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- Джон Фоулз
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- Волхв
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Or
have
dinner
in
an
embassy
.
"
A
train
screamed
to
the
north
,
from
Euston
way
.
She
turned
and
stubbed
the
cigarette
out
.
"
I
wish
I
was
real
pretty
.
"
She
pulled
the
bedclothes
up
round
her
neck
,
as
if
to
hide
her
ugliness
.
"
Being
pretty
is
just
something
that
’
s
thrown
in
.
Like
the
paper
round
the
present
.
Not
the
present
.
"
A
long
silence
.
Pious
lies
.
But
what
breaks
the
fall
?
"
You
’
ll
forget
me
.
"
"
No
I
won
’
t
.
I
’
ll
remember
you
.
Always
.
"
"
Not
always
.
Mebbe
a
wee
once
in
a
while
.
"
She
yawned
.
"
I
’
ll
remember
you
.
"
Then
she
said
,
minutes
later
,
as
if
the
present
was
no
longer
quite
real
,
a
childhood
dream
,
"
In
stinkin
’
auld
England
.
"
It
was
six
o
’
clock
before
I
got
to
sleep
,
and
even
then
I
woke
up
several
times
.
At
last
,
at
eleven
,
I
decided
to
face
the
day
.
I
went
to
the
bedroom
door
.
Jojo
had
gone
.
I
looked
in
the
kitchen
that
was
also
a
bathroom
.
There
,
scrawled
on
the
mirror
with
a
bit
of
soap
were
three
X
’
s
,
a
Goodbye
,
and
her
name
.
As
casually
as
she
had
slipped
into
my
life
,
she
had
slipped
out
of
it
.
On
the
kitchen
table
lay
my
car
pump
.
The
sewing
machines
hummed
dimly
up
from
the
floor
below
;
women
’
s
voices
,
the
sound
of
stale
music
from
a
radio
.
I
was
the
solitary
man
upstairs
.
Waiting
.
Always
waiting
.
I
leant
against
the
old
wooden
draining
-
board
drinking
Nescafé
and
eating
damp
biscuits
.
As
usual
,
I
had
forgotten
to
buy
any
bread
.
I
stared
at
the
side
of
an
empty
cereal
packet
.
On
it
a
nauseatingly
happy
"
average
"
family
were
shown
round
a
breakfast
table
;
breezy
tanned
father
,
attractive
girlish
mother
,
small
boy
,
small
girl
;
dreamland
.
Metaphorically
I
spat
.
Yet
there
must
be
some
reality
behind
it
all
,
some
craving
for
order
,
harmony
,
beyond
all
the
shabby
cowardice
of
wanting
to
be
like
everyone
else
,
the
seffish
need
to
have
one
’
s
laundry
looked
after
,
buttons
sewn
on
,
ruts
served
,
name
propagated
,
meals
decently
cooked
.
I
made
another
cup
of
coffee
.
Cursed
Alison
,
the
bloody
bitch
.
Why
should
I
wait
for
her
?
Why
of
all
places
in
London
,
a
city
with
more
eager
girls
per
acre
than
any
other
in
Europe
,
prettier
girls
,
droves
of
restless
girls
who
came
to
London
to
be
stolen
,
stripped
,
to
wake
up
one
morning
in
a
stranger
’
s
bed
.
Then
Jojo
.
The
last
person
in
the
world
I
had
wanted
to
hurt
.
As
if
I
had
kicked
an
emotionally
starving
mongrel
in
its
poor
,
thin
ribs
.
A
violent
reaction
set
on
me
,
born
of
self
-
disgust
and
resentment
.
All
my
life
I
had
been
a
sturdy
contra
-
suggestible
.
Now
I
was
soft
;
remoter
from
freedom
than
I
had
ever
been
.
I
thought
with
a
leap
of
excitement
of
life
without
Alison
,
of
setting
out
into
the
blue
again
…
alone
,
but
free
.
Even
noble
,
since
I
was
condemned
to
inflict
pain
,
whatever
I
did
.
To
America
,
perhaps
;
to
South
America
.
