I think I can fairly blame Helena for seducing me to dream of lazy sunny days at Kibbutzim and adventures by the Dead Sea–strolling to work in London–the beach at Camburi–Her life which had been great, and mine not fully lived–I slept with her and was her man and we smoked clove and took long walks. Two years ago were our best days–in Roger Bill. I dread and hate what she is now though–I couldn’t cause her enough pain to make up for what she’s caused me. She did the last mean thing to me sitting with Aquilles in my back seat–and not with me, like she knew I wanted more than anything then. And on my birthday I avoided her. She said she wanted to do something with me. I am a [louse?]. I couldn’t put it together. It required too much, and what’s more, I wasn’t wanted. My assistance wasn’t requested. I was stupid to be there. I’ve done a lot to abstract Brazil as though it had nothing to do with Helena–and it sure is true that the Brazil I had heard about from both Helena & Marcos was not found by me–
These are regrets and complaints. I have no alternatives to what has happened. They’ve composed me. But I do long for sympathy–and love–from those very people–Helena & Marcos–for me, Ken–a guy now far away from them–when they flirted with America. For Helena to see each person is a remarkable mystery–love and sympathy for strangers. But what is there for me, as I am now?
As I am now, nothing. Just some vaguely-expressed concern perhaps–I want you to succeed–”it’s good that you got into English Graduate School”– When I think of all the words I said–still I did not say enough–I did not get it across–put it or keep it together. Either she thought I was kidding or despised me in the end–or I was a fool all along with that talk of a long future together. She “knew” it would all change–that it would be difficult living apart–that we would drift apart.
I was dreamy all those years–It would end much sooner than I thought. We shook hands and parted across the distance deeper than despair.
She must be in some kind of inward phase now–
she said she was all dread before I came along–
We walked by the River that day in the cemetery
And she spoke of her wonderful mother as we sank in the leaves
I thought she might be deep and difficult to handle
Neither heart nor hand can cross that distance–
I am not he who knows how to get her love for me in an active way again–
Her tears are too hot–she sent me away crying
After a pretty long drive to the airport.