The Interpreter

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This is the story of my undoing: of how one single man snatched me from those I loved, from my profession, from my private life, and bore me to my ruin, a prey to confusion and mind-befogging illness. Not that this was his callous aim: he couldn’t help himself. He simply failed to notice that he was dragging me into that self-same dizzying abyss into which he himself was hurtling. And it is this very fact that makes my torment all the more unbearable. Today I live as a slave to another man’s madness. I see its fearful workings before my eyes, I am a lucid witness to its utter inhumanity, and nothing prevents me from walking away, but I stay. Because by now, for me, any other life would be still greater madness. So each day I wake up, bow my head wearily and carry on, working through a heartless destiny which has chosen me, of all men, for its experiment. Each day I nurture the wild beast to which I am chained; my mind is like a stone, my thoughts like clefts within it, my body a sloughed skin, staked out with wooden pickets and laid out to dry.

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