did not think I would — Can two people be together in those areas of silence: or do you have to be on your own -
— But all human relationships are not like sitting in the front row of a cinema?
I got myself invited to this lunch party through the host being a friend of my father's; I understood that Donald had not been invited. I wondered — Will he be hurt? Then — But these games people play are ridiculous.
Now that it was spring there were people in punts as Donald and I walked by the river. I said 'You say that Wittgenstein's new philosophy is to do with the games that we play. I mean, does he suggest that all language is a game?'
Donald said as if quoting ' — It is as if we are looking through spectacles and always describing the frames — '
I said 'But if we realise this — '
Donald said 'Don't you think that there would still be a game on a different level?'
Punts floated on the river. Boys with poles leaned over girls who lay in the bottoms of the punts like queen bees. I thought — But it would be a worthwhile game.
I said 'I've been invited to a lunch at which Wittgenstein is going to be present.'
Donald said 'That is impossible: Wittgenstein never goes to lunches.'
I thought — Do I mean, it would be a game in which, at the same time, one would be creating, or discovering, the conditions of the game?
Donald and I walked for some time in silence.
The party to which I had been invited took place on a bright spring day with a wind that lurked here and there round corners. Food had been set out on tables on a lawn; cushions were placed on steps going down from a small terrace. People stood with their backs to where they thought the wind might be; they turned this way and that all at once like fishes. Wittgenstein was seated in a small room inside the house: the room was crowded; there were people sitting on the floor and looking up at him as if he had been set in some niche. He was a thin, blue-eyed, curly-haired man; he seemed precisely delineated as if there was a light on the wall behind him. He wore a tweed jacket and an open-necked shirt. It seemed that although people were seeing him as if set up in a niche, he was not posing.
I thought — It is as if he were looking at the people watching him and saying: 'Is it you? Is it you?'
Then — Of course I know whom he reminds me of: Dr Kammerer!
There was a man on the floor in front of Wittgenstein asking him some boring question about aesthetics; it went on and on: I thought — Dear God, the questioner might be myself.
Then — But the question answers itself by its style, if it is to do with aesthetics.
A wind seemed to be passing over Wittgenstein's face as if the question were affecting him physically. He was holding on his lap a plate of food at an angle at which the food seemed about to fall off. When the man had finished his question Wittgenstein just said 'I don't think that is correct.' Then he looked down at his plate as if there might be entrails on it.
I thought — But if you feel you have been put in a niche like St Sebastian, can you not get up and leave the picture?
A young girl had come into the room and was standing in front of Wittgenstein; she was holding out her hand as if to take his plate. She seemed to be asking him whether he wanted any more food; but perhaps was too shy to put this into words. I knew the girl slightly: she was one of the daughters of the family who were giving the party. Wittgenstein did not seem to notice her for a time. Then he looked up and frowned and said 'What do you want?'
The girl stepped back as if she had been hit. She stumbled against the legs of the people behind her. Then she made for the door.
Someone said 'She was asking you if you wanted more food.'
Wittgenstein said 'But I haven't eaten the food I've got.'
I was standing in the doorway; as the girl went past me she seemed enraged. I thought — You mean something quite different is happening?
Wittgenstein had looked up to where I stood. I had the impression that he wanted me to do something for him.
Then — But this is ridiculous!
The girl had gone out of the house and on to the lawn. There was someone beginning to ask Wittgenstein another long and boring question. I thought I might say — All right I'll go after her. Then — This is to do with silences?
The person who was asking the question was saying — 'But are you saying that what you call "objective" is simply what happens?'
Wittgenstein, it was true, had been looking towards the door.
I left the doorway and went out on to the lawn. There were people standing holding plates with their backs to the wind; paper napkins were blowing like the tops of waves. I was looking for the girl who had held her hand out to Wittgenstein: I thought — There could be a painting of that: of a meeting, and something quite different going on. Then — How old would she be: sixteen? seventeen? Then — But what happens, I mean, if something quite different is happening.
The girl had gone to the end of the lawn where there was undergrowth beneath trees. There was a fallen willow which went halfway across a small pond or stream. The girl was climbing out on to the trunk of the tree. She had long fair hair which hung like shields on either side of her head. I thought — Her legs, yes, might almost be clappers of a bell.
I went and stood by the roots of the fallen tree. The girl was sitting on the trunk with her legs dangling above water. I said 'He didn't mean to be rude.'
The girl said 'I don't mind if he did mean to be rude. I hate this party.'
I said 'Why?'
She said 'No one says what they mean.'
I climbed out on the log and sat down slightly apart from her, facing the same way; my feet dangling above the water. I said 'It's sometimes difficult to say what you mean.'
She said 'Why?'
I said 'Because you often don't know quite what you mean.'
She seemed to think about this. She looked down into the water.
She said 'I know what I mean.'
I said 'What?'
She said 'Nothing.' Then — 'I'm Suzy.'
I said 'Yes.' Then — 'How old are you?'
She said 'Seventeen.'
'Are you still at school?'
'No.'
'What do you do then?'
'I want to go to Paris.'
I thought — Well this is what is happening: we are sitting side by side; we are looking down towards water; the light is coming through the leaves, the shadows.
I said 'What do you want to do in Paris?'
She said 'I want to study music'
Then why don't you go?'
'My father won't let me.'
'Why won't he?'
'He says I'm too young.'
'Have you any friends with whom you could stay in Paris?'
She looked round at me. She had a round face and a soft mouth. I thought — You mean, it is something on that other level that is happening?
Then — Of course, she is sexy.
She said 'Why are you asking me these questions?'
I said 'Have you a boyfriend?'
She said 'No.' Then — 'I had a friend at school with whose parents I could stay in Paris.'
'So it's not the money — '
'No.'
'And you can't study music here — '
'There's nothing happening in music here.'
I thought I might say — Well why not come with me to Russia: there may be something happening in music there.
It seemed that as a first step I might move along the log and put my arm around her and kiss her. I found I managed to do this. After a time she said 'That was nice!'