«Not at all. When one really loves somebody-«So you're in love,» said Francis.
«Certainly not!»
«Who with? Well, I know actually and can tell you.»
«What you saw this morning-«Oh, I don't mean her.»
«Who then?»
«Arnold Baffin.»
«You mean I'm in love with-? What perfectly obscene nonsense!»
«And he's in love with you. Why has he taken up with Christian, why have you taken up with Rachel?»
«And every man in London is obsessed with the Post Office Tower, and-«
«Have you never realized that you're a repressed homosexual?»
«Look,» I said, «I'm grateful to you for your help with Priscilla. And don't misunderstand me, I am a completely tolerant man. I have no objection to homosexuality. Let others do as they please. But I just happen to be a completely normal heterosexual-«One must accept one's body, one must learn to relax. Your thing about smells is a guilt complex because of your repressed tendencies, you won't accept your body, it's a well-known neurosis-«I am not a neurotic!»
«You're trembling with nerves and sensibility-«Of course I am, I'm an artist!»
«You have to pretend to be an artist because of Arnold, you identify with him-«I discovered him!» I shouted. «I was writing long before him, I was well-known when he was in the cradle!»
«Sssh, you'll wake Priscilla. The emotion rubs off on the women, but the source of the emotion is you and Arnold, you're crazy about each other-«I am not homosexual, I am not neurotic, I know myself-«Oh all right,» said Francis, suddenly changing his posture and turning away from the fire. «All right. Have it your own way.»
«You're just inventing this out of spite-«Yes, I'm just inventing it. I am neurotic and I am homosexual and I'm bloody unhappy about it. Of course you don't know yourself, lucky old you. I just know myself too bloody well.» He began to cry.
I have rarely seen a man crying and the sight inspires disgust and fear. Francis was whimpering loudly, producing suddenly a great many tears. I could see his fat reddened hands wet with them in the light of the gas fire.
«Oh, cut it out!»
«All right, all right. Sorry, Brad. Forgive me. Please forgive me. I expect I just want to suffer. I'm a masochist. I must like pain or I wouldn't go on living, I'd have taken my bottle of sleeping pills years ago, I've thought of it often enough. Oh Christ, now you'll think I'm bad for Priscilla and boot me out-«Stop making that horrible noise, I can't bear it.»
«Forgive me, Brad. I'm just a-«Try to be a man, try to-«I can't-Oh God-it's just the bloody pain-I'm not like other people, my life just doesn't work, it never has-and now you'll throw me out, and, oh God, if you only knew-«I'm going to bed,» I said. «Have you got your sleeping bag here?»
«Yes, it's-«
«Well, get into it and shut up.»
«I want to have a pee.»
