Anxiety

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

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• From The Decameron (1353)

  But Angiulieri, who was as handsome a man as he was courteous, feeling that he was leading a poor sort of life in Siena on the meagre allowance he was given by his father, and hearing that the new papal ambassador in the March of Ancona was a certain cardinal who was very well disposed towards him, resolved to make his way there in the belief that by doing this he would better his lot. And having spoken to his father on the subject, he came to an arrangement with him whereby he would receive six months’ allowance in advance, so that he could purchase new clothes and a good horse, and go there looking reasonably respectable. No sooner did he begin to look round for someone to take with him as his servant than his plans reached the ears of Fortarrigo, who immediately called on Angiulieri and begged him with all the eloquence at his command to take him with him, saying that he would be willing to act as his servant, his valet, and his general factotum without requiring any other payment than his food and lodging. But Angiulieri refused his offer, not because he had the slightest doubt of his ability to perform these duties, but because Fortarrigo was an inveterate gambler and furthermore he occasionally got very drunk. Fortarrigo assured him that he would guard against both these weaknesses and swore repeatedly that he would keep his promise, to which he added such a torrent of entreaties that Angiulieri finally yielded and agreed to take him. So early one morning they set forth together, reaching Buonconvento4 in time for breakfast. Since it was a very warm day, after breakfast Angiulieri asked the innkeeper to prepare a bed for him, and with Fortarrigo’s assistance he got undressed and lay down to rest, telling Fortarrigo to call him at the hour of nones.5 As soon as Angiulieri was asleep, Fortarrigo went straight to the tavern, where after a few drinks he started to gamble with one or two other people there, and within a short space of time he had lost every penny he possessed, along with every stitch of clothing he was wearing. Being anxious to recoup his losses, he made his way back in nothing but his shirt to the room where Angiulieri was resting, and, perceiving that he was fast asleep, took all the money from his purse and returned to the gaming-table, where he lost Angiulieri’s money as well.

• From Apprenticed to Venus: My Secret Life with Anaïs Nin (2017)

  I’d prevaricated because, even after months of internal debate, I was still unable to decide whether to accept the offer. On the one hand, it would mean I’d have to leave everything I loved in my life: Anaïs and Renate, living with Philip at the beach house, my sisterhood of women friends. On the other hand, I knew I should grab a three-year, guaranteed tenure-track job at a major university in a market where suddenly there were no jobs to be had. Those of us on the cusp of the Boomer bubble had run like lemmings when told there was a need for more college professors, but no one had figured out that by the time we’d gotten our PhDs, the bubble would have burst. My fellow grad students were hissing at my rare good fortune to have any offers, even if they all had been in less than desirable locations. After the filming, when my friends gathered around Anaïs, I slipped out alone to the backyard. Standing by the hedge where the hillside dropped, I could see house lights begin to twinkle on the slopes below. They spread like the Milky Way down to the lake’s shimmering surface. I felt Anaïs approach and slip her arm around my waist. “What’s wrong, Tristine?” I told her about my inability to decide whether to take the Indiana job. “Oh, I thought you had already decided to turn it down.” “No; I don’t want to leave you and I don’t want to leave Philip, but Indiana is letting me create my own Women’s Lit classes, and if I turn it down I’ll be selling out the Women’s Movement, and all the women before me who fought for my opportunity, and my students who see me as an example. So I changed my mind. Then I changed it again. Over and over. It’s making me crazy. Either way I choose, it feels like I’m cleaving off half of myself.” “Why doesn’t Philip come with you?” she asked. “I knew that would be your suggestion. I knew you’d say, ‘Find a creative solution,’ so I begged him to come with me, but he said there was no market for mod men’s fashion in Indiana.” In fact, Philip’s response had shocked me. Sweet, passive Philip had said, unequivocally, “No.” He wouldn’t move to Indiana; he wouldn’t leave his work. I knew we would not survive long-distance. And even if after three years I were lucky enough to find a job back in California (which had been Renate’s recommendation), I didn’t believe Philip would wait. I’d begged him, “Tell me not to go. Just tell me to stay with you.” “I can’t do that,” he’d said gently. He sat on the waterbed that rocked under his weight. He dropped his head, and his hands disappeared into his blond shag. “Why not?” I sniffled. “Because later you would blame me.” I probably would.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Bruno and Buffalmacco and Nello were like to burst with laughter, hearing Calandrino's words; however, they contained themselves, but Doctor Simple-Simon[427] laughed so immoderately that you might have drawn every tooth in his head. Finally, Calandrino commending himself to the physician and praying him give him aid and counsel in this his strait, the latter said to him, 'Calandrino, I will not have thee lose heart; for, praised be God, we have taken the case so betimes that, in a few days and with a little trouble, I will deliver thee thereof; but it will cost thee some little expense.' 'Alack, doctor mine,' cried Calandrino, 'ay, for the love of God, do it! I have here two hundred crowns, wherewith I was minded to buy me an estate; take them all, if need be, so I be not brought to bed; for I know not how I should do, seeing I hear women make such a terrible outcry, whereas they are about to bear child, for all they have ample commodity therefor, that methinketh, if I had that pain to suffer, I should die ere I came to the bringing forth.' Quoth the doctor, 'Have no fear of that; I will let make thee a certain ptisan of distilled waters, very good and pleasant to drink, which will in three mornings' time carry off everything and leave thee sounder than a fish; but look thou be more discreet for the future and suffer not thyself fall again into these follies. Now for this water it behoveth us have three pairs of fine fat capons, and for other things that are required thereanent, do thou give one of these (thy comrades) five silver crowns, so he may buy them, and let carry everything to my shop; and to-morrow, in God's name, I will send thee the distilled water aforesaid, whereof thou shalt proceed to drink a good beakerful at a time.' 'Doctor mine,' replied Calandrino, 'I put myself in your hands'; and giving Bruno five crowns and money for three pairs of capons, he besought him to oblige him by taking the pains to buy these things. [Footnote 427: _Scimmione_ (lit. ape), a contemptuous distortion of _Simone_.]

