I went into my room.
I remember among other things that I felt an immense desire to
laugh. That ideal being, for whom even Platonic love seemed to be
impermissible, and who instead of "love" used the word "friendship!" I
felt a desire to laugh, and at the same time to dash my head against
the wall.
I preserved nevertheless a mechanical self-possession. It came from
the consciousness that everything was over and done with; that I
must go--that there was nothing for it but to go. That consciousness
transformed me into an automaton, doing by routine everything that
was necessary for my departure. I was even conscious of keeping up
appearances. Why? I do not know, as this did not matter now to me any
longer. Most likely it was an instinctive action of the brain, which
for months had been trained in concealing the truth and keeping up
appearances. I told Pani Celina that I had seen a doctor, and that he
said there was something amiss with my heart, and ordered me to go to
Berlin without delay,--and she believed it.
Not so Aniela. I saw her eyes dilated with terror, and in her face the
expression of a degraded martyr; and there were two persons within me:
one who said, "Is it her fault?" and another who despised her. Oh, why
did I love her so much?
12 September.
It is almost two weeks since I left. They must be at Ploszow by this
time.
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