to Anne in a
doleful voice.
"Come over here and have a look at this little creature. She’s as thin as rail. If this is the effect
studying has on her, she’ll have to give it up!"
He thought that would settle everything, and no doubt it would have done so ten days earlier.
But now I was too deeply immersed in complications, and the hours set aside for work in the
afternoons no longer bothered me, especially as I had not opened a book since Bergson.
Anne came up too us. I remained lying face down on the sand, listening to the muffled sound
of her footsteps. She sat on my other side and murmured.
"It certainly doesn’t seem to agree with her. But if she really did some work instead of
walking up and down in her room..."
I had turned around and was looking at them. How did she know that I was not studying?
Perhaps she could even read my thoughts? I thought she was capable of anything. It frightened
me.
"I don’t walk up and down in my room!" I protested
"Are you lonesome of that boy?" asked my father.
"No!"
That was not quite true, but I certainly had had no time to think of Cyril.
"But still, you’re not well," said my farther firmly. "Anne look at her. She looks like a chicken
that has been plucked and put to roast in the sun.”
"Cecile, dear," said Anne, "try to pull yourself together. Do just a little work and eat a great
deal. That exam is important.
"I don’t care a hang about the exam!" I cried. "Can’t you understand? I just don’t care."
I looked straight at her, despairingly, so that she should realize that something more serious
than an exam was at stake.
I longed for her to ask me, "Well, what is the matter?" and to ply me with questions, force me
to tell her everything.
The I would be won over and she could do anything she would like with me, and I should no
longer be in torment.
She looked at me attentively. I could see the deep blue of her eyes darken with concentration
and reproach.
Then I understood that it would never occur to her to ply me with questions and so deliver me
from myself, because even if the thought had entered her head, her code of behavior would have
forbidden that.
And I saw, too, that she had no idea of the tumult within me. Or even if she did, I thought, she
would have withdrawn in disdain and disapproval, which was exactly what I deserved!
Anne always gave everything its exact value; that is why I could never come to an
understanding with her.
I dropped back onto the sand and laid my cheek against its warmth. I sighed deeply and began
to tremble.
I could feel Anne's hand, tranquil and steady, on the back of my neck, holding me still for a
moment, just long enough to stop my nervous tremor.
"Don't complicate life for yourself," she said. "You always been so contented and lively, so
thoughtless. And here you are now, sad and introspective. It doesn’t suite you."
"I know," I answered. "I’m just thoughtless, healthy child, gay and silly!"
"Come and have lunch," she said.
My farther had moved away from us; he hated that sort of discussion. On the way back he
took my hand and held it.
His hand was firm and comforting; it had dried my tears after my first disappointment in love,
it had closed over mine in moments of peace and perfect happiness, it had stealthy pressed mine at
times when we were misbehaving, or laughing riotously.
I thought of his hand on the steering wheel, or holding the door keys at night and searching in
vain for the lock; his hand on the woman's shoulder, or holding a cigarette – the hand that could do
nothing more for me.
I gave it a hard squeeze. Turning toward me, he smiled.