• From Waking the Tiger: Healing Trauma (1997)

  My work leads me to believe that many of these people have traumatic histories which at least contribute to their symptoms. Depression and anxiety often have traumatic antecedents, as does mental illness. A study conducted by Bessel van der Kolk [4] , a respected researcher in the field of trauma, has shown that patients at a large mental institution frequently had symptoms indicative of trauma. Many of these symptoms were overlooked at the time because no one recognized their significance. Today, most people are aware of the fact that sexual, physical, and emotional abuse, as well as exposure to violence or danger, can profoundly alter a person’s life. What most people don’t know is that many seemingly benign situations can be traumatic. The consequences of trauma can be widespread and hidden. Over the course of my career I have found an extraordinary range of symptom s — behavioral and psychosomatic problems, lack of vitality, etc . — related not only to the traumatic events mentioned above, but also to quite ordinary events. Common occurrences can produce traumatic after effects that are just as debilitating as those experienced by veterans of combat or survivors of childhood abuse. Traumatic effects are not always apparent immediately following the incidents that caused them. Symptoms can remain dormant, accumulating over years or even decades. Then, during a stressful period, or as the result of another incident, they can show up without warning. There may also be no indication of the original cause. Thus, a seemingly minor event can give rise to a sudden breakdown, similar to one that might be caused by a single catastrophic event. What We Don’t Know Can Hurt Us When it comes to trauma, what we don’t know can hurt us. Not knowing we are traumatized doesn’t prevent us from having problems that are caused by it. However, with the incredible maze of misinformation and myth that exists about trauma and its treatment, the denial is understandable. It is difficult enough to deal solely with the symptoms of trauma without the added anxiety of not knowing why we are experiencing them or whether they will ever cease. Anxiety can crop up for a variety of reasons, including a deep pain that comes when your spouse, friends, and relatives unite in the conviction that its time for you to get on with your life. They want you to act normally because they believe you should have learned to live with your symptoms by now.

• From Apprenticed to Venus: My Secret Life with Anaïs Nin (2017)

  Yet with all she’d revealed to me, I was still more confused about the timing of her divorce than ever. It appeared that she and Rupert had kept up their affair for sixteen years and then she’d finally divorced Hugo and married Rupert. Or could she and Hugo have already been divorced when I met them in 1962? Renate had said that Anaïs and Hugo pretended not to be married when he was Ian Hugo; could Anaïs have just been pretending to be married still to Hugo Guiler when I met her? [image file=image_rsrc3R3.jpg] Writing the pretend invitation letter for Anaïs was torture: typing and re-typing it, checking spellings in the dictionary, laboring the grammar. Knowing it would be read by English department chairs, any error could give it away as a fake—and it would be my fault. Anaïs and I met as arranged a week later outside the old Beaux Arts central library by the mosaics of sphinxes and snakes. I felt very continental when we rushed to greet each other on the elevated landing, exchanging pecks on both cheeks. We claimed a cement bench, and I presented to her the perfectly typed letter. She read through it quickly. Afterwards she was pensive. What had I done wrong? “What are these two dots?” she finally said, pointing to the greeting, Dear Anaïs Nin: “You mean the umlaut over the i in your name? I found a typewriter that had that key in the library.” “No, after my name.” She pointed with a French-tipped nail. “The colon?” “Oui,” she said impatiently. “It’s a business letter. Isn’t it?” She waved her hand. “I just use a comma.” It was my first inkling of the deficits in her education due to dropping out of high school and receiving no training other than in flamenco dancing. I was troubled by her ignorance of proper punctuation and alarmed when she pronounced, “Renate is right. The letter should actually be for a series of lectures.” “What does Renate have to do with it?” “The letter is partly her idea. She thinks it would be better if you invited me for a series of lectures covering two years.” Ugh. I would have to re-type the whole thing. Anaïs could read my face, even though I wasn’t aware anything showed on it. “What’s wrong, Tristine?” “I may not have enough stationery to get the typing correct again.” “Oh, we don’t have time for that anyway.” She took a black and gold Montblanc fountain pen from her large leather purse, uncapped it, and handed it to me. “You haven’t signed your name.” I noticed the very fine point on her fountain pen. “I might damage your pen,” I said. “I have my own.” “Yes, that would be better.”