Freedom
was
making
some
abrupt
choice
and
acting
on
it
;
was
as
it
had
been
at
Oxford
,
allowing
one
’
s
instinct
-
cum
-
will
to
ffing
one
off
at
a
tangent
,
solitary
into
a
new
situation
.
Hazard
,
I
had
to
have
hazard
.
I
had
to
break
out
of
this
waiting
room
I
was
in
.
I
walked
through
the
uninspiring
rooms
.
The
Bow
chinoiserie
plate
hung
over
the
mantelpiece
.
The
family
again
;
order
and
involvement
.
Imprisonment
.
Outside
,
rain
;
a
gray
scudding
sky
.
I
stared
down
Charlotte
Street
and
decided
to
leave
Kemp
’
s
,
at
once
,
that
day
.
To
prove
to
myself
that
I
could
move
,
I
could
cope
,
I
was
free
.
I
went
down
to
see
Kemp
.
She
took
my
announcement
coldly
.
I
wondered
if
she
knew
about
Jojo
,
because
I
could
see
a
stony
glint
of
contempt
in
her
eyes
as
she
shrugged
off
my
excuse
—
that
I
had
decided
to
rent
a
cottage
in
the
country
.
"
You
taking
Jojo
,
are
you
?
"
"
No
.
We
’
re
bringing
it
to
an
end
.
"
"
You
’
re
bringing
it
to
an
end
.
"
She
knew
about
Jojo
.
"
All
right
.
I
’
m
bringing
it
to
an
end
.
"
"
Tired
of
slumming
.
Thought
you
would
be
.
"
"
Think
again
.
"
"
You
pick
up
a
poor
little
scob
like
that
,
God
only
knows
why
,
then
when
you
’
re
sure
she
’
s
head
over
fucking
heels
in
love
with
you
,
you
act
like
a
real
gentlemen
.
You
kick
her
out
.
"
"
Look
—
"
"
Don
’
t
kid
me
,
laddie
.
"
She
sat
square
and
inexorable
.
"
Go
on
.
Run
back
home
.
"
"
I
haven
’
t
got
a
bloody
home
,
for
Christ
’
s
sake
.
"
"
Oh
yes
you
have
.
They
call
it
the
bourgeoisie
.
"
"
Spare
me
that
.
"
"
Seen
it
a
thousand
times
.
You
discover
we
’
re
human
beings
.
Makes
you
shit
with
fright
.
"
With
an
insufferable
dismissiveness
she
added
,
"
It
’
s
not
your
fault
.
You
’
re
a
victim
of
the
dialectical
process
.
"
"
And
you
’
re
the
most
impossible
old
—
"
"
Dah
!
"
She
turned
away
as
if
she
didn
’
t
care
a
damn
,
anyway
;
as
if
life
was
like
her
studio
,
full
of
failures
,
full
of
mess
and
disorder
,
and
it
took
her
all
her
energy
to
survive
in
it
herself
.
A
Mother
Courage
gone
sour
.
She
went
to
her
paints
table
and
started
fiddling
.
I
went
out
.
But
I
had
hardly
got
to
the
top
of
the
stairs
to
the
ground
floor
when
she
came
out
and
bawled
up
at
me
.
"
Let
me
tell
you
something
,
you
smug
bastard
.
"
I
turned
.
"
You
know
what
will
happen
to
that
poor
damn
kid
?
She
’
ll
go
on
the
game
.
And
you
know
who
’
ll
have
put
her
there
?
"
Her
outstretched
finger
seared
its
accusation
at
me
.
"
Mister
Saint
Nicholas
Urfe
.
Esquire
.
"
That
last
word
seemed
the
worst
obscenity
I
had
ever
heard
pass
her
lips
.
Her
eyes
scalded
me
,
then
she
went
back
and
slammed
the
studio
door
.
So
there
I
was
,
between
the
Scylla
of
Lily
de
Seitas
and
the
Charybdis
of
Kemp
;
bound
to
be
sucked
down
I
packed
in
a
cold
rage
;
and
lost
in
a
fantasy
row
with
Kemp
,
in
which
I
scored
all
the
points
,
I
lifted
the
Bow
plate
carelessly
off
its
nail
.
