“Why do you write?” I ask, in one of my worst moments. Clarice’s face frowns in displeasure. She gets up, makes like she’s headed into the kitchen, but stops and says, “I’m going to answer you with another question: Why do you drink water?” Then she glares at me, ready to end our conversation right there.

“What’s behind the back of thought.” She used words to try to reach beyond words, to surpass them. She wrote to destroy words. That’s why she wasn’t interested in her image as a writer.

Her eyes, more beautiful than ever, are seasick with despair.

“Why do I drink water?” I ask, stalling for time. And answer myself, “Because I’m thirsty.” I should have held my tongue. Then, Clarice laughs. Not a laugh of relief, but of barely contained irritation. And she says to me, “You mean you drink water so you won’t die.” Now she seems to be speaking only to herself, “Well, me too. I write to stay... See more