• From Apprenticed to Venus: My Secret Life with Anaïs Nin (2017)

  Remaining calm, she said, “Hugo broke his leg, and I’m caring for him.” She promised to call Rupert back. He hung up in a huff. She made up a story for Hugo that the caller was a crazy stalker who showed up at her book signings. She said that Dr. Bogner had told her not to contradict the stalker’s fantasies or he could become dangerous. Three days later, she found out that Rupert would be arriving in New York the following morning to be with her. Her mind went into overdrive. Her first instinct was to keep her husbands as far from each other in the city as possible. God forbid that they run into each other. Then she realized that unless she introduced them, neither husband could recognize the other, and that, actually, it would be easier for her to have them only blocks apart. That way, in an emergency, she could get from one to the other in minutes. So she booked Rupert a room at the Washington Square Hotel, directly across the park from her apartment with Hugo. Washington Square Arch in the middle of the park would be the demarcation between Hugo’s kingdom and Rupert’s domain. As soon as she had intercepted Rupert and enticed him to the hotel, she told him she had to leave for her Cue editing job. Taking a taxi, she arrived within minutes at the elevator to her fourteenth-floor apartment. When she didn’t find Hugo in his hospital bed, she was rattled, until she saw him hobbling around on crutches with Millie’s help. “Oh, Millie, I am so glad you are back.” Anaïs threw her arms around the Haitian woman’s neck while Millie kept her grip on Hugo. Anaïs stepped in front of Hugo, so he didn’t have to twist to see her. “Darling, I have big news!” Both Hugo and Millie looked at her expectantly. “Cue has given me an assignment to oversee a new French edition! The only thing is, I’ll have to work day and night until we go to print.” Hugo pulled away from Millie’s support and stepped with his crutches toward the bed. “That’s enough, Millie. Let me have a word with my wife, if you would,” he said, using the paternalistic tone that got on Anaïs’s nerves. She anticipated his speech on how he was the breadwinner in the family, and she was his precious helper, and presently he needed her help. Instead he asked, “Have you talked to them about salary?” After reprimanding her for not using his help in the negotiations, he urged her to take the job. Surprised, she asked him why. “Nothing, just things are just a little slow with my investments right now.”

• From Apprenticed to Venus: My Secret Life with Anaïs Nin (2017)

  “No, not after you’ve come all this way.” She sighed. “I didn’t want you to see me looking like this.” She touched spindly fingers to her pink turban. “You are as beautiful to me now as the day you were my bride,” he said. I interrupted, “I’ll guard the door so you two can have some privacy.” I hoped Anaïs would understand that I’d be on the lookout for Rupert. She said, “Hugo, you remember Tristine.” I tried to sound welcoming—“It’s nice to see you”—but added, amazed at the ease of my invention, “The doctor said that Anaïs is not to have long visits.” “Right,” he said distractedly, clearly eager for me to leave. As he watched me back out the door, behind him Anaïs mouthed, Stop Rupert! [image file=image_rsrc3R3.jpg] I sat on a chair just outside Anaïs’s door trying to quiet the blasting alarms in my head. Anaïs had kept Hugo and Rupert apart for thirty years, and any minute now they were going to converge when she was too weak to deal with it. The only hope was to get Hugo to leave before Rupert arrived. As if I could delay Rupert by imagining it, I saw him sitting in gridlock on Sunset Boulevard and driving in circles, unable to find a parking place. When I checked my watch for the tenth time, Hugo had been in the room with Anaïs for over fifteen minutes. I decided I should go in to interrupt them, but just then I heard fast footsteps approaching. I looked up to see Rupert sprinting down the industrial green corridor! He looked flushed. I ran up to him. “You’re early.” “We just drank champagne at the meeting. We don’t have to look for donors because Joan Palevsky is writing a check for the whole $250,000 for Anaïs’s diaries!” He pushed past me. “I have to tell Anaïs.” I stepped in front of him. “You have to wait. She’s getting a procedure.” “I’m going in!” Stubborn as always. As he pushed past, he issued an order: “You can leave now.” “But she asked me to say goodbye before—” “I’m telling you to leave!” I was so upset at his rudeness that I fled down the hospital corridor. CHAPTER 32 Silver Lake, California, 1976–77 TRISTINE AS I DROVE TO VISIT Anaïs, now home after two weeks in the hospital, I dreaded learning what had happened when Rupert discovered Hugo at her bedside. Just when she and I had come so close! I’d run like a rabbit, frightened by Rupert’s bark instead of helping her. She’d been relying on me to save the day and in the end I’d failed her. She answered the door in an empress muumuu with a smock tied over it, looking much better, her color back. She apologized that she had to sort through some files while we visited. “I’m organizing my papers for UCLA.” I fetched a chair from the kitchen and set it outside her office door.

• From Apprenticed to Venus: My Secret Life with Anaïs Nin (2017)

  “That’s true.” Wistfully, she lowered her delicate chin. Then she looked up and set her beryl eyes on me. “Actually, that is where the story you need to understand begins: in 1947, probably before you were born.” I quickly calculated. “No, I was born. I was three years old.” She took a deep breath, touched my hand lightly, and began the story of her search for passion. She may not have been able to create a plot in her novels, but in person, with her soft, lilting voice, she was as captivating as Scheherazade, dropping one veil, only to entice with another. CHAPTER 6 Greenwich Village, New York, 1947 ANAÏS AT FORTY-FOUR, SHE WAS MAD for sex and wild with anxiety. Hugo had given her money to hire someone to set the type for Gemor Press, and she’d hired Gonzolo Mores, one of her impoverished Paris lovers who had followed her to the US. For a time, she was having sex with Gonzolo in the Village studio she kept for him, and with Henry Miller, who had also followed her to New York, and with a half dozen other men, sometimes five different men in a day—younger ones, older ones, soldiers and film directors, men she met at parties, some straight, some not. She paused only when bedridden with bouts of exhaustion. Her only anchor in this tumultuous period was the tangible work of handprinting her novels. Gonzolo, after a burst of energy, had fallen back on his old habit of drinking wine before noon, and so Anaïs had taken over his task of positioning the type on the old clamshell press. One freezing winter night, she was working alone in the East Village studio where the hand press was housed. Wrapped in her winter coat with a dirty printer’s smock covering it, she locked in letters of Bernhard Gothic Light. Her fingers were blackened from inking the plate. Her back ached from working the pedal. Yet she loved this work for the respite it gave from her abiding restlessness. She had come to the point where she felt she would have to leave both Hugo and the United States. She had not been able to flower as a woman or as a writer in New York as she had in Paris. She was dissipating her time and her talent. Her relationship with Hugo had become a formality of duty and appearance, and she wanted out of its imprisonment. Yet she did not know how she could get Hugo to live without her; nor, when she was honest with herself, how she would get by without him, financially or emotionally.

