JOHN FOWLES

The Collector - fragments
 

This crypt-room is so stuffy, the walls squeeze in, I’m listening for him as I write, the thoughts I have are like bad drawings. Must be torn up at once.
Try try try to escape.
It’s all I think of.
A strange thing. He fascinates me. I feel the deepest contempt and loathing for him, I can’t stand this room, everybody will be wild with worry. I can sense their wild worry.
How can he love me? How can you love someone you don’t know?
He wants desperately to please me. But that’s what madmen must be like. They aren’t deliberately mad, they must be as shocked in a way as everyone else when they finally do something terrible.
It’s only this last day or two I could speak about him so.
 

Ioana Ionita

John Fowles
 

 Camera asta ca o cripta este atat de sufocanta, peretii ma impresoara din toate partile. Imi tin urechile ciulite in timp ce scriu in acest jurnal. Gandurile pe care le am sunt precum niste schite nereusite: trebuie distruse numaidecat.
Incearca incearca incearca sa scapi.
Numai la asta ma gandesc.
Un lucru ciudat: rapitorul meu ma fascineaza. Sunt cuprinsa de cele mai profunde sentimente de dispret si dezgust pentru el. Nu suport aceasta camera. Toti cunoscutii mei vor fi innebuniti de grija pentru mine. Le pot simti nelinistea.
Cum de ma poate iubi? Cum poti iubi pe cineva pe care nu-l cunosti?
Isi doreste cu disperare sa-mi faca pe plac. Dar poate ca asa sunt dementii: nu sunt nebuni in mod voit, trebuie ca devin intr-un fel tot atat de socati ca si ceilalti oameni atunci cand in cele din urma fac ceva ingrozitor.