Of course, I should take my life immediately, that would be the honorable thing, W. says. I should climb the footstool to the noose … But it would already be too late, that's the problem, W. says. The sin has already been committed. The sin against existence, against the whole order of existing things.
That I should have lived at all is a disgrace, W. says. It's the disgrace, the disgrace of disgraces. But about the fact that I do exist, nothing can be done.
Of course, he could stab me. In fact he's offered several times. Sometimes I've asked him to. Sometimes I've proposed a double suicide: he stabbing me, and I him. But then, of course, it would do nothing; it's already too late. There's only the fact that I exist, and the fact that his, W.'s, existence has already been utterly contaminated by my existence.
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