• From Apprenticed to Venus: My Secret Life with Anaïs Nin (2017)

  The eternal ingénue—that’s what Anaïs was and what I wanted to be: forever young and light and carefree. I made a note of the Latin term but later, when I looked it up at Doheny Library, I found that the archetype of the woman who never ages, never loses her sexuality, and never becomes a mother had a dark side too—of being unable to stick to anything, of always being afraid of being trapped, of never growing up. Anaïs shifted her position on the stacked pillows. “I’ve been meaning to ask, have you seen your godmother?” “I stayed with Lenore last Easter break. We went to her show at the American Craft Museum.” “You cannot tell Lenore that you saw me in LA.” “Okay,” I said, “But I don’t see what harm.” “That’s just the point. You don’t know what harm!” “Then tell me. Tell me the rest of the story about you and Rupert. Did he try to find someone else to have children with?” My question appeared to pierce her like a blade. “I suppose that’s a natural question. He was only twenty-eight then.” “But he was in love with you,” I said. “Not yet.” She gave a wry smile. CHAPTER 8 Los Angeles, California, 1947 ANAÏS UPON THEIR ARRIVAL IN LOS Angeles, Rupert insisted they first go to the beach in Santa Monica. Anaïs sat on the shore shivering as he played like a puppy in the surf. Charging out of the water, his embrace wetting her clothes, he whooped, “I could take you right here.” Instead he took her with rough, impersonal sex in a rundown Hollywood motel room, and she had perhaps the best orgasm of her life. Putting on his clothes afterwards, he announced, “I have to go back to my mother’s tonight. They’re waiting for me.” “I can’t stay alone in this dump!” Panic pressed against her esophagus. “You’ll be safe. Lock the door.” “You expect me to believe that a twenty-eight-year-old man has to sleep at his mummy’s house? It’s the girlfriend, isn’t it?” He stepped back as though from a frothing animal. “I’ll see you in the morning.” As the motel door slammed behind him, she knew her uncontrolled anxiety had been ruinous. She ran after him, through the motel courtyard and onto the street, still in her bathrobe. “Rupert, please. Don’t leave me here!” He didn’t look back as he slid into Cleo and took off. Anaïs chased the car as it sped down the hill. Slipping on the steep, cracked pavement, she fell and caught herself, scraping her hand. Out of breath, she sat on the road as the last of twilight dimmed and watched as Cleo turned at the corner, huffing dark smoke from the exhaust pipe, and disappeared out of sight.

• From Apprenticed to Venus: My Secret Life with Anaïs Nin (2017)

  Anaïs smiled with approval as I pulled out a Bic ballpoint. I looked for something to write on. She offered her purse, but it was too soft. I dug out the Penguin orange-and-white paperback of Lady Chatterley’s Lover that I’d borrowed from the library to reread, set the letter on top of it, and signed my name. I was eager to have that letter out of my sight. I replaced the plastic cap on the Bic. “Oh, don’t put it away yet,” she said. “Just write in ‘and a series of lectures over a two-year period.’” I looked at her askance. She insisted with a note of sarcasm, “You know, use your little editor’s arrow.” She took the signed letter from me and studied it again. “Right here.” She pointed. “Are you sure?” I asked. “Why not?” “The English department would never send out a revised letter without it being retyped.” “But it’s not coming from them. It’s coming from you, on behalf of the English department. It says, right here.” She pointed to the line that made me the most uncomfortable: On behalf of the English department at the University of Southern California, I am inviting Anaïs Nin … I said, “If the letter doesn’t look right, it won’t impress the East Coast colleges …” “Fine, but it has to go out today.” “Why?” “So it will get there before I arrive. Why are you asking so many questions? Just write it in. I brought a stamp.” I wrote in as small a hand as I could manage, and as I was writing, she was dictating yet another phrase to add, pointing with her white tipped nail. “Here add, ‘to include screenings of Ian Hugo’s films.’” Before I could object, she said, “Just insert it!” When I finished, she seized the letter and envelope, sealed the flap, affixed the stamp she’d brought, and took my arm, guiding me as a gentleman would. “I’m taking you to lunch to thank you for this little service,” she chirped, starting down the flight of steps. “We can look for a mailbox as we walk.” Arm in arm, we made our way down Fifth Street to Olive as unkempt people pushed by us. At the corner of Pershing Square she spied a mailbox into which she dropped the letter. After that we wandered up and down inclines and through narrow, seedy streets, as she repeated, “I know we’re in the right neighborhood, we just have to keep walking.” She directed us to an alley with uneven paving and piles of trash. “We’ll just cut through here, and it will show up.” But we emerged at a busy intersection I was sure we’d crossed before. She darted across the boulevard full of traffic. I hesitated as the light turned yellow, but then chased after her, cars honking at me before I reached the other side. My anxiety skyrocketed. I was lost and following her, and she didn’t know where she was going.

