Politics

11. The finale

1

As papa sat on his duvet, with its innovative design of small white lions and falcons and fruit trees on a magenta background, he chatted to Nana about her sweet boyfriend Moshe.

Papa liked Moshe. He liked Moshe very much.

Anjali is not the ending. Surely you must have known that. I was not going to end with Anjali on her own, being happy. No. I started with a bedroom scene and I’ll end with a bedroom scene.

‘Anyway. How is Moshe?’ said Papa. ‘When are you going back?’

Before we go any further, I am going to describe Papa’s get-up. His get-up was unusual. It was one red Tote sock, one navy Tote sock, a pair of black suit trousers — whose zip was done up but whose button was not — and a white T-shirt printed with a picture of a curlybearded satyr that Papa had bought in Rhodes in 1987.

So, now I can start again. I just wanted you to get his day wear right.

‘Anyway. How is Moshe?’ said Papa. ‘When are you going back?’

You see, Papa did not know that Nana had left Moshe, for ever. Nana had not told him. This was because she did not want to embroil him in her love life. She wanted Papa to feel entirely loved by Nana. And this meant that she could not tell him that Moshe and Nana were no longer together. It would complicate her gesture of pure love. It would make it seem less sincere.

Because Nana was making a gesture of pure love. It was true.

2

I think you should not judge Nana’s secrecy here, about her split with Moshe, as entirely crazy. It is very difficult, being moral. It is, I reckon, almost impossible. You have to rely on all kinds of generalisations and theories.

One generalisation is this. People often think that a noble gesture is inherently better than a pragmatic gesture. Even if it is ineffectual and potentially harmful to oneself, a noble act is still noble, it is still moral.

In the vocabulary of this novel, then, staying with Papa is better than staying with Moshe. It may be self-destructive, and potentially harmful to Nana’s eventual happiness, but it is more virtuous.

Nana would find a supporter for her theory in the Czech dissident and ex-president, Vaclav Havel. On 9 August 1969, when he was a dissident, Vaclav wrote a letter to the former Czech president, Alexander Dubcek. This was a year after the Russian invasion of Czechoslovakia. The Russians had invaded because of Dubcek’s softer, nicer version of communism. They had made Dubcek resign as president, but had allowed him to stay in parliament. However, they did not leave him alone. They wanted him to publicly repudiate his nicer version of communism.

Vaclav did not want Dubcek to do this. Vaclav wanted him to affirm his belief in his nicer version of communism, even if this was dangerous for Dubccek and would have no effect whatsoever. That was why he wrote his letter to Dubccek, imploring him to be noble.

Because, wrote Vaclav, ‘even a purely moral act that has no hope of any immediate and visible political effect can gradually and indirectly, over time, gain in political significance’.

Vaclav means that we should not laugh at useless and self-harmful moral gestures. They are not necessarily just for show. They are not necessarily gestures. Some good might eventually come of them.

Unfortunately, Vaclav’s theory never got a chance to be tested. In September 1969, the Russians removed Dubcek from parliament as well, a month after Vaclav’s letter. Vaclav never got a reply.

3

Nana did not immediately answer Papa’s question. She did not immediately tell him when she would go back to Moshe. Instead, sitting with Papa on Papa’s bed, she opened the post. The post, this morning, was one card. It was a card of condolence from their family friend and dentist, Mr Gottlieb.

Dear Nina,

What a great loss your father is.

With best wishes from Luke Gottlieb.

She giggled. She read it out. They both giggled.

‘What a bastard!’ said Papa. ‘That’s what he sends when I’m dead? One sentence? Give it me.’ Papa read it. He read it again. ‘What a bastard!’ said Papa. Nana put the card on the window sill. It did not balance. She flexed the card out. It balanced. Papa said, ‘And what were you doing, telling him I was dead? Why was he sending the card at all, that’s what I want to know.’ ‘I can’t remember,’ said Nana. ‘I dint say a thing. I said, no I dint say a thing.’

Of course, this was not true. She had wept and told Mr Gottlieb that she was terrified of Papa dying. Mr Gottlieb must have misheard. But Nana could not tell Papa that she was scared he might die. No. Nana was too careful for that. She was too kind.

Papa said, ‘So. How’s Moshe? You haven’t said. When are you going back?’ And Nana said, ‘Mnot going back.’ This surprised Papa. He said, ‘What?’ Nana said, well she sighed and said, ‘I broke up with Moshe.’

