We walk halfway across Paris (but I can’t think of any other way to tire him out). At the Madeleine, we wander into the stalking grounds of whores who roam the area in daylight. A redhead with provocative breasts sizes us up at a glance. She spots the john in me. It doesn’t elude him. He jokes: “One can smell your solidity, and my disreputableness. I’m too mean for a big spender and not authentic enough for a good pimp.”

This too makes me feel clumsy and awkward. I am moving crudely and ponderously through a light world. The air here is light; the people walk more lightly, speak more vivaciously; the colors shine effortlessly and lie upon things more lightly. I love this lightness, which I do not possess. (The remedy that Hertzog gave me, without letting on what it was, put me into this lightness. I have to get H. to at least give me a hint about the pharmacological, or rather toxological, makeup: I am well on the way to systematically poisoning myself.)

But the thought of it makes me light now too. My mood lightens. I feel hungry. He knows a restaurant not far from the hotel we are heading toward. A year ago, an extremely embarrassing scene with an Indian doll took place there. Incidentally, I think I remember the restaurant too: its name is Laget.

In half an hour, we are there. The food is marvelous though much too heavy. The wine is heavy too. I feel numb after the first glass. But I can still see well enough to observe how embarrassing it is that I slip off my jacket but refuse to let the hat-check girl take it. He says a few words to her that I don’t understand, but she leaves with a smile. I have the impression it was a joke at my expense. He now quite bluntly makes fun of me; he quips his way through a distasteful tirade about his religious upbringing, full of allusions that again I don’t understand. (Apparently he thinks I want to propose that he write his book about theodicy, even assumes I intend to write something similar myself.) Again, I drink more than I can take. And I have to pay the bill too. It’s dismayingly high, and I have trouble concealing my shock. (I do so by announcing that I want to dine here every day; anyway, I’m in a very good mood; I order more wine and two framboises with the coffee.)