Read Diary of a Discontent for Free Online Page B

but in my mind I am far
away.
    ~
    I was eyed suspiciously at the library. I was
followed by a little man in a brown suit. After some sneaky
maneuvers I managed to lose him on the third floor.
    Outside, it rained with such intensity, such
violent sadness, that all I could do was sit by the window and
watch the world dissolve.
    ~
    It rains and rains and rains. I am forced to
stay inside my apartment, forced to endure an unbearable boredom. I
hear every creak of the ceiling and floor, every thump against the
wall, every muffled voice, every slammed cupboard, every groaning
door. I feel imprisoned between other people’s lives. I am
suffocating beneath the weight of these trivial existences, these
piles of objects and bodies that seem to serve no other purpose
than to keep me from myself.
    ~
    I walked through the rain to the café on
James Street. It was full of students, as usual. I ordered a cup of
coffee and found a seat near the window. My shoes squeaked with
each step I took; the rain had soaked through my clothes. I felt as
though every eye in the place was focused on me, as though every
movement I made was being criticized. Never have I felt so out of
place…
    But I can’t write about it anymore. I can’t
fill these pages with more complaints about my isolation, however
justified they may be. I write so little these days that I’d prefer
to save my words for better things.
    ~
    I couldn’t settle for just one sight of the
underground girl; the glimpse I caught of her hasn’t left my mind.
So I descend the back staircase every evening, and I wait in the
alleyway until her light goes on. Sometimes I only see her shadows,
but on other nights the beauty herself steps into the frame. She
seems so far away from me, almost unreal, like a starlet on the
screen rather than an actual girl of flesh and blood. Perhaps this
effect is due to the silence, for she exists as an image, nothing
more. But as an image, she is exquisite.
    ~
    I had a visitor today—that is, I would have
had a visitor had I chosen to open the door. But no, I did not give
in to the persistent pounding, nor to the shouts of irritation. Who
could want to see me? Well, no one, in fact—the visitor had come
for Mr. Willows. He said his name again and again, pleading for me
to answer the door. Willows, I’m afraid, is a wanted man. This is a
compliment to his writing, of course, for it takes a certain skill
to write one’s way to infamy.
    I will not waste my time reading the letters
of a lawyer, and I certainly won’t answer the door for one.
    ~
    We are often told of the good deeds of
policemen, yet no one ever seems to witness these deeds. Instead we
witness the aggressive driving, the hassling of pedestrians, the
handing out of tickets, the arrogant stares, the pompous postures,
the excessive displays of power, etc., etc. And now I can add a new
activity to the policeman’s list: storming an innocent man’s
apartment and frightening the landlady.
    I returned from a walk, drenched by the rain,
only to receive a scolding from this old woman.
    “They demanded to see your apartment!” she
shouted at me. “What’s this all about?”
    “What did they say it was about?” I
asked.
    “They were looking for
Will...Will... Williams ! A Mr. Peter Williams ! Do you know him?”
    “Williams? No, certainly not,” I said,
grinning with perfect honesty.
    “Yes, well, that’s because no one by the name
of Peter Williams lives here!”
    “So what did the police do?”
    “They left.”
    “I don’t see what the trouble is, then.”
    “They said they’d be back!”
    She slammed the door in my face. I cautiously
climbed the stairs to my apartment. It felt more like a prison than
ever before.
    ~
    A perfect evening ruined. An image of divine
beauty unfolding before my eyes, and then…
    What exactly happened, anyway? I don’t know.
One moment I was crouching in the alleyway, staring through a
window into heaven, and the next moment…
    The gate opened with a