I stopped writing for an entire day. According to Elvira, there is no water on the island where I was hoping to hide. So escape in that direction is impossible. I greeted the verdict less despondently than I would have expected. It is bad news, however. I am doomed to stay here, whatever happens. At the same time—and it is probably for this reason that I was not completely annihilated—the news did have one favorable consequence: I won’t be obliged to give up my writing. Now that I have come this far, my desire to open the next door to memory, the one through which Agnès can at last be seen, is so great that I would not have liked to postpone the completion of this project. So I will stay here, since needs must, but I am conscious of the great risk I am taking. The tranquility of the island, that nothing has come to disturb since the visit from the podestà’s man, seems more deceptive than ever. In that way lies danger, and I even have the impression it is coming nearer.