It
slipped
;
struck
the
edge
of
the
gasfire
;
and
a
moment
later
I
was
staring
down
at
it
on
the
hearth
,
broken
in
two
across
the
middle
.
I
knelt
.
I
was
so
near
tears
that
I
had
to
bite
my
lips
savagely
hard
.
I
knelt
there
holding
the
two
pieces
.
Not
even
trying
to
fit
them
together
.
Not
even
moving
when
I
heard
Kemp
’
s
footsteps
on
the
stairs
.
She
came
in
and
I
was
kneeling
there
.
I
don
’
t
know
what
she
had
come
up
to
say
,
but
when
she
saw
my
face
she
did
not
say
it
.
I
raised
the
two
pieces
a
little
to
show
her
what
had
happened
.
My
life
,
my
past
,
my
future
.
Not
all
the
king
’
s
horses
,
and
all
the
king
’
s
men
.
She
was
silent
a
long
moment
,
taking
it
in
,
the
half
-
packed
case
,
the
mess
of
books
and
papers
on
the
table
;
the
smug
bastard
,
the
broken
butcher
,
on
his
knees
by
the
hearth
.
She
said
,
"
Jesus
Christ
.
At
your
age
.
"
So
I
stayed
with
Kemp
.
The
smallest
hope
,
a
bare
continuing
to
exist
,
is
enough
for
the
antihero
’
s
future
;
leave
him
,
says
our
age
,
leave
him
where
mankind
is
in
its
history
,
at
a
crossroads
,
in
a
dilemma
,
with
all
to
lose
and
only
more
of
the
same
to
win
;
let
him
survive
,
but
give
him
no
direction
,
no
reward
;
because
we
too
are
waiting
,
in
our
solitary
rooms
where
the
telephone
never
rings
,
waiting
for
this
girl
,
this
truth
,
this
crystal
of
humanity
,
this
reality
lost
through
imagination
,
to
return
;
and
to
say
she
returns
is
a
lie
.
But
the
maze
has
no
center
.
An
ending
is
no
more
than
a
point
in
sequence
,
a
snip
of
the
cutting
shears
.
Benedick
kissed
Beatrice
at
last
;
but
ten
years
later
?
And
Elsinore
,
that
following
spring
?
So
ten
more
days
.
But
what
happened
in
the
following
years
is
silence
;
is
another
mystery
.
Ten
more
days
,
in
which
the
telephone
never
rang
.
Instead
,
on
the
last
day
of
October
,
All
Hallows
Eve
,
Kemp
took
me
for
a
Saturday
afternoon
walk
.
I
should
have
suspected
such
an
uncharacteristic
procedure
;
but
it
happened
that
it
was
a
magnificent
day
,
with
a
sky
from
another
world
’
s
spring
,
as
blue
as
a
delphinium
petal
,
the
trees
russet
and
amber
and
yellow
,
the
air
as
still
as
in
a
dream
.
Besides
,
Kemp
had
taken
to
mothering
me
.
It
was
a
process
that
needed
so
much
compensatory
bad
language
and
general
grufFness
that
our
relationship
was
sergeant
-
majored
into
something
outwardly
the
very
reverse
of
its
true
self
.
Yet
it
would
have
been
spoilt
if
we
had
declared
it
,
if
we
had
stopped
pretending
that
it
did
not
exist
;
and
in
a
strange
way
this
pretending
seemed
an
integral
part
of
the
affection
.
Not
declaring
we
liked
each
other
showed
a
sort
of
mutual
delicacy
that
proved
we
did
.
Perhaps
it
was
Kemp
who
made
me
feel
happier
during
those
ten
days
;
perhaps
it
was
an
aftermath
of
Jojo
,
least
angelic
of
angels
,
but
sent
by
hazard
from
a
better
world
into
mine
;
perhaps
it
was
simply
a
feeling
that
I
could
wait
longer
than
I
had
till
then
imagined
;
whatever
it
was
,
something
in
me
changed
.
