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I do know. But it seems so strange, so almost inexplicable, and
even rather absurd."
"Truth often seems absurd."
"It was that boy, that diver for /frutti di mare/--Ruffo."
"The boy with the Arab eyes?"
"Yes. Of course I have seen many boys full of life and gayety and
music. There are so many in Italy. But--well, I don't know--perhaps it
was partly Vere."
"How do you mean?"
"Vere was so interested in him. It may have been that. Or perhaps it
was something in his look and in his voice when he was singing. I
don't really know what it was. But that boy made me feel--more
horribly than I have ever felt before--that Vere is not enough. Emile,
there is some hunger, so persistent, so peculiar, so intense, that one
feels as if it must be satisfied eventually, as if it were impossible
for it not to be satisfied. I think that human hunger for immortal
life is like that, and I think my hunger for a son is like that. I
know my hunger can never be satisfied. And yet it lives on in me just
as if it knew more than I know, as if it knew that it could and must.


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