The Early Ayn Rand

I went to my room and brought everything, all his pictures, his presents, some letters, all I had from him. He took them all and threw them into the fireplace. "May I... may I keep this one, Henry?" I asked, handing him the best picture, with the inscription. My fingers trembled. He took it, looked, and threw it back to me disdainfully. It fell on the floor. I picked it up.

"I will see to it that we are divorced as soon as possible," he said. He fell into an armchair. "Let me alone now," he added.

I walked to the door, then stopped. I looked at him. And I said, with a voice that was very firm and very calm: "Forgive me, Henry... if you can... and forget me... And don't grieve with grim thoughts, think about Claire, and be happy... and don't think about me... it is not worthwhile."

He looked at me. "You were like this... before," he said slowly.

"I was... I am no longer... Everything changes, Henry... everything has an end. But life is beautiful... life is great... You must be happy, Henry."

"Irene," he said, in a very low voice, "tell me, why have you changed?"

I have gone through it all calmly. This simple sentence, my name, his low voice, made something rise in my throat. But for one second only. "I could not help it, Henry," I answered.

Then I went upstairs to my room.

I bit my lips, when I entered, so that I felt the heavy taste of blood in my mouth. "That's nothing," I muttered. "That's nothing, Irene... That's nothing..." I felt a strange necessity to speak; to say something; to drown with words something that has no name and that was there, waiting for me. "That's nothing... nothing... It will be over... it will be over... just one minute, Irene, it will be over... one minute..."

I knew I was not blind, but I did not see anything. I did not hear a sound... When I began to hear again I noticed that I was repeating senselessly, "... one minute... one minute..."

Henry's picture, which I held, fell to the floor. I looked at it. Then, suddenly, I saw clearly, wholly, and exactly what had happened and what was going to happen. It lasted less than a second, as though in the glow of a sudden lightning, but it seized me at the throat, like pincers of red-hot iron. And I shouted. I uttered a cry. It was not even a cry, it was not a human sound. It was the wild howl of a wounded animal; the primitive, ferocious cry of life for help.

I heard running footsteps on the staircase. "What happened?" cried Henry, knocking at my door.

"Nothing," I answered. "I saw a mouse." I heard him go downstairs.

I wanted to move, to take some steps. But the floor was running under my feet, running down, down. And there was a black smoke in my room that turned, turned, turned in columns with a frightful speed. I fell...

When I opened my eyes, I was lying on the floor. It was quite dark in the room, and cold. A window had been left open and the curtains moved slowly, blown by the wind. "I was unconscious," I said to myself.

I rose to my feet and tried to stand. My knees seemed broken. I let myself slowly down again. Then I saw his picture on the floor. A long shudder ran through all my body.

I took the picture and put it in an armchair. Then I whispered, and my voice was human now, weak and trembling: "Henry... Henry... my Henry... that is nothing... It is not true, is it, Henry? It was a dream, perhaps, and we shall awaken soon... And I will not cry. Don't look at my eyes, Henry, lam not crying... it will be over... in a minute... Because, you see, it was hard... I think it was even very hard... But that is nothing. You are with me, aren't you, Henry?... And you know everything... You do... I am foolish to grieve like this, am I not, Henry? Say that I am... Smile, Henry, and laugh at me... and scold me for torturing myself like this, when there is nothing... nothing at all... Nothing happened... and you know everything... You see, I am smiling... And you love me... You are my Henry... I am a little tired, you know, but I will take a rest... and it will be over... No, I am not crying, Henry... I love you... Henry…"

Tears ran down my cheeks, big, heavy, silent tears. I did not cry, there were no sobs, no sound. I spoke and I smiled. Only tears rolled down, without interruption, without sound, without end...

I do not remember much about the months that followed. We had applied for a divorce, on the ground of wife's unfaithfulness. Waiting for it, I lived in Henry's house. But we did not meet often. When we met, we greeted one another politely.

I managed to live, somehow. I remember that I read books, lots of books. But I cannot remember a word of them now, their titles or how they looked; not one of them. I walked much too, in the little deserted streets of the poorest neighborhoods, where nobody could see me. I think I was calm then. Only I remember that I once heard a boy say, pointing at me: "Here's one that's goofy!"