I
was
still
the
butt
,
yet
in
another
sense
;
Conchis
’
s
truths
,
especially
the
truth
he
had
embodied
in
Lily
,
matured
in
me
.
Slowly
I
was
learning
to
smile
,
and
in
the
special
sense
that
Conchis
intended
.
Though
one
can
accept
,
and
still
not
forgive
;
and
one
can
decide
,
and
still
not
enact
the
decision
.
We
walked
north
,
across
the
Euston
Road
and
along
the
Outer
Circle
into
Regent
’
s
Park
.
Kemp
wore
black
slacks
and
a
filthy
old
cardigan
and
an
extinguished
Woodbine
,
the
last
as
a
sort
of
warning
to
the
fresh
air
that
it
got
through
to
her
lungs
only
on
a
very
temporary
sufferance
.
The
park
was
full
of
green
distances
;
of
countless
scattered
groups
of
people
,
lovers
,
families
,
solitaries
with
dogs
,
the
colors
softened
by
the
imperceptible
mist
of
autumn
,
as
simple
and
pleasing
in
its
way
as
a
Boudin
beachscape
.
We
strolled
,
watched
the
ducks
with
affection
,
the
hockey
players
with
contempt
.
"
Nick
boy
,
"
said
Kemp
,
"
I
need
a
cup
of
the
bloody
naticnal
beverage
.
And
that
too
should
have
warned
me
;
her
manes
all
drank
coffee
.
So
we
went
to
the
tea
pavilion
,
stood
in
a
queue
,
then
found
half
a
table
.
Kemp
left
me
to
go
to
the
ladies
’
.
I
pulled
out
a
paperback
I
had
in
my
pocket
.
The
couple
on
the
other
side
of
the
table
moved
away
.
The
noise
,
the
mess
,
the
cheap
food
,
the
queue
to
the
counter
.
I
guessed
Kemp
was
having
to
queue
also
.
And
I
became
lost
in
the
book
.
Then
.
In
the
outer
seat
opposite
,
diagonally
from
me
.
So
quietly
,
so
simply
.
She
was
looking
down
,
then
up
,
straight
at
me
.
I
jerked
round
,
searching
for
Kemp
.
But
I
knew
where
Kemp
was
;
she
was
walking
home
.
All
the
time
I
had
expected
some
spectacular
reentry
,
some
mysterious
call
,
a
metaphorical
,
perhaps
even
literal
,
descent
into
a
modem
Tartarus
.
Not
this
.
And
yet
,
as
I
stared
at
her
,
unable
to
speak
,
at
her
steady
bright
look
,
the
smallest
smile
,
I
understood
that
this
was
the
only
possible
way
of
return
;
her
rising
into
this
most
banal
of
scenes
,
this
most
banal
of
London
,
this
reality
as
plain
and
dull
as
wheat
.
Since
she
was
cast
as
Reality
,
she
had
come
in
her
own
;
and
so
she
came
,
yet
in
some
way
heightened
,
stranger
,
still
with
the
aura
of
another
world
.
From
,
yet
not
of
,
the
crowd
behind
her
.
A
dark
brown
tweed
suit
.
A
dark
green
scarf
tied
peasant
-
fashion
round
her
head
.
She
sat
with
her
hands
in
her
lap
,
waiting
for
me
to
speak
,
those
clear
eyes
on
mine
.
And
it
was
impossible
.
Now
it
was
here
,
I
couldn
’
t
change
.
I
couldn
’
t
look
at
her
.
I
looked
dcwn
at
the
book
,
as
if
I
wanted
no
more
to
do
with
her
.
Then
angrily
up
past
her
at
a
moronically
curious
family
,
scene
-
sniffing
faces
at
the
table
across
the
gangway
.
Then
down
at
my
book
again
.
Suddenly
she
stood
up
and
walked
away
.
I
watched
her
move
between
the
tables
.
Her
smallness
,
that
slightly
sullen
smallness
and
slimness
that
was
a
natural
part
of
her
sexuality
.
