I Confess Read Online Free PDF

end he had formed an independent film company in Hollywood and was one of the first to have the idea of working in Europe where you could shoot a film for a fraction of what it cost in the States. His old wartime business friends provided the money. Clayton was smart but didn't possess an iota of artistic comprehension; the nicest thing about him was that he never pretended to. His naivety however also had its disadvantages when, in artistic matters, he always adopted the opinion of the person he had spoken to last. This sometimes made things difficult for him.
    "I'm terribly sorry to be causing you all this trouble," I said, but he interrupted me at once. "Shut up, Jimmy! What are you talking about? No trouble. No trouble at all. Everything's going fine. You did your job and did it beautifully. Now you stay put in your little bed and flirt with the nurses, hahaha!"
    "It'll only take a few days."
    "I don't care how long it takes—just don't let anything worry you. I'm coming to see you this afternoon, and I bring good news. Taschenstadt has read your first draft and is crazy about it."
    "Good," I said. Taschenstadt was the president of the German company that was going to distribute the film.

    "A cable came today. From the USA," Clayton went
    on. *'The money's on its way."
    "Congratulations."
    "Thanks. You see, Jimmy, things keep cracking even without you. Do you need anything? Can I do anything for you?"
    "Not a thing."
    "I'll bring a bottle of Scotch."
    "Okay."
    "And as I said, take it easy. You have it coming to you, old boy."
    I said goodbye and hung up. Clayton had sounded so damn cheerful was all I could think. One almost got the impression he was dehghted to have me in the hospital. Strange. Very strange. But then I shrugged. What did I want anyway? Would I have preferred it if he'd been furious?
    The sun was shining directly on my bed. I felt warm^ comfortable and sleepy. Somewhere a radio was playing softly. A woman's dark voice was singing: "I'm gonna take a sentimental journey...." I knew the song.
    The telephone rang. I answered. "Call for you, Mr. Chandler," said a woman's voice.
    "Thank you." A crackling in the line. "Hello?"
    "HeUo," said a voice. It was Yolanda. I was lying on my back, holding the receiver to my ear. I didn't answer.
    "Jimmy? Are you t|jere?"
    "Yes."
    "Alone?"
    "Yes."
    "Are you feeling better?"
    "Yes."
    "I was scared to death, Jimmy."
    I said nothing.
    "It was my fault. You got all excited. It was horrid, what I said. I'm sorry, Jimmy. Can you forgive me?"
    ". .. sentimental journey home," sang the woman's voice.

    "Jimmy, do you hear me?"
    "Yes."
    "Well?"
    ". . . seven, that's the time we leave, at seven...."
    "Yes."
    "You forgive me?"
    "Of course."
    ". ... counting every mile of railroad track.. . .*'
    "I only wanted to make you mad. There isn't a word of truth in what I said. I swear there isn't."
    ". . . that takes me back, that takes me back... .**
    "It's all right, Yolanda."
    "It's not all right. I can tell by your voice."
    ". . . never tliought, my heart could be so yearning... •"
    "It doesn't make any difference, Yolanda."
    "Jimmy!"
    "I may have a tumor.**
    "Jimmy!"
    "In my head. A growth. I don't know yet."
    ". . . why did I decide to roam. . . ."
    "My God! Oh my God! That's terrible! Who said so? How do you know? Will they operate?" . "Nobody has said so. I don't know anything yet."
    ". .. gonna take a sentimental journey.. .."
    "Jimmy, Jimmy, let me come to you. Now. Right away, m get a taxi."
    "No you won't."
    "Why not?"
    "Because I don't want it."
    "Because your wife is coming?"
    "Oh for God's sake, Yolanda "
    ". . . sentimental journey home. . . ."
    "But I have to come. I have to see you. I love you."
    "Goodbye," I said, and hung up.
    Outside the woman's voice sang the song to the end. Then a loudspeaker announced: "On the last tone of the time signal it will be three o'clock."

    I lay flat on my back and stared up at the white ceiling. There was a knock on the door. I said,