"You see， it is the ancient legend of paradise." （"p" like a fountain.） "That legend referred to us of today， did it not？ Yes. Only think of it， think of it a moment！ There were two in paradise and the choice was offered to them： happiness without freedom， or freedom without happiness. No other choice. Tertium， non datur. They， fools that they were， chose freedom. Naturally， for centuries afterward they longed for fetters， for the fetters of yore. This was the meaning of their world weariness， Welts-chmerz. For centuries！ And only we found a way to regain happiness....No， listen， follow me！ The ancient god and we， side by side at the same table！ Yes， we helped god to defeat the devil definitely and finally. It was he， the devil， who led people to transgression， to taste pernicious freedom—he， the cunning serpent. And we came along， planted a boot on his head， and ...squash！ Done with him！ Paradise again！ We returned to the simple- mindedness and innocence of Adam and Eve. No more meddling with good and evil and all that； everything is simple again， heavenly， childishly simple！ The Well-Doer， the Machine， the Cube， the giant Gas Bell， the Guardians—all these are good. All this is magnificent， beautiful， noble， lofty， crystalline， pure. For all this preserves our non-freedom， that is， our happiness. In our place those ancients would indulge in discussions， deliberations， etc. They would break their heads trying to make out what was moral or unmoral. But we ...Well， in short， these are the highlights of my little paradise poem. What do you think of it？ And above all the style is most solemn， pious. Understand me？ Nice little idea， is it not？ Do you understand？"
Of course I understood. I remember my thoughts at that moment： "His appearance is nonsensical and lacking in symmetry， yet what an orderly-working mind he has！" This made him dear to me， that is to the real me. （I still insist that that I of before is the real one； my I of late is， certainly， only an illness.）
Apparently R-read my thought in my face； he put his hand on my shoulders and laughed： "Oh， you！...Adam. By the way， about Eve..." He searched for something in his pockets， took out a little book， turned over a few leaves， and said， "For the day after tomorrow—oh， no， two days from now—O-90 has a pink check on you. How about it？ ...As before？ ... You want her to？"
"Of course， of course.
"All fight then， I"ll tell her. You see she herself is very bashful ...What a funny story！ You see， for me she has only a pink-check affection， but for you ...And you， you did not even come to tell us how a fourth member sneaked into our triangle！ Who is it？ Repent， sinner！ Come on！"
A curtain arose inside me； rustle of silk， green bottle， lips ... For no reason whatsoever I exclaimed （oh， why didn"t I restrain myself at that moment？）， "Tell me， R-， did you ever have an opportunity to try nicotine or alcohol？"
R- sucked in his lips， looked at me from under his brows. I distinctly heard his thoughts： "Friend though he is， yet..."And he answered：
"What shall I say？ Strictly speaking， no. But I know a woman ..."
"I-330？" I cried.
"What！ You？ You， also？" R- was full of laughter； he chuckled， ready to splash over.
My mirror was hanging in such a way that in order to see R- clearly I had to turn and look across the table. From my armchair I could see now only my own forehead and eyebrows. Then I， the real I， suddenly saw in the mirror a broken， quivering line of brow； I， the real I， heard suddenly a wild， disgusting cry： "What？ What does that "also" mean？ What does that "also" mean？ I demand..."
Widely parted Negro lips...Eyes bulging， I （the real I） grasped my other wild， hairy， heavily breathing self forcibly. I （the real I） said to him， to R-， "In the name of the Well-Doer， please forgive me. I am very sick； I don"t sleep； I do not know what is the matter with me."
A swiftly passing smile appeared on the thick lips.
"Yes， yes， I understand， I understand. I am familiar with all this—theoretically， of course. Good-by."
At the door he turned around like a little black ball， came back to the table and put a book upon it. "This is my latest book. I came to bring it to you. Almost forgot. Good-by." （"b" like a splash.） The little ball rolled out.
I am alone. Or， to be more exact， I am tete-a-tete with that other self. I sit in the armchair and， having crossed my legs， I watch curiously from some indefinite "there" how I， myself， am shriveling in my bed！
Why， oh， why is it， that for three years R-， O-， and I were so friendly together and now suddenly—one word only about that other female， about I-330， and...Is it possible that that insanity called love and jealousy does What seems most strange is that I， I！ ... Equations， formulae， figures， and suddenly this！ I can"t understand it， I can"t！ Tomorrow I shall go to R- and tell him... No， it isn"t true； I shall not go； neither tomorrow nor day after tomorrow， nor ever... I can"t， I do not want to see him. This is the end. Our triangle is broken up.
I am alone. It is evening. There is a light fog. The sky is covered by a thin， milky-golden tissue. If I only knew what is there—higher. If I only knew who I am. Which I am I？