I
saw
another
man
’
s
eyes
follow
her
out
through
the
door
.
I
let
a
few
stunned
,
torn
moments
pass
.
Then
I
went
after
her
,
pushing
roughly
past
the
people
in
my
way
.
She
was
walking
slowly
across
the
grass
,
towards
the
east
.
I
came
beside
her
.
She
gave
the
bottom
of
my
legs
the
smallest
glance
.
We
said
nothing
.
I
looked
round
.
So
many
people
,
so
many
too
far
to
distinguish
.
And
Regent
’
s
Park
.
Regent
’
s
Park
.
That
other
meeting
;
the
scent
of
lilac
,
and
bottomless
darkness
.
"
Where
are
they
?
"
She
gave
a
little
shrug
.
"
I
’
m
alone
.
"
"
Like
hell
.
"
We
walked
more
silent
paces
.
She
indicated
with
her
head
an
empty
bench
beside
a
tree
-
lined
path
.
She
seemed
as
strange
to
me
as
if
she
had
come
from
Tartarus
;
so
cold
,
so
calm
.
I
followed
her
to
the
seat
.
She
sat
at
one
end
and
I
sat
halfway
along
,
turned
towards
her
,
staring
at
her
.
Returned
from
the
dead
.
Yet
it
infuriated
me
that
she
would
not
look
at
me
,
had
made
not
the
slightest
sign
of
apology
;
and
now
would
not
say
anything
.
I
said
,
"
I
’
m
waiting
.
As
I
’
ve
been
waiting
these
last
three
and
a
half
months
.
"
She
untied
her
scarf
and
shook
her
hair
free
.
It
had
grown
longer
,
and
she
had
a
warm
tan
.
She
looked
as
she
had
when
we
had
first
met
.
From
my
very
first
glimpse
of
her
I
realized
,
and
it
seemed
to
aggravate
my
irritation
,
that
the
image
,
idealized
by
memory
,
of
a
Lily
always
at
her
best
had
distorted
Alison
into
what
she
was
only
at
her
worst
.
She
was
wearing
a
pale
brown
man
’
s
-
collared
shirt
beneath
the
suit
.
A
very
good
suit
;
Conchis
must
have
given
her
money
.
She
was
pretty
and
desirable
;
even
without
…
I
remembered
Parnassus
.
Her
other
selves
.
She
stared
down
at
the
tip
of
her
flat
-
heeled
shoe
.
I
said
,
"
I
want
to
make
one
thing
clear
from
the
start
.
"
She
said
nothing
.
"
I
forgive
you
that
foul
bloody
trick
you
played
this
summer
.
I
forgive
you
whatever
miserable
petty
female
vindictiveness
made
you
decide
to
keep
me
waiting
all
this
time
.
"
She
shrugged
.
A
silence
.
Then
she
said
,
"
But
?
"
"
But
I
want
to
know
what
the
hell
went
on
that
day
in
Athens
.
What
the
hell
’
s
been
going
on
since
.
And
what
the
hell
’
s
going
on
now
.
"
"
And
then
?
"
Those
gray
eyes
;
her
strangeness
made
them
colder
.
"
We
’
ll
see
.
"
She
took
a
cigarette
out
of
her
handbag
and
lit
it
;
and
then
without
friendliness
offered
me
the
packet
.
I
said
,
"
No
thanks
.
"
She
stared
into
the
distance
,
towards
the
aristocratic
wall
of
houses
that
make
up
Cumberland
Terrace
and
overlook
the
park
.
Cream
stucco
,
a
row
of
white
statues
along
the
cornices
,
the
muted
blues
of
the
sky
.
A
poodle
ran
up
to
us
.
I
waved
it
away
with
my
foot
,
but
she
patted
it
on
the
head
.
A
woman
called
,
"
Tina
!
Darling
!
Come
here
.
"
In
the
old
days
we
would
have
exchanged
grimaces
of
disgust
.
She
went
back
to
staring
at
the
houses
.
I
looked
round
.
