—Anaïs Nin, from The Novel of the Future, 1968; unpublished diaries of 1953 and 1955

THE LIE DETECTOR WAS ASLEEP when he heard the telephone ringing.

At first he believed it was the clock ordering him to rise, but then he awakened completely and remembered his profession.

The voice he heard was rusty, as if disguised. He could not distinguish what altered it: alcohol, drugs, anxiety or fear.

It was a woman's voice; but it could have been an adolescent imitating a woman, or a woman imitating an adolescent.

"What is it?" he asked. "Hello. Hello. Hello."

"I had to talk to someone; I can't sleep. I had to call someone."

"You have something to confess..."

"To confess?" echoed the voice incredulously; this time, the ascending tonalities unmistakably feminine.

"Don't you know who I am?"

"No, I just dialed blindly. I've done this before. It is good to hear a voice in the middle of the night, that's all."

"Why a stranger? You could call a friend."

"A stranger doesn't ask questions."

"But it's my profession to ask questions."

"Who are you?"

"A lie detector."

There was a long silence after his words. The lie detector expected her to hang up. But he heard her cough through the telephone.

"Are you there?"

"Yes."

"I thought you would hang up."

There was laughter through the telephone, a lax, spangled, spiraling laughter. "But you don't practice your profession over the telephone!"

"It's true. Yet you wouldn't have called me if you were innocent. Guilt is the one burden human beings can't bear alone. As soon as a crime is committed, there is a telephone call, or a confession to strangers."

"There was no crime."

"There is only one relief: to confess, to be caught, tried, punished. That's the ideal of every criminal. But it's not quite so simple. Only half of the self wants to atone, to be freed of the torments of guilt. The other half of man wants to continue to be free. So only half of the self surrenders, calling out 'catch me,' while the other half creates obstacles, difficulties; seeks to escape. It's a flirtation with justice. If justice is nimble, it will follow the clue with the criminal's help. If not, the criminal will take care of his own atonement."

"Is that worse?"

"I think so. I think we are more severe judges of our own acts than professional judges. We judge our thoughts, our intents, our secret curses, our secret hates, not only our acts."

She hung up.

The lie detector called up the operator, gave orders to have the call traced. It came from a bar. Half an hour later, he was sitting there.

He did not allow his eyes to roam or examine. He wanted his ears alone to be attentive, that he might recognize the voice.

When she ordered a drink, he lifted his eyes from his newspaper.