An Infinity of Mirrors Read Online Free PDF Page A

back when their leader urged them forward, because they were unable to remember the meanings they had left behind. Change took the place of choice, but there could never be freedom without self-understanding and there could be no self-understanding without the ability, the hunger, to choose.
    Bernheim strode out of the lift ahead of the handsome lady passenger, walked through the main door, and got into his car, a new Delage sport cabriolet which he had won at chemin de fer and which he had decided to give to Carmen Victoria Lopez-Figueroa, the Mexican poetess, when he next saw her. He turned the car into the rue Freycinet and moved toward the rue de Belloy, changing gear instinctively and thinking that he could hold off speaking about the habitual German attitude toward Jews until he reached talk number four or five, somewhere around June 20th. There would be ample time before July 1st, and of course, when he met the German the following evening he would go to work on him himself. For example, he might invite him to come backstage at the theatre. Perhaps Coco Marquisada would give him a dose of clap. She would do it for him, as a favor. If he really were the grand Prussian officer who flaunted his honor at every turn he certainly wouldn’t think of marrying a wonderful girl such as Paule and passing on the clap. Or Olivier Jerrau would be happy to play cards with him. Officers were very sticky about gambling debts because they knew they could be reported, the slimy sons-of-bitches.
    Bernhehn stopped the car in front of a small house in the rue La Pérouse and hit his horn lightly. There had never been a deluded movement in Germany that the Germans had not rushed to join. None of them seemed to have even the slightest understanding of a single element of politics. The divisive leaders spoke only to each German individually, and that German did not seem able to comprehend that the politician was interested in massed Germans only to gain power. They must feel about dying the way I feel about loving, Bernheim thought, and he shuddered. Since they were unable to retain the memory of the many possible ways to die, they had had to invent that relentless pecking order so that they would not only be able to get permission to die before their time—and, if they were lucky, have the chance to destroy something first or to take a few Auslaender with them—but they could die under orders so that no one would be able to blame them for having died in the first place.
    A short woman with hands like a bear’s paws and each hand covered with diamonds, came out of the small house. Bernheim opened the door to the front seat beside him. The woman had very large eyes, deeply ringed, and a mouth like the slit on a mailbox. “Take off the diamonds,” he said as she slammed the door.
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œBecause it’s not very bright to take two hands filled with diamonds on a partouse with a lot of strangers.”
    â€œDon’t worry. If they want these diamonds they’ll need to take my fingers off. I had them made good and tight. It’s better than insurance.”
    The car turned into the Avenue Kléber from the Avenue des Portugais, then moved purposefully toward the Etoile. “Such tight rings must hurt your fingers,” Bernheim said absent-mindedly, thinking of Paule.
    â€œWell, yes. But nobody can get my diamonds.”
    In a short time their car swung out of the Porte Maillot into the Bois de Boulogne. Bernheim drove sedately along the Allée de Longchamp. One hundred and fifty yards ahead a car was parked in the darkness with its lights on. As they came up Bernheim dipped his headlights twice. The other car repeated the signal. The woman beside Bernheim bit her lip tightly as they came abreast; each car turned on their interior lights separately. A stout man with a mouth which ran diagonally under his button nose sat next to a seamy woman in seedy clothes and with hair like steel