This surprised Papa much more. It upset him. He tried to say something calm. He said, ‘You?’

Nana said, ‘We broke up.’ Papa said, ‘But why? He was a sweet boy. Why did you break up with him?’ ‘I wanted to,’ said Nana. ‘But why?’ said Papa.

‘I wanted to be with you,’ said Nana.

She was making a gesture of pure love, she thought.

But Papa did not want her to make gestures of pure love. And nor do I. He was feeling horrified and amazed. Papa was not a selfish person. He was not an egotistical patient. He was thinking that he could not let Nana do this. ‘With me?’ said Papa. ‘But you need to be with Moshe.’ He could not let her nurse him, thought Papa. She had a boy, she had a life. He could not let Nana waste time on her Papa.

‘No I wanna be with you,’ said Nana. ‘You go back to Moshe,’ said Papa. ‘You go back and say that you are sorry. You tell him you’ve changed your mind. You can’t break up with Moshe because of me. It’s crazy,’ said Papa. ‘I mean, how long were you thinking? How long were you thinking of staying with me?’

Suddenly, Papa felt tired. He felt very tired and sad.

I am living too long, Papa thought.

You see, Papa’s stroke or possible tumour had caused a particular conundrum. The prognosis was only approximate. Even if it were a tumour, they told him, Papa could still live for another twenty years. He could also die the next day. This lack of predictive accuracy distressed Papa. If Nana had to nurse him for only a week, then he might not have minded. But nursing could mean anything. It could mean years.

He was confused. He thought he was living too long. His life was wasting Nana’s life. He was wasting everything. Even the money was wasted. His nursing was expensive. And Papa did not want to use up money for the next twenty years that could have gone to his darling girl.

Papa is the benevolent angel of this story. You need to remember this.

He said, ‘Look this is crazy. I don’t need a minder.

There’s the nurse comes in every day. I don’t even need the nurse. I’m fine. You don’t need to stay with me.’

This was both generous and mean. That might sound like a contradiction, but it was true. It was generous of Papa. It was mean to Nana.

4

Vaclav Havel’s letter to Dubccek had a hidden agenda, I think. Vaclav was responding to another, rival theory of nobility. According to this theory, making possibly useless noble gestures is not noble at all. No, it is just a form of exhibitionism. An act that might seem noble is therefore just egotistic.

Of course, Vaclav would not imagine that the motives of noble acts could ever be doubted. Well, he might concede the possibility. But he would not see the point. He believes in transcendent morality, does Vaclav. In an interview, Disturbing the Peace, he states: ‘I believe that nothing disappears for ever, and less so our deeds. ’ He will have no truck with people who are sceptical. He will not kowtow to more complicated Czech dissidents, like Milan Kundera.

In 1968, you see, a year before Vaclav’s letter to Dubcek, Milan and Vaclav had fallen out. I am going to give you a quick sketch of this argument.

In December 1968, Milan wrote an article called ‘Cesky udel’. This means ‘The Czech Destiny’. In it, Milan was not defeatist. He was not going to get downcast by the Russian invasion. Milan pointed out that, so far, Dubcek’s reform policies had not been abandoned. There was no police state. There was freedom of speech. There was the possibility — for the first time, thought Milan, in ‘world history’ — of creating a new democratic socialism. So the people who were publicly concerned about the Soviet future, concluded Milan, were ‘simply weak people, who can live only in illusions of certainty’. They were not moral at all.

But Vaclav did not like this essay. In February 1969, he wrote an essay called ‘Cesky udel?’ This means ‘The Czech destiny?’ He did not agree that publicly asking for guarantees was so bad. He thought it was important to allay people’s quite reasonable concerns. Milan’s vision of Czechoslovakia at the centre of world history was, thought Vaclav, sentimental.

In reply, Milan wrote another article. This one was called ‘Radikalismus a Exhibicionismus’. This means ‘Radicalism and Exhibitionism’. In it, Milan tried to explain what he had meant. He thought that all these worries about the Russians and police states just displayed ‘moral exhibitionism’. That was what he disliked. And Vaclav, thought Milan, was also suffering from this ‘illness of people anxious to prove their integrity’.

Although Vaclav seemed noble, therefore, he was just an exhibitionist.

