After dinner he served her crème de menthe with ice cream. She felt contented and relaxed, and in this mood she was able to regard Karl with some respect. There was no tenderness, certainly, but the ill-feeling and resentment she had anticipated had fortunately failed to materialize.

In the living room they sat quietly for a while. Then he asked, “Would you like to hear my recording of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony?” She said yes, and listened raptly after he put it on.

“This is a very beautiful recording,” she said. “May I borrow it?”

He bolted from his chair. “Of course. I’ll tape it for you immediately.”

“But I don’t have a tape recorder.”

“Then take it home and sit and look at it!” he screamed.

He went into the bedroom and made a great deal of noise rummaging through his things for the tape recorder. Every so often she heard him mutter “Slut!” She felt pretty well disgusted with him, but waited silently in her chair.

He returned with the machine and started the record over. During the hour it took to record it he stood looking out the window with his back to her. She tried to listen to the music, but his presence made her nervous and she took refuge in one of his Réalités. When the recording was finished, he gave her the tape gruffly, muttering something again. She took it silently and left.

1965, 1966, or 1967

Updated May 05, 1997.

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