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visit it and I went; and although very little has happened to me in my life at least I managed that—I went to that country.”
    “But aren’t people unhappy in this country of yours?”
    “Yes.”
    “And there are girls like me, waiting for something to happen?”
    “I expect so, yes.”
    “So what is the point of it?”
    “Of course it’s true that people are unhappy and die there and there are probably girls like you waiting hopefully for something to happen to them. But why not know that country as well as just this one where we are, even if some things are the same. Why not see another country?”
    “Because . . . and I am sure I am wrong, and I am sure you will tell me I am, but the fact is that it is a matter of complete indifference to me.”
    “Ah, but wait. There for instance the winters are less harsh than here: in fact you would hardly know it was winter.”
    “But what use is a whole country to anyone, or a whole city or even the whole of one warm winter? It’s no use, you can say what you like but you can only be where you are, when you are and so what is the point?”
    “But that is exactly the point. The town where I went ends in a big square surrounded by huge balustrades which seem to go on for ever. . . .”
    “I am afraid I simply don’t want to hear about it.”
    “The whole town is built in white limestone: imagine, it is like snow in the heart of summer. It is built on a peninsula surrounded by the sea.”
    “And the sea I suppose is blue. It is blue isn’t it?”
    “Yes, very blue.”
    “Well, I am sorry, but I must tell you that people who talk of how blue the sea is make me sick.”
    “But how can I help it? From the Zoo you can see it surrounding the whole town. And to anybody it must seem blue. It’s not my fault.”
    “No. For me, without those ties of affection I was talking about, it would be black. And then, although I don’t want to offend you in any way, you must see that I am much too preoccupied with my desire to change my life to be able to go away or travel or see new things. You can see as many towns as you like but it never gets you anywhere. And once you have stopped looking, there you are, exactly where you were before.”
    “But I don’t think we are talking about the same thing. I’m not talking of those huge events which change a whole life, no, just of the things which give pleasure while one is doing them. Traveling is a great distraction. Everyone has always traveled, the Greeks, the Phoenicians: it has always been so, all through history.”
    “It’s true that we’re talking of different things. Travel or cities by the sea are not the things I want. First of all I want to belong to myself, to own something, not necessarily something very wonderful, but something which is mine, a place of my own, maybe only one room, but mine. Why sometimes I even find myself dreaming of a gas stove.”
    “You know it would be just the same as traveling. You wouldn’t be able to stop. Once you had the gas stove you would want a refrigeratorand after that something else. It would be just like traveling, going from city to city. It would never end.”
    “Excuse me, but do you see anything wrong in my wanting something further perhaps after I have the refrigerator?”
    “Of course not. No, certainly not. I was only speaking for myself, and as far as I am concerned I find your idea even more exhausting than traveling and then going on traveling, moving as I do from place to place.”
    “I was born and grew up like everyone else and I know how to look around me: I look at things very carefully and I can see no reason why I should remain as I am. I must start somehow, anyhow, to become of consequence. And if at this stage I began losing heart at the thought of a refrigerator I might never even possess the gas stove. And anyway, how am I to know if it would weary me or not? If you say it would, it might be because you have given the matter a great deal of thought or