• From Apprenticed to Venus: My Secret Life with Anaïs Nin (2017)

  Anaïs placed a folded hand under her delicate chin. “I’m thinking of telling Hugo that the ranch owner was so annoyed at people calling to leave messages for guests that she had the phone disconnected, and that the phone company assigned the number to the men who answered.” “Excellent plan,” Renate said. “And with Tristine and the lecture series, you are now covered for the next two years.” So that was why Anaïs had made me change the invitation letter to a series of lectures! She could no longer tell Hugo that she was writing at the California rest ranch, but she could say repeatedly that she was coming to give the pre-arranged lectures at USC and staying with me. As this last piece fell into place, the chill I’d felt was encompassed by blackness, as if I were inside the freezer and someone had closed the door. Did they expect me to lie to Hugo for the next two years? I would have to memorize every detail of what Anaïs had told him. Renate had been able to pull off their ruse for seven years, but eventually even she had screwed up. Anaïs asked me, concerned, “Do you think you can do this?” “Yes,” I said with a conviction I didn’t feel. I didn’t have sufficient experience with lying. I was unqualified for this assignment, but now it was too late to tell Anaïs. “So, everything is settled.” Renate rose, indicating it was time for us to leave. But when Anaïs and I stood, Renate commanded, “We must make an oath with Tristine.” Alarmed, I looked to Anaïs. She simply shrugged and nodded with a resigned smile that I should humor Renate. “Put your hand over mine,” Renate instructed me. She extended her elevated right hand. I placed mine over hers. Anaïs placed her right hand over mine. Her hand was soft and cold. Renate stacked her left hand over Anaïs’s, and we followed suit until our six hands were piled like pancakes. Renate began, “Tristine swears not to repeat what she has learned or may learn about Anaïs’s life. She may discuss it only with Anaïs or Renate.” I felt a frisson of excitement. “Say ‘I swear,’” Renate urged, and I did. Renate continued, “We vow to keep Anaïs’s secrets, revealed now or in the future, under pain of personal disaster. The person who betrays this oath, unless released by Anaïs, shall be visited with betrayals increased in magnitude to the tenth degree. Repeat after me: ‘This I swear in the name of Archangel Raphael to the East, Uriel to the North, Gabriel to the West and Michael to the South. So be it. Amen.’” We repeated Renate’s words, but Anaïs’s voice was so faint, I heard only my own. The hocus pocus reminded me of the silly solemnity of my ADPi sorority initiation, and I was tempted to giggle—but the chill from Anaïs’s hand penetrated mine, and I could tell that Renate was completely serious. CHAPTER 15

• From Apprenticed to Venus: My Secret Life with Anaïs Nin (2017)

  Los Angeles, California, 1964 TRISTINE HUGO PHONED ME THREE DAYS later. “Hello, Tristine.” I wasn’t ready! I went into actress mode. I told myself this was improvisation. The givens were that I was a sophisticated young woman who was friends with Anaïs Nin, such good friends that she stayed in my apartment when she was in LA. Ready, set, go. Perhaps with too much gusto, I responded, “Hugo! It’s been a long time. It’s great to hear from you.” “Thank you, Tristine. And thank you for helping Anaïs when she’s there.” “Oh, no problem. Do you have a message for her?” “No, is she staying there now?” “She’s not here at the moment, but I can get her a message.” “Well, no. I’ll tell you why I’m calling. I hope you won’t mind if I ask you some personal questions.” Uh-oh. I couldn’t figure out whether to say yes, he could, or no, he couldn’t. He must have gotten tired of waiting for me to reply because he went on. “Anaïs told me that you’ve moved universities. She gave me your new address at USC.” Moved universities? I hadn’t moved. I wasn’t sure how to respond. “Yes.” “Hmm. I’ve heard that USC has a good football team.” “That’s what everyone says. I don’t—” “Actually, that’s not what I wanted to ask you about.” Oh god, I’m not going to be able to do this! “I have a friend whose son was going to enroll there,” Hugo continued. “My friend says that the surrounding neighborhood is quite dangerous. A lot like Harlem before the riots this summer.” “But the campus is safe.” “How many blocks would you say your apartment is from campus?” “Oh, it’s only a few blocks from campus,” I fudged. Twelve blocks could still be a few. “And my building is safe.” I wished. “I never worried when Anaïs was staying at your apartment near UCLA. Westwood is a good neighborhood. But that rich-kids school you’re at now is in the ghetto. Go figure.” I was trying to figure. Hugo thought Anaïs had stayed with me before when I was at UCLA? But I’d never gone to UCLA or lived in Westwood. I just held my tongue while Hugo continued to admonish me to be careful on my “new” campus. Finally, given my silence, he stopped and asked, “So what are you majoring in?” “English lit.” “Well, why would an undergraduate transfer across town for that?” I hadn’t transferred, but he certainly thought I had. Okay, I prompted myself, go with what the other actor gives you. Preserve the illusion of reality: Why would an undergraduate transfer colleges? For a great professor! But USC didn’t have any. Well, there was one great art history professor who was gay, but they’d fired him. Think! Think! Got it! “I’m applying to UCLA for grad school, and they prefer to take undergraduates from colleges other than UCLA. So I had to leave to be able to come back.”