I am not interested in who turned out to be right here. In retrospect, some people might think that Milan was wrong. It does not seem to be the perfect moment, when the Soviet tanks are trundling round the streets of Prague, to be quibbling over ethics. But actually, I do not think he was wrong. Milan was not morally naive. He was making a very true and important point. It is possible, after all, for an act to seem altruistic, but really just be self-serving.

That is a complication.

In the vocabulary of this novel, for instance, staying with Papa would seem noble but really it would be self-serving. The apparent nobility of Nana’s sacrifice would simply be motivated by her desire not to watch Moshe make Anjali come. I am not saying this is entirely true. I am just saying that’s how it would be.

But Vaclav would not admit this. And that is why I do not love Vaclav. But I do love Milan Kundera. I love him very much.

5

‘Don’t you want me to stay with you?’ asked Nana. She was distressed. And Papa said, ‘Sweetness, of course I want you to stay with me. Well no I don’t want you to stay. But it’s not because I wouldn’t like it. I want you to go back to Moshe. It’s crazy. This is crazy.’

This is the ending. It is where everything gets turned upside down.

Nana said, ‘But I can’t go back.’ ‘You can’t go back,’ said Papa. ‘You can’t go back to Moshe.’ ‘Because he’s going out with someone else,’ said Nana. ‘With someone else? Already?’ said Papa. ‘He’s, he’s going out with Anjali,’ said Nana.

‘Oh darling,’ said Papa. ‘Oh I’m sorry.’ ‘Sokay,’ said Nana. ‘Sokay. So I can be with you.’ ‘So he broke up with you,’ said Papa. ‘No,’ said Nana. ‘No, I broke up with him.’ ‘Well it certainly seems like Moshe did better out of this,’ said Papa. ‘He certainly seems to be doing quite well to me.’

Look, I could end the ending right here. And if I ended this here, it would be a very sad story. It would be the story of Nana’s loneliness. If I were nasty, then I would probably do that. But I am not nasty. I am nice. This whole book is nice. Niceness, I reckon, is what you have come to expect from me.

So I will carry on.

7

‘No, no,’ said Nana. ‘Scomplicated. Zcomplicated. We. We.’ She paused and paused and paused. ‘We were kind of all living together, pretty much,’ she said. She paused.

OK, before I go any further, I should explain about Nana and Papa and sex. They were not a prudish couple, they were friendly about sex. It might not have been a usual topic of conversation, but when it was, it was carefree and unfussed. Sex was smilingly neutral. But this does not mean it was easy for Nana, explaining all this. It was still a little tricky, telling Papa about her experience in a menage a trois.

She said, ‘We were kind of a threesome.’ ‘You were a threesome?’ said Papa. ‘I, yeah,’ said Nana. There was another pause. There were a lot of pauses in this conversation. I think you will have to imagine them for yourself. I can’t write in all of the pauses. ‘Why did you never tell me?’ said Papa. ‘I dohno,’ said Nana. ‘I just, I just. I didn’t need to, I spose.’ ‘So how long were you a three?’ said Papa.

Because sex was a neutral topic, it was a shock for Papa — discovering that Nana had been part of a menage a trois — but it was not a moral one. It was not disapproving. Papa was not that kind of parent. It was absolute surprise.

He did not quite know why he was chatting to her like this. He was talking to her in the same way he used to chat to her about school. But Papa was not sure what tone to take. After all, it is not the most usual situation — convalescing from a stroke or tumour, while chatting to one’s daughter about her extraordinary sex life.

‘Oh a few months,’ said Nana. ‘Since we got back from Venice.’ ‘A few months. Okay,’ said Papa.

Papa felt very tired. He felt utterly amazed and tired.

8

This is another moment in my novel where you must not let your own private theories affect how you read. In this case, you must not let your theories about parents influence you. There are lots of parents in the world. They all have their quirks. So I do not think there is one predictable way for a parent to respond in this situation. When your child tells you that they have just left a menage a trois, there are a lot of options available.

I am just going to describe the way that Papa responded. I am not laying down any general rules here.

‘I’m not. I’m not going to pry,’ said Papa.

‘No, zfine,’ said Nana.

‘I’m, I’m obviously surprised.’

‘Uhhuh.’

‘It’s. So this thing, this is over?’

‘Yup.’

So far, Papa was not really responding at all. He was just trying to understand. He was trying to get some definitions.

‘No what do you mean?’ said Papa. ‘You were in a menage a trois? In a, in a proper menage a trois?’

