Philip Van Doren Stern (ed) (65 page)

"I'm
obliged
to
you,"
he
remarked
quietly,
"for
being
so
punctual. But
I
knew
you
would
not
fail
me.
It's
rather
out
of
your
categories, you
see,"
he
added
after
a
slight
hesitation,
"this
proposed
visit
of mine."
What
he
meant
precisely,
God
only
knows:
I
only
know myself
that
I
was
aware
of
a
queer
pang
as
of
something
that
both attracted
and
repelled
me
with
a
certain
violence—by
which
I
mean, perhaps,
that
I
both
understood
yet
did
not
understand.
It
was
the part
of
me
that
understood
that
attracted
me.

We
set
out
on
foot
at
once
for
a
walk
of
a
mile
or
two
to
de
Frasne's
house
in
Bayswater.
All
these
years
it
had
remained
empty,
apparently
neither
sold
nor
rented.
The
region,
prosaic
and
respectable,
reassured
me,
for
how
could
anything
"unearthly"
happen
in
Bayswater?
He
had
the
key,
he
mentioned.
And
the
only
other
remark
he
made
during
that
walk
of
ours
over
half
an
hour
was
a
curious
one,
uttered
with
breaks
and
at
intervals
moreover,
for
I
said
nothing:
"If
what
I
think
is
true,"
came
in
that
low
voice
that
again
rather
gave
me
the
creeps,
"young
de
Frasne
.
.
.
since
his
death
.
.
.
has
been
in
other
time
and
space
.
.
.
When
he
said
that
he
had
been
waiting
for
me
...
it
was
really
I
who
.
.
.
had
been
waiting
for
him
.
.
."
And
then
suddenly,
as
I
made
no
comment,
he
raised
his
voice
almost
to
a
shout
that
made
me
start.
"You
follow
me?"
he
cried.
I
managed
a
reply
of
sorts.
I
was
following,
of
course.
"I
didn't
mean
literally,"
he
explained,
lowering
his
voice;
"I
meant—do
you
understand?"
My
face,
doubtless,
gave
my
answer
clearly
enough.
"No,
no,
how
could
you?"
he
went
on,
half
to
himself.
"You've
never
transcended
human
experience,
so
you
couldn't.
Naturally,
you
couldn't.
You
only
know
time
in
a
line,
as
past,
present,
future.
Vronski
and
I
have
known
it
.
.
.
otherwise
...
in
two
dimensions,
two
at
least
...
A
changed
consciousness—that's
the
trick,
you
see—can
function
in
different
time
.
.
.
elsewhere
and
otherwise
-----
"

A
sudden
flash
came
to
me,
so
that
I
stopped
him
on
the
pavement.

"Living
backwards
or
forwards,
you
mean?"
I
cried.

He
stared
at
me
with
a
kind
of
exultation.
I
remember
the
pallor
of his
skin,
the
brightness
in
his
eyes.
"I
imagine
parallel
is
the
right,
the better
word,"
he
said,
with
a
kind
of
odd
breathlessness,
and
then
he added
quickly,
"I
felt
sure—I
always
knew—you
had
it
in
you—somewhere.
Death
of
unexpected
kind,
self-inflicted,
before
the
natural moment,
I
mean
.
.
.
and
I
showed
him
the
way
.
.
.
would
make this
possible
probably
..."