Children of the Albatross by Anaïs Nin Read Free Book Online Page B

armchair for twenty years!”
    And so change, mutations like the rainbow, and
she preferred Lawrence’s gifts from which the colored powder and crystals fell
like the colors on the wings of butterflies after yielding their maximum of
charm.
    Paul was carving a piece of copper, making such
fine incisions with the scissors that the bird which finally appeared between
his slender fingers bristled with filament feathers.
    He stood on the table and hung it by a thread
to the ceiling. The slightest breath caused it to turn slowly.
    Paul had the skin of a child that had never
been touched by anything of this earth: no soap, no wash rag, no brush, no
human kiss could have touched his skin! Never scrubbed, rubbed, scratched, or
wrinkled by a pillow. The transparency of the child skin, of the adolescent
later to turn opaque. What do children nourish themselves with that their skin
has this transparency, and what do they eat of later which brings on
opaqueness?
    The mothers who kiss them are eating light.
    There is a phosphorescence which comes from the
magic world of childhood.
    Where does this illumination go later? Is it
the substance of faith which shines from their bodies like phosphorescence from
the albatross, and what kills it?
    Now Lawrence had discovered a coiled measuring
tape of steel in Djuna’s closet while delving for objects useful for charades.
    When entirely pulled out of its snail covering
it stretched like a long snake of steel which under certain manipulations could
stand rigid like a sword or undulate like silver-tped waves, or flash like
lightning.
    Lawrence and Paul stood like expert swordsmen
facing each other for a duel of light and steel.
    The steel band flexed, then hardened between
them like a bridge, and at each forward movement by one it seemed as if the
sword had pierced the body of the other.
    At other moments it wilted, wavered like a
frightened snake, and then it looked bedraggled and absurd and they both
laughed.
    But soon they learned never to let it break or
waver and it became like a thunderbolt in their hands. Paul attacked with
audacity and Lawrence parried with swiftness.
    At midnight Paul began to look anxious. His
luminosity clouded, he resumed his hesitant manner. He ceased to occupy the
center of the room and moved out of the focus of light and laughter. Like a
sleepwalker, he moved away from gaiety.
    Djuna walked with him towards the door. They
were alone and then he said: “My parents have forbidden me to come here.”
    “But you were happy here, weren’t you?”
    “Yes, I was happy.”
    “This is where you belong.”
    “Why do you think I belong here?”
    “You’re gifted for dancing, for painting, for
writing. And this is your month of freedom.”
    “Yes, I know. I wish… I wish I were free…”
    “If you wish it deeply enough you will find a
way.”
    “I would like to run away, but I have no
money.”
    “If you run away we’ll all take care of you.”
    “Why?”
    “Because we believe in you, because you’re
worth helping.”
    “I have nowhere to go.”
    “We’ll find you a room somewhere, and we will
adopt you. And you will have your month of life.”
    “Of life!” he repeated with docility.
    “But I don’t want you to do it unless you feel
ready, unless you want it so much that you’re willing to sacrifice everything
else. I only want you to know you can count on us, but it must be your
decision, or it will not mean anything.”
    “Thank you.” This time he did not clasp her
hand, he laid his hand within hers as if nestling it there, folded, ivory
smooth and gentle at rest, in an act of trustingness.
    Then before leaving the place he looked once
more at the room as if to retain its enfolding warmth. At one moment he had
laughed so much that he had slid from his chair. Djuna had made him laugh. At
that moment many of his chains must have broken, for nothing breaks chains like
laughter, and Djuna could not remember in all her life a greater joy than