‘Yup,’ said Nana.

‘So all that, all that moving in with Moshe. That was moving in with Anjali as well?’

‘Well kind of. Not exactly. She had a key.’

‘Oh so.’

‘She was there most of the time.’

‘Jesus,’ said Papa.

It was not that he was a patriarch, Papa. So this was not an angry ‘Jesus’. It was an amazed and astounded ‘Jesus’. It was a ‘Jesus’ out of its depth.

‘So. So. You haven’t broken up with Moshe?’ said Papa. ‘No I have,’ said Nana.

‘I mean, but you’ve broken up with Anjali as well?’ ‘Well okay with her as well yeah.’

9

So Papa had a mental sketch. This sounded like a classic menage, he thought. It was a filmic menage. It was just like Jules et Jim. (Apart from me, you will remember, in this novel only Papa has seen Jules et Jim.)

‘What was it like? No I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked that,’ said Papa.

‘Sokay,’ said Nana.

‘But what was it like?’ said Papa.

Maybe, just maybe, this shocks you. According to you, a father should not ask his daughter about the details of her sex life. Asking might seem prurient. Well, I disagree. There was a naughty side to Papa. He was finding it very funny, Nana’s French and farcical love life. And Papa’s naughtiness was making him curious. This may be similar to prurience, but I do not think that matters. It just shows how intimate Nana and Papa were. Prurience, I think, is OK. A menage is fascinating. Surely you know that by now. I do not think I would like a person who was stolid and unfascinated by a menage a trois.

‘Well it was weird,’ said Nana. ‘It was. It was difficult sleeping.’

This was not an answer, really. It was not the kind of answer Papa wanted. It was much too sociological.

‘So you slept together?’ said Papa. ‘I mean, it was always three to a bed?’

‘Um,’ said Nana. ‘Yes.’

‘It was difficult sleeping?’

‘Anjali gets nightmares. She gets. She gets nightmares.’ ‘Uhhuh.’

‘She was in the middle.’

‘Okay.’

‘We don’t have to talk about this,’ said Papa.

‘No it’s fine,’ said Nana. ‘I said that.’

The thing was, Papa assumed that Nana was a sexual expert. He thought that she must be a sack artist. Anyone who had been one-third of a menage, he thought, must be a sack artist. It was logical. Repression would not come into it. Asking questions was not a problem.

But Nana was not a sack artist. I assume that you also know that by now.

‘I just don’t quite understand,’ said Papa.

‘Don’t understand what?’ said Nana.

‘Well I’m just intrigued by the. I’m just.’

‘You’re what?’

‘Well. Was it. Did Moshe watch while you and Anjali? Or.’

‘Yeah sometimes.’

‘Right. But not together?’

‘Not together?’

‘Not all three of you together. At once.’

‘Well sometimes.’

‘Uhhuh.’

‘But it’s tricky.’

‘Oh the. The positions.’

‘Yeah kind of. Yes. You have to be careful.’

‘Yes of course. I see. Yes. The positions.’

‘Did it just come naturally?’ said Papa.

‘What the sex?’ said Nana.

‘Well yes. The, um, the positions. Did it? Did you know where to put yourself naturally?’

‘It was. Well it wasn’t too difficult.’

‘No?’

‘It was. It seemed easy enough.’

‘But how did you decide?’ said Papa.

‘We,’ said Nana.

‘I mean did you discuss what would happen beforehand?’ ‘We.’

‘I don’t know. I. It just seems so complicated.’

‘And Moshe. He had sex with Anjali as well,’ said Papa. ‘Yes. Yes,’ said Nana.

‘In front of you?’

‘Well yeah. Or when I wasn’t there as well.’

‘And this didn’t? You weren’t upset?’

‘Why would I be?’

Nana was trying to be a sack artist. She was trying to sound like a sack artist. And she was doing very well. But quite frankly, Papa was more cool about sex than Nana was, I think.

‘Was it embarrassing, like that?’ said Papa.

‘Like what?’ said Nana.

‘Together.’

‘Oh no no no no no.’

‘Really not?’

‘Oh no.’

‘I just would imagine it would be so complicated.’ ‘Not. No not really.’

‘I mean. It’s tricky enough with two of you.’

Sitting together on Papa’s bed, whose duvet cover had an innovative design of small white lions and falcons and fruit trees on a magenta background, Nana and Papa giggled. They got the giggles.

