Page 82 - The Thief's Journal

The Thief's Journal
always wounded my sensibility. I suffered there. I felt the cruel shame of having my head shaved, of being dressed in unspeakable clothes, of being confined in that vile place; I knew the contempt of the other colonists who were stronger or more malicious than I. In order to weather my desolation when I withdrew more deeply into myself, I worked out, without meaning to, a rigorous discipline. The mechanism was somewhat as follows (I have used it since): to every accusation brought against me, unjust though it be, from the bottom of my heart I shall answer yes. Hardly had I uttered the word—or the phrase signifying it—than I felt within me the need to become what I had been accused of being. I was sixteen years old. The reader has understood: I kept no place in my heart where the feeling of my innocence might take shelter. I owned to being the coward, traitor, thief and fairy they saw in me. An accusation may be brought without proof, but it will seem that in order to be found guilty I must have committed the acts which make traitors, thieves or cowards; but this was not at all the case: within myself, with a little patience, I discovered, through reflection, adequate reasons for being named by these names. And it staggered me to know that I was composed of impurities. I became abject. Little by little I grew used to this state. I admit as much quite casually. The scorn in which I was held
1 changed to hate: I had succeeded. But what torments I suffered!
1. I envy, as a privilege, the shame suffered by a young bridal couple whose experience was reported in the newspaper “France−Dimanche”. To Nadine, the girl, the inhabitants of Charleville offered a floral swastika on her wedding−day. During the German occupation Nadine had been the mistress of a Berlin captain who died at the Russian Front. “She had a mass said for him and wore mourning.” The newspaper photo shows Nadine and her husband leaving the church where the cure has just married them. She is stepping across the swastika. The people of Charleville are looking at her hostilely. “Give me your arm and close your eyes,” her husband might have murmured to her. She walks smilingly past the French flags which are bedecked with crape.
I envy this young woman's bitter and haughty happiness. I'd give the world to taste it again.
Two years later I was strong. Training of this kind— similar to spiritual exercises—was to help me set poverty up as a virtue. As for the triumph, I won it over myself alone. Even when I faced the scorn of children or men, it was I alone whom I had to conquer, since it was a matter of modifying not others but myself. My power over myself became great, but by thus exercising it over my inner being I became very clumsy in doing so over the world. Neither Stilitano nor my other friends were to serve me, since in relation to them I was to be too preoccupied with my attitude as perfect lover. My wanderings over Europe might perhaps have resulted in my acquiring a certain poise were it not that I rejected everyday concerns in favor of a kind of contemplation. Before the occurrence of what I am about to relate, I had performed certain
acts but had not examined any of them with the keenness I applied to my mental life. I knew the intoxication of action when, one evening in Antwerp, near the docks, I succeeded in tying up a man who had gone off with me. Stilitano had gone dancing with Robert. I was alone, sad and jealous. I went into a bar and had a drink. For a moment I thought of looking for my two friends, but the mere idea of looking for them proved to me that they were lost. The smoky and noisy bars where they drank and danced were the earthly image of a moral region where, that very morning, they had isolated themselves from me and the rest of the world. Upon entering the room, I saw Stilitano, who was about to leave, extend his gloved hand and raise it slightly, and Robert, smiling, almost without touching it, press the snap−button. I was no longer Stilitano's right arm.
A big man asked me for a light and offered me a drink. When we left, he wanted to take me home with him, but I refused. He hesitated, then decided for the docks. I had noticed his gold watch, wedding ring and wallet. I knew he wouldn't call for help, but he looked strong. I couldn't carry the thing off except by some trick. I prepared nothing. Suddenly I thought of using the cord that Stilitano had given me. When we got to a corner of the docks, the man asked me to screw him.
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