• From The Decameron (1353)

  And, so that you would not die from your malady, He has shown me the reason for this illness of yours, which turns out to be nothing more than the excessive love you bear towards some young woman or other. It was really quite unnecessary for you to feel ashamed about revealing it, for this sort of thing is perfectly natural in someone of your age. Indeed, if you were not in love, I would think very poorly of you. Do not hide things from me, my son, but acquaint me freely with all your wishes. Get rid of all the sadness and anxiety that are causing your illness, and look on the bright side of things. You can be quite certain that I will move Heaven and earth to see that you have whatever you need to make you happy, for your happiness means more to me than anything else in the world. Cast aside all your shame and your fear, and tell me what I can do to make this love of yours prosper. And if I don’t put heart and soul into it and arrange matters to your liking, you can consider me the cruellest mother that ever brought a son into the world.’ On first hearing these words, the young man was thrown into a state of confusion, but after reflecting that nobody was in a better position than his mother to procure his happiness, he conquered his embarrassment, and said: ‘If I kept my love a secret, madam, that was only because I have noticed that most people, after reaching a certain age, try to forget that they were ever young. But now that I can see what a tolerant mother you are, not only will I not deny what you claim to have noticed, but I will tell you who the girl is, on condition that you do everything in your power to keep your promise and thus make it possible for me to recover.’ The lady, being over-confident in her ability to arrange things in a way she should never have even considered, willingly replied that he should feel quite free to take her fully into his confidence. For she would take immediate steps to ensure that he obtained what he wanted. ‘Madam,’ said the youth, ‘you find me in my present condition because of the excellent beauty and impeccable manners of our Jeannette, or rather owing to my inability to make her notice, still less reciprocate, my feelings for her, and because I never dared reveal them to a living soul. And unless you can find some means of making good the promise you have given me, you may rest assured that my days are numbered.’ ‘My poor boy,’ said the lady, thinking it preferable to encourage rather than reproach him. ‘What a thing to become so upset about!

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Mithridanes paused for some little time before replying, but eventually decided to take him into his confidence. After much beating about the bush he came to the point; and having sworn him to secrecy he requested his help and advice, revealing exactly who he was, why he was there, and what had prompted him to come. On hearing Mithridanes speak, and learning of his cruel resolve, Nathan was extremely perturbed. But he was not deficient in courage, and scarcely paused for a moment before replying, without batting an eyelid: ‘Your father was a man of excellent worth, Mithridanes, and you are clearly intent upon following his example by this lofty enterprise of yours, wherein you extend a generous hand to all who come to you. Moreover, I warmly commend your envy of Nathan, for if this form of jealousy were more widespread, the world, which is very miserly, would soon become a better place to live in. I shall certainly keep your intentions a secret, but rather than render you any great assistance, I can offer you some useful advice, which is this. Some half a mile from where we stand, you can see a copse where practically every morning Nathan goes for a long walk, entirely alone; it will be a simple matter for you to find him there and deal with him as you please. But if you kill him, and wish to make good your escape, you must leave the copse, not by the way you entered, but along the path you see over there to the left, for although it is a little more difficult, it will lead you home by a shorter and safer route.’ Having imparted this information to Mithridanes, Nathan took his leave, and Mithridanes secretly sent word to his companions, who had likewise found lodging in the palace, about where they were to wait for him on the following day. Meanwhile Nathan had no misgivings about the advice he had offered, and when the next day came, not having changed his mind in the slightest, he set off alone for the copse to meet his doom. Mithridanes had no other weapons but a sword and a bow, and as soon as he had risen he girded them on, mounted his horse, and rode over to the copse, where from some distance away he espied the solitary figure of Nathan sauntering among the trees. He galloped towards him, but being resolved to see his face and hear him speak before attacking him, he seized him by the turban he was wearing and exclaimed: ‘Greybeard, your hour has come!’ By way of answer, all that Nathan said was: ‘In that case I have only myself to blame.’

• From Apprenticed to Venus: My Secret Life with Anaïs Nin (2017)

  I cried, “Oh, don’t take Rupert. I’ll come get you and drive you to Henry’s.” “It’s too late to change plans. I told Rupert everything.” “Everything? That you and Hugo are still married?” “No! Don’t even say that out loud. I told Rupert I had heard from old friends that Hugo cannot pay his rent, and that I’m indebted to Hugo for his taking care of my family and me when we had nothing. I explained that I want to help Hugo financially when I get my diary published and Rupert said it was a good plan. Isn’t Rupert wonderful?” “Maybe now you could tell Rupert the truth about—” “No! But along those lines, I need your help with Henry.” “Of course,” I said, though I didn’t think she would need my help. I was convinced that the moment Henry saw her, he would be besotted again. “We have to prevent Henry from telling Rupert that I’m still married to Hugo,” she said urgently. “Does Henry know?” “Henry met Rupert eighteen years ago when we visited him in Big Sur, and our social circles here overlap so he’s probably heard that I’m married to Rupert. Would you believe Henry and Hugo are still friends and talk on the phone?” “But Henry will protect you, won’t he? I’m sure he’s still in love with you.” She gave an embarrassed laugh. “Oh, I don’t think so. And Henry is completely unpredictable. If he gets riled up he could say anything in front of Rupert.” “Then don’t bring Rupert!” I didn’t want Rupert standing there when the sparks flew between Anaïs and Henry. “I have to bring Rupert. He’s part of my whole life now,” she said with her uncanny ability to remain unperturbed by her contradictions. [image file=image_rsrc3R3.jpg] Rupert drove the Thunderbird with the top down. Anaïs wore a kerchief and kept the window rolled up on the passenger side while I sat on the rump seat, my long hair blowing into my eyes and mouth. Anaïs bent towards me to speak, the wind whipping away her words. “Remember, you need to help keep the discussion on track with Henry,” she told me. “I’ll do my best,” I sputtered through a mouthful of hair. She turned back to the road, leaving me to savor my anticipation of what would happen when Henry Miller opened the door and saw Anaïs in her new Rudi Gernreich dress. She would start to give Henry a buss on each cheek, and despite Rupert standing there, Henry would take her face in his hands and kiss her mouth, and she would respond. When Henry opened the door to his surprisingly conventional white ranch house, I saw a bald troll holding onto a walker, and my heart sank. Anaïs air-kissed his wrinkled, sagging cheeks.

