Like blending himself in blistering gum, such as falling through the sun into wind and quiet, and cruising for some time in some white royal residence of the brain through which an ocean of fevers streamed, and afterward after an ageless time, the time gathering like a group around a road mishap, a strain standing by to be scattered, rising up out of it as he arose then from that one kiss, electrifies, one of those shocking minutes when you venture out from the twisting rings of a Paris mist into a lambent truth of lights and music and wild giggling, when you wake up from the waking bad dream that has held you thrashing around for a really long time, and you look up from a work area jumbled with the reports of twelve frightful perplexing killings, or from a losing round of chess, or from the as yet breathing body of a young lady from which you have recently siphoned a few agonizingly sweet pieces of required blood, and there everything is, the entire conceived world summarized in a solitary impression, sparkling and clear, a lightning-bolt clearness, more ideal a demeanor of what is than any painting in the Louver might at any point be, everything looking so new and weird in its brilliance that you may be a guest just dropped in from Atlantis or Mu or some mythic universe of the ether, and you see unequivocally that reality you have been looking for as long as you can remember is no secret, it resembles each reality a basic splendor that will uphold no understanding, no investigation, that is just itself, and it may come to you in the pretense of a lovely young lady in a checkered cover setting tables before the Café Japonais simply off the Bois de Boulogne; it may uncover itself to you in a course of action of pears and cheddar on a plate in an inn in Cannes; it may stream up at you from oneself caused injuries of a dead kid who painted purplish blue wings around his eyes and went through every early daytime presenting exposed in a mirror and imagining he was a popular concubine; it may declare itself in the flavor of a lifeless sandwich eaten late around evening time; it may chill you in a scramble of cold downpour; it may unnerve you as a rodent shooting from a back street under your foot; it may emerge like steam from the enthusiastic admission of a full, sorrowful housewife abandoned with you in a train station who shows you the silver holy messenger pin given her as a goodbye present by her sweetheart, a traveling teacher who couldn’t subscribe to any lady on account of the mysterious sadness he conveyed that obliterated all his joys with responsibility; it very well may be anything, anyplace, however until further notice it skimmed from the course of a kiss, and when you looked into this time, you saw the essence of the kissed lady still riveted from the tension of your lips, bits of green irises appearing underneath her covers, as wonderful gemmy green coins put on her eyes, her red lips actually separated, mixed up and kicking the bucket from the reality of her own second, and the positioned pines bowing all aside in a solid whirlwind, shaking their shaggy pelts, then, at that point, fixing, all with a sluggish, massive movement like an ensemble line of moving bears, and the puddled daylight ebbing and streaming with their development, and the trillion earthy colored needles making boundless hexagrams in their rot, and ultimately, generally, mainly, the revolting highlight of this superb lucidity and tranquility, a scarred iron screen half-covered with soil, and underneath it, overwhelmed with cold water, in the soggy, dust-crowded air, a residing being, its darkened head like an unusual seed from which the murkiness of its jail is leaking, it
“My decision.” Beheim let the words float away without goal. He needed somebody to get this business from him; he had not dealt on being a killer. Then, at that point, struck by an irregularity, he investigated at Alexandra, who was looking at her fixes with dismay. “How might you know what the Patriarch requires?” “He taught me with regards to his necessities.” “Yet the way that Agenor is the killer… He can’t have known. He should seriously mull over treating his judgment.” “No, he would not.” She set up a hand to prevent another inquiry. “He is with me in some design. How this is done, I don’t have the foggiest idea. In any case, he is with me. He hears what I hear, he makes his desires understood.” “Does he address you?” Beheim asked, his interest aroused. “Would you hear his voice in your care?” “dislike that. I basically know his will.” She spread her hands in a token of defenselessness. “I can give you no more clear clarification.” Something else happened to Beheim. “Was the Patriarch with you a second prior?” “That is hard to say. Maybe. I accept so.” “Then, at that point, maybe I ought to expect that was his desire, as well. What you did.” “What we did,” she said, a scowl line carved in her forehead. “No, it was my desire. Our desire.” The pines encompassing the clearing shuddered; the circle of light in their middle vacillated at the edges, making Beheim think about an impossible to miss gleaming, upset animal he had seen once through a magnifying lens at the Sorbonne. “You mustn’t question everything,” Alexandra said. An empty, stifled voice sounded from underneath the shade, its tone one of grievance. Beheim gave it just passing consideration; he moved in the direction of the palace, worn out inclinations of its dim dark matter apparent through the branches. “Really?” She came up behind him, contacted his abdomen. “You should fully trust a few things. In the event that I were your adversary, you would not have endure our kiss.” Agenor’s voice once more, stronger, confused. “As I review,” Beheim said, “it was I who held the advantage.” “You’re solid for one so new,” she said. “What’s more, you’ve developed further for all that has occurred. Strength is to a degree an issue of the will, and your will has developed an extraordinary arrangement during the previous constantly. Yet, I am more grounded than you.” An interruption. “Will I demonstrate it?” “No.” A beating on the iron shade went before a slight diminishing of the sun.