Free Death Sentences by Kawamata Chiaki Page A

it over. That much should be clear to you."
    Breton took another glance at his watch.
    He would certainly be late. Even though that no longer mattered to him, he didn't want to spend another second here. That had become a necessity.
    Breton quickly fished a piece of paper from his pocket and wrote his address on it. He pushed it into Who May's hand.

    "This is where you'll find me. Feel free to stop by anytime. If you don't feel like it, I won't insist on it, but-I would like you to promise me something. I would like you to show me, as soon as possible, anything else you've done-poems, prose, drawings, even books of trivial popular songs. Anything, no matter how trifling, don't hesitate to send it to me. Then I can think things over. Who you are ... what you are doing ... I need time to think through these matters. Okay? It will take a while. I will speak with you again after a while. Is that okay?"
    As Breton made sure Who May understood him, Who May nodded, wearing an expression that could only be taken as aversion for Breton.
    "I promise. But ..."
    Ignoring him, Breton got up from the bench.
    Turning on his heels, he walked as fast as he could toward the park exit.
    5
    That evening Breton read "Another World" again twice.
    Unable to contain himself, he reached for the telephone.
    He wanted to speak to someone. If he could have pulled it off, he would have gone out and grabbed some unknown passerby. That was exactly what he wanted to do.
    Instead, he chose David Hare.
    Hare, a sculptor, lived in Roxbury, Connecticut. He had made a name for himself as the editor of VVV, the journal publishing the work of surrealist artists like Breton exiled in New York.
    He was one who shared their vision.
    He was busy at work.
    Yet, sensing the gravity of Breton's situation, he leapt into his car and drove directly to New York in the middle of night.
    Breton greeted him with eyes glazed over like those of a feverish invalid.
    Hare arrived with a bottle of expensive red wine in hand.
    Breton ushered him into the living room, bearing a cork screw and two glasses. Sitting across from one another at the table, the two raised their glasses. Breton had yet to utter a word about the matter.

    After refilling their glasses, Breton slid Who May's thirteen pages of densely written manuscript toward Hare.
    "I would like you to read this first. I would like you to tell me frankly what you think of it."
    "'Another World' ... is it?"
    Smiling as he spoke the title, he began to look over the words.
    Breton silently watched as his eyes moved rhythmically back and forth across the page. As soon as Hare reached the end of the page, he turned to the next. And then to the next. And the next.
    Breton began to feel some qualms.
    Hare continued to read. His pace remained smooth and even.
    Within ten minutes Hare had reached the last page:

    The lines ran out. Hare raised his head. The traces of confusion that flitted across his face did not escape Breton's notice.
    "Indeed," Hare said curtly. "Fascinating. The style is fresh. Yes ... not a bad attempt at all, I think."
    (Attempt?)
    Breton let out an involuntary groan.
    To cover his slip, he took a gulp of wine.
    Hare too reached for his glass. He took a mouthful, and then another.
    "I sense genuine talent. There's no mistaking it. So? Do you intend to publish this work in our magazine?"
    (Of course not!) (Why?!)

    Breton was seething with anger.
    How could Hare remain so calm-?
    "I don't know ..." Breton muttered in a deep voice. He then turned the question back at Hare. "What would you do?"
    But Hare's opinion was already clear to him.
    Hare was cool and collected despite everything. Or he appeared to be. In any event, his behavior was not of someone who had been profoundly moved.
    The fact that he said "our magazine" betrayed his doubts about the work, mildly but clearly.
    In other words, the implication was that insofar as he was but one of the participants in VVV he would certainly respect Breton's opinion,