• From Apprenticed to Venus: My Secret Life with Anaïs Nin (2017)

  Clara said, “Mon Dieu, everyone in Paris knows about you and your double life! Hugo still has friends there, you know.” Anaïs’s panicked eyes darted to me and back to Clara. “I have no idea what you are talking about,” she said coolly. I glanced around and, to my horror, saw Rupert stationed on the front porch, standing in the cold by the open door. He must have heard Clara say that Anaïs had a double life and still lived with Hugo! Yet his countenance remained blank. An actor playing possum? I jumped up. “It’s getting late, and we don’t want to exhaust Anaïs when she’s been so generous to meet with us.” There were groans and thirty hands shot up. Anaïs recognized only Don. I felt a charge between them before he asked, “Were you the model for Ida Verlaine in Henry Miller’s Sexus?” “You’d better ask Henry that question.” She laughed gaily, turning away to scan the room for Rupert. “Ah! I see my escort is here! I’m so sorry I cannot stay longer.” The crowd parted before her as she moved through them to the front door, squeezing proffered hands and returning eager gazes with her radiant, reassuring smile. I tried to catch her eye but couldn’t. Bob rushed up with her cape, and she wrapped it around her before sweeping away. She did not take Rupert’s arm as they strode to the T-Bird parked up the street. That night, no one could have guessed they were married, the way she kept her distance. [image file=image_rsrc3R3.jpg] Later, as I was coming out of the bathroom Don and I shared, I saw that he was at a desk in the ballroom studying. Evidently, he’d sent his date home. He gestured that I should come join him. I got my books and papers from my room so it would look as if I were studying, too. Right away Don asked, “Who was the younger guy she called her escort? Is that her rich husband?” I wasn’t sure how to answer. To people in Los Angeles, Anaïs usually introduced Rupert as her husband but since she had identified him as just her escort that night, I said, “A friend, I guess.” “What was all that about her having a double life?” Don gave me his irresistible Don Juan grin, and I noticed how neatly his blond mustache was trimmed over his white teeth. He seemed to be looking at me differently, not as a sister. Perhaps Anaïs’s fairy dust had succeeded in bathing me in its flattering light. “I don’t know anything about a double life. I think Clara just has old gossip. Anaïs used to be married to Hugo,” I said, though I felt uncomfortable lying to Don; it wasn’t something we did in our commune. Don said, “It’s common knowledge she had an affair with Henry Miller. Was she married to Hugo then?”

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Now one night, when Talano happened to be staying with this wife of his at one of their country estates, he dreamt that he saw her wandering through some very beautiful woods, which were situated not far away from the house. As he watched, an enormous and ferocious wolf seemed to emerge from a corner of the woods and hurl itself at Margarita’s throat, dragging her to the ground. She struggled to free herself, screaming for help, and when at length she managed to escape from its clutches, the whole of her throat and face appeared to be torn to ribbons. So when Talano got up next morning, he said to his wife: ‘Woman, your cussedness has been the bane of my life since the day we were married; but all the same I should be sorry if you came to any harm, and therefore, if you’ll take my advice, you won’t venture forth from the house today.’ When she asked him the reason, he told her about his dream, whereupon she tossed her head in the air and said: ‘Evil wishes beget evil dreams. You pretend to be very anxious for my safety, but you only dream these horrid things about me because you’d like to see them happen. You may rest assured that I shall never give you the satisfaction of seeing me suffer any such fate as the one you describe, whether on this day or any other.’ ‘I knew you would say that,’ said Talano. ‘A mangy dog never thanks you for combing its pelt. But you may think whatever you like. I only mentioned it for your own good, and once again I advise you to stay at home today, or at any rate to keep well away from those woods of ours.’ ‘Very well,’ said the woman, ‘I’ll do as you say.’ But then she began to think to herself: ‘Here’s a crafty fellow! Do you see how he tries to frighten me out of going near the woods today? He’s doubtless made an appointment there with some strumpet or other, and doesn’t want me to find him. Ah, he’d do well for himself at a supper for the blind, but knowing him as I do, I should be a great fool to take him at his word. He certainly won’t get away with this. I shall find out what business takes him to those woods, even if I have to wait there the whole day.’ No sooner had she reached the end of these deliberations than her husband left the house, whereupon she too left the house by a separate door and made her way to the woods without a moment’s delay, keeping out of sight as much as possible. On entering the woods, she concealed herself in the thickest part she could find, and kept a sharp lookout on all sides so that she could see if anyone was coming.