‘I mean. Had you, had you had sex with girls before? Or did you?’ said Papa.

‘Me, um, no,’ said Nana. ‘No.’

‘And was that? Was that odd then?’

‘What? With Anjali?’

‘Well yes.’

‘It was. It was fun. It was different.’

‘So you enjoyed it?’

‘I?’

‘You liked it, with Anjali?’

Nana wriggled. She pushed her palm down flat on the duvet, over a white proud lion.

‘I’m not going to answer that,’ she said.

‘So. This must have been Moshe’s idea, I suppose?’ asked Papa.

‘No,’ said Nana. ‘Was mine.’

‘It was yours?’

‘Look it wasn’t anyone’s idea.’

‘The, the, what do you call it, the menage?’

‘Yeah the menage.’

‘But, how do you start it? How did it start?’ ‘Look Papa.’

‘Okay, okay.’

‘Were you all drunk?’ said Papa.

‘Do you have to ask these questions?’ said Nana.

‘I’m just. I’m. No.’

‘I mean it’s fine.’

‘I have to say,’ said Papa. ‘I always liked that boy.’

‘Papa!’ said Nana.

‘Well it’s true. He made me laugh.’

‘But. Jesus,’ said Papa.

This was a different ‘Jesus’. This was a more secure, more comprehending ‘Jesus’. It was a fascinated ‘Jesus’.

10

Papa was naughty and fascinated. But he also had his more caring side. It made him protective. It made him protective and serious.

‘But. I’m not entirely happy with this,’ said Papa. ‘I have to say.’

‘You’re what?’ said Nana.

‘I’m not entirely, I can’t entirely approve of this.’

‘What, leaving?’

‘No not the leaving. Well. I don’t approve of the leaving. But this whole arrangement.’

‘It’s not narrayngement. It’s over.’ ‘Well it was an arrangement.’

‘Well it’s not any more.’

‘Was it?’ said Papa.

‘Was it what?’ said Nana.

‘Was it ideal?’

‘No of course not.’

‘I thought it would be a good thing,’ said Nana.

‘A good thing?’ said Papa.

‘I thought it would make him happy. I thought it’d make her happy.’

‘But what about you?’

‘I thought I. I. I don’t know.’

‘It’s difficult to talk about,’ said Nana.

‘Uhhuh,’ said Papa.

‘It’s, well, was nice for a while. It sounds odd but it was nice.’

‘No I can believe that.’

I think we can trace a progression for Papa’s emotions in this scene. It is quite an understandable progression. First Papa was shocked. Then shock turned into slight amazement. Then this amazement lurched into amused curiosity. Then this became protectiveness and worry. Worry was now giving way to simple logical thought.

‘But then Moshe’s not really going out with Anjali,’ said Papa. ‘He’s been left with her.’

‘No no,’ said Nana, ‘he likes her. They’re going out.’ ‘But does he love her? Are they in love?’

‘I don know.’

‘Are they in love?’

‘I don know. Maybe.’

‘I mean how long have they? I mean. It’s only a couple of weeks.’

‘Months.’

‘Alright months. Christ. Months.’

‘But still,’ said Papa. ‘Sweetheart, what were you thinking?’

No, Papa was intelligent, no question.

‘And what about you and him?’ said Papa. ‘Does Moshe still love you?’

‘I don know,’ said Nana.

‘You don’t know?’

‘Well possibly. Well yeah.’

‘So okay. This is the thing,’ said Papa. ‘You have left Moshe with another girl, who he feels sorry for, while he is still in love with you. And you’ve done this so that you can be with me.’

This was not exactly correct, remember. It was a little more noble than the truth. It was correct as far as Papa knew, but Papa did not know about Nana’s worries about sex. He did not know that there was a selfish reason for leaving Moshe as well as a sweet one.

‘Well if you put it like that,’ said Nana.

When Nana was young, she went upstairs to bed and then would lie there, in the foetal position. She did this because someone at school had told her that it made you feel safe. So Nana curled up. She went to bed early, at twilight. And then she would lie there and wait for her goodnight kiss. She’d listen to the creaks of the landing as Papa came upstairs. And then she would pretend to be asleep as the door was pushed gently ajar. Then his face was close to her and she kept her eyes extraspecially tight. He kissed her, then he left. She went to bed early, at twilight, and the curtains turned the white room blue so that if you woke up from your quickest dream you couldn’t tell if it was really a white room in blue light or a blue room resplendent in white light.

