...of disaffection

'This is the first time it's been impossible for him and me to talk to one another. The first time he's hidden anything from me...'
'Yes.'
'He doesn't really know what it is, does he?'
'He only knows everything would go if you went.'
She picks the letter up slowly and opens the envelope.
'Stein, look at it with me.'
Side by side, almost indistinguishable from one another, they read:
'"Alissa knows",' reads Stein. '"But what does she know?"'
Quite calmly Alissa puts the letter back in the envelope and tears it up.
'I wrote it for you,' says Stein, 'before I knew you'd guessed.'
They go over, arms entwined, to the windows.
'Has she come back from the telephone?' asks Alissa.
'Yes.'
'He isn't with her? Is he talking to someone? Look, Stein. Look for me.'
'No, no one. He never talks to anyone. You can hardly get a word out of him. He only speaks when he's spoken to. A whole part of him is dumb. He's sitting waiting.'
'We make love,' says Alissa. 'Every night we make love.'
'I know,' says Stein. 'You leave the window open and I see you.'
'He leaves it open for you. To see us.'
'Yes.'
Alissa has put her childish lips on Stein's hard mouth. He speaks like that.
'Do you see us?' says Alissa.
'Yes. You don't say anything. Every night I wait. Silence clamps you to the bed. The light stays on and on. One morning they'll find you both melted into a shapeless lump like tar, and no one will understand. Except me.'

['destroy...', Duras, M.]