• From Apprenticed to Venus: My Secret Life with Anaïs Nin (2017)

  I noticed how tired Anaïs looked under her makeup and wondered if her cancer had really retreated. Her penciled-on eyebrows lifted in alarm. “Excuse me. I have to take care of something. Bob is trying to put Rupert in the film.” We watched the director’s young assistant position fill lights around Rupert, who was sitting in a chair while Snyder held a meter next to his face. “Anaïs, he’s just using Rupert as a stand-in for your shot.” “No, I know what I’m talking about.” She squeezed my hand with her cold fingers before she rushed inside. I wanted her to stay. I needed her to reassure me that she was curing the cancer. That if I did decide to go to Indiana, she would be fine when I got back. I started toward the house, circling around the pool, stepping carefully because there was no light on that side of the yard. I glanced up and saw Anaïs leading Snyder out through the glass doors onto the flagstone patio. I stopped in my tracks, not wanting to interrupt, unable to tell if they’d noticed me. “Bob, we talked about this.” Anaïs’s voice wavered with anxiety. “Rupert is not to be in the film.” “Be reasonable!” Snyder made no attempt to keep his voice down. “Your audience will want to see your handsome husband. Rupert is very photogenic, you know.” Snyder pressed his stubby fingers together in supplication. “Yes, I know. But we agreed that Rupert would not appear.” Anaïs didn’t want Rupert in the film, of course, because Hugo would inevitably see it. But Rupert had been introduced as her husband to the director, as was customary in the LA arts circle we ran in. She could hardly explain that she had another husband in New York from whom she kept Rupert a secret. Snyder was a “small time” documentary filmmaker and “not very high class,” as Anaïs had described him to me. He could not be trusted. “I need to remind you, Bob,” Anaïs said, “that you agreed this film would be about my professional life, not my personal life.” “Are you trying to tell me how to shoot my movie? We need a balance, a balance. I’m the filmmaker here. I know.” She didn’t take the bait. She lowered her voice. “The audience of my work knows me only as Anaïs Nin, my professional name, which is also my maiden name. It would be too confusing to bring in Rupert Pole as my husband.” “Oh, that’s no problem.” Snyder sounded relieved. “All the young women are keeping their maiden names now. It just shows how ahead of the times you are. All we have to do is have you identify Rupert as your husband in the voiceover.” Right, I thought. Have Anaïs announce on film, for Hugo to hear, “This is my husband Rupert Pole.” I was shocked when Snyder then spoke as if he were some important Hollywood director and she were just his actress:

• From The Decameron (1353)

  In case Federigo should become suspicious of her and take offence, Monna Tessa decided that, come what may, she must get up out of bed and apprise him of the fact that Gianni was there, and so she said to her husband: ‘That’s all very well. You can spout as many words as you like, but as far as I’m concerned I shan’t feel safe or secure until we exorcize it, and now that you are here we can do it.’ ‘Exorcize it?’ said Gianni. ‘How are we to do that?’ ‘I know exactly how to exorcize it,’ said his wife, ‘because the day before yesterday, when I went to the pardoning at Fiesole, I came across a hermitess, who as God is my witness, Gianni dear, is the most saintly woman you ever met, and when she saw how terrified I was of the werewolf, she taught me a fine and godly prayer, telling me that she had tried it many a time before becoming a recluse, and that it had always worked for her. Heaven knows that I would never have sufficient courage to try it out by myself, but now that you are here, I want us to go and exorcize it.’ Gianni thought this an excellent idea, and so they both got up out of bed and tiptoed over to the door, on the other side of which Federigo, his suspicions already aroused, was still waiting. On reaching the door, Gianni’s wife said to him: ‘As soon as I give you the word, have a good spit.’11 ‘Right you are,’ said Gianni. Then the lady began the exorcism, saying: ‘Werewolf, werewolf, black as any crow, you came here with your tail erect, keep it up and go; go into the garden, and look beneath the peach, and there you’ll find roast capons, and a score of eggs with each; raise the flask up to your lips, and take a swig of wine; then get you gone and hurt me not, nor even Gianni mine.’ And so saying she turned to her husband, and said: ‘Spit, Gianni.’ And Gianni spat. Federigo, who was standing outside and heard every syllable, had stopped feeling jealous, and despite all his frustration he had to hold his sides to prevent himself from bursting out laughing. And in a low murmur, as Gianni was doing his spitting, he groaned: ‘The teeth!’ When Monna Tessa had exorcized the werewolf three times in this same fashion, she and her husband returned to bed.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  But if you were to follow my advice, this hotter part of the day would be spent, not in playing games (which inevitably bring anxiety to one of the players, without offering very much pleasure either to his opponent or to the spectators), but in telling stories – an activity that may afford some amusement both to the narrator and to the company at large. By the time each one of you has narrated a little tale of his own or her own, the sun will be setting, the heat will have abated, and we shall be able to go and amuse ourselves wherever you choose. Let us, then, if the idea appeals to you, carry this proposal of mine into effect. But I am willing to follow your own wishes in this matter, and if you disagree with my suggestion, let us all go and occupy our time in whatever way we please until the hour of vespers.’ The whole company, ladies and gentlemen alike, were in favour of telling stories. ‘Then if it is agreeable to you,’ said the queen, ‘I desire that on this first day each of us should be free to speak upon whatever topic he prefers.’ And turning to Panfilo, who was seated on her right, she graciously asked him to introduce the proceedings with one of his stories. No sooner did he receive this invitation than Panfilo began as follows, with everyone listening intently: