empty house； occasionally leaning toward the candlestick； in the flickering
light of the dim candle； I y beloved’s angry
letters； the somersaults they turned trying to deceive me and their hip…
swinging right…to…left progression。 Abruptly； those shutters would open before
my eyes； and my beloved’s face and her sorrowful smile would appear。 And
when I saw her real face； I forgot all of those other faces whose sour…cherry
mouths had increasingly matured and ripened in my imagination。
In the middle of the night I lost myself in dreams of marriage： I had no
doubts about my love or that it was reciprocated—we were married in a state
of great contentment—but； my imaginary happiness； set in a house with a
staircase； was dashed when I couldn’t find appropriate work and began
arguing with my wife； unable to make her heed my words。
I knew I’d appropriated these ominous images from the section on the ills
of marriage in Gazzali’s The Revival of Religious Science； which I’d read during
my nights as a bachelor in Arabia； at the same time； I recalled that there was
actually advice on the benefits of marriage in that same section； though now I
could remember only two of these benefits： first； having my household kept in
order （there was no such order in my imagined house）； second； being spared
the guilt of self…abuse and of dragging myself—an even deeper sense of guilt—
behind pimps leading me through dark alleyways to the lairs of prostitutes。
The thought of salvation at this late hour brought masturbation to mind。
With a simple…minded desire； and to rid