Chapter 16
“Tell me, lady”, John echoes
“That night, in the solitary coldness of an urban night, I wrote about how Rick Hanson would destroy the man I had met in a hotel room, in a long gone night of the surreal. And for the first time since the beginning of the story, I cried”, I tell him
“Why did you cry?”, John wants to know
“I always remain loyal to my men, in my own strange way”, I reply
“You considered Neil Robson your man?”, John wants to know, intrigued
“He had been my man for the night that changed his life. That should be worth something, Mr. Journalist”, I say, retreating, wondering if I overrated John’s cleverness
“That’s certainly worth something. Fulfilment of your ego and a bet with yourself could have been the value of that night”, John says, his eyes gripping me
“It was that too”, I admit, uncoiling, “but not only that”
“Was the fate of Neil Robson the only reason for crying?”, John prods me
“No, I cried for myself”, I realize
I pause, formulating my thoughts, and John waits.
“I cried because I was the author of a story I wanted to efface”, I said at last
“Then why cry rather than change its finale?”, John wants to know
“I couldn’t. The story was in me, but I couldn’t modify it. I could simply see it”, I say
John’s bugs his eyes slightly.
“You are saying you were nothing but an external observer”, John summarizes
“No, I was more than an external observer. I was the mediator”, I explain
“The mediator?”, John repeats, frowning
“I sensed unacknowledged impulses and captured hidden desires. I detected them in others because they were in me, or had been in me, even if only in my dreams. I looked at them with candid eyes, no matter their nature, and exposed them without shame. I was innocent and honest”, I say
“Innocent and honest”, John smiles
“I was. All I wrote and imagined was there. It was absolute and irrational. It could not be effaced, so I admitted it, and in doing so I showed others all they had repressed”, I insist
John sighs, rubbing the back of his head.
“So tell me, Iris, how did you unleash Rick Hanson’s impulses the night you began to destroy Neil Robson?”, he asks me