When Nana woke up, she would pad off across the landing and find Papa in his bigger bed. And if he was on the side close to the door she’d crawl up next to him, perched on the edge. She looked after him. She did this by dozing with him. And when he got up to go to work then Nana would let herself tumble and end up where Papa had been. And she would watch his crouched breasts and the tuft of his shaving brush and his odd hooked penis through the half-closed bathroom door.

Twice a week the office let Papa go home early to Nana, so that he could watch her while she did her homework at the kitchen table. He squeezed his cufflinks out of his cuffs and made her tea.

Whenever Nana imagined happiness it was in the kitchen with her Papa.

This was her favourite house. There was a rosehip bush on the corner of the road. There were sleeping policemen, made of red brick with yellow edging. There was a green lounge and a yellow kitchen with dandelion wallpaper. And upstairs there was a white landing with a rucked oatmeal carpet. At the end of the landing there was a window with a stained-glass tulip. On this tulip, Nana had Blu-Tacked a bird she had made, cut out of cardboard — its black felt-tip outline smothered in gluey feathers.

She loved the house. She loved her Papa. I don’t want you to underestimate this, now that Papa, sweet practical generous Papa, was making her change her mind.

12

Papa said, ‘You are obviously going to have to go back to Moshe.’

Nana said, ‘I can’t.’

‘No. You are going back to Moshe.’

‘But I really can’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘I can’t go back because there’s Anjali,’ said Nana.

‘Darling I don’t see this problem with Anjali,’ said Papa. ‘Do you love Anjali?’

‘No.’

‘And do you love Moshe?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then what?’

‘I can’t hurt Anjali.’

‘Nana. Nana. Anjali is not the problem.’

Of course this is what Nana wanted to hear. It is what she really wanted. She wanted Moshe back and on his own. But it was difficult for Nana, doing what she wanted. It was especially difficult if what she wanted would also hurt someone else.

But this is the ending. It is where everything turns upside down. And Nana would be selfish. That is why it is the ending.

Perhaps you do not agree that this is selfish. Perhaps you think that if Papa wanted Nana to leave, then there is hardly a vexed moral issue. But the issue is not with Papa. Well, it is not just Papa. The issue is Anjali.

I told you to remember Anjali. Anjali was, in an odd way, happy. And Nana knew that. Moshe had told her. She also knew that, if she went back, she would be taking Moshe away from Anjali. Moshe had told her that too. So what I am saying is this. Nana knew all of this, and she would still go back. She would do everything she needed to do.

‘You know I love you very much,’ said Papa.

And Moshe would come back to her. Of course he would. I know everything. I know Moshe very well.

13

My mother’s Czech friend, Petra, disliked Milan Kundera. She thought he should not have left his country. She thought that he was selfish.

I own a weird French edition of Milan Kundera’s second novel Farewell Waltz. This edition was published in 1979. It has a fake red leather cover, with a fake gold embossed pattern printed on it. As an introduction, there is an interview with

Milan Kundera. I am going to quote you one sentence from this interview. ‘No one can suspect what it cost me to leave my country: my hair turned grey,’ said Milan.

I think we should remember some dates here. Kundera was born in 1929. When he left Czechoslovakia in 1975 he was, therefore, forty-six. That is quite an old age to leave your country. And he left only after seven years of living, under surveillance, in the forest near Brno, unpublished and isolated. Seven years is a long time to stay somewhere in isolation.

I do not think people are very intelligent about selfishness. I do not think they see how moral it can be. Because it is moral, refusing to be self-destructive. It is a perfectly moral position.

14

Papa was the benevolent angel of this story.

All along, I have been telling you this. It was not just a friendly image. It was true. It was benevolent, telling Nana to be selfish. It was benevolent, telling her to leave. Sometimes you cannot be altruistic. Sometimes, I think, it is too self-destructive. Maybe this seems blasphemous, maybe this offends your own personal morality. But I am right.

This book is universal. I said that at the start. Because it is universal, it is ambiguous. It has something for everyone. And the final ambiguity is this.

I am obviously on Papa’s side. I obviously admire his generosity and love. Me, I believe in generosity. But I am not only on Papa’s side. I am on Nana’s side too. Because

I can see the point of niceness. It is a very wonderful thing.

But what is really wrong with selfishness? Selfishness is sometimes moral too.