Excerpt from an Interpretation of the Painting The Kiss by Gustav Klimt

Most of Klimt’s work gives rise to a host of interpretations, but his earlier use of the theme of the embracing couple in the Beethoven frieze and the Stoclet frieze allows us to see in The Kiss the ultimate accomplishment of the human quest for happiness. Forty-one

Markus couldn’t concentrate. He wanted his explanation. There was only one way to get it: create a fake coincidence. Keep going back and forth in front of Natalie’s office—all day, if he had to. There’d have to be a moment when she came out and … bam … he’d be there, by pure coincidence, walking in front of her office. By the end of the morning, he was drenched in sweat. Suddenly he thought, This isn’t my best day! If she walked out now, she’d come across a man dripping sweat who was frittering away his time walking through the hallway without doing anything. He was going to seem like somebody who walks around aimlessly.After lunch, his thoughts from the morning returned with a vengeance. His strategy was good, and he had to keep up his back-and-forths. It was the only solution. It’s really hard to keep walking and pretend you’re going somewhere. You’ve got to look focused, as though you have a clear aim in mind; the hardest part’s faking a brisk manner. At the end of the afternoon, when he was worn out, he ran into Chloé. She asked him, “Are you okay? You’re acting really weird …”“Yes, yes, I’m okay. I’m getting back the circulation in my legs. Helps me think.”“Still on 114?”“Yes.”“And it’s going okay?”“Yes, it’s okay. More or less.”“Say, I’ve got nothing but problems with 108. I wanted to talk to Natalie about it, but she isn’t here today.”“Oh, really? She … isn’t here?” asked Markus.“No … I think she’s out of town. All right, gotta go; I’m going to try to take care of it.”Markus stood there without reacting.He’d walked so much that he could have ended up out of town, too. Forty-two

Three Aphorisms by Cioran Read by Markus on the Suburban Train

The art of love?
It’s knowing how to combine the temperament of a vampire
with the discretion of an anemone.

*

A monk and a butcher are wrangling inside
every desire.

*

Sperm is the purest form of bandit.

Forty-three

The next day, Markus arrived at the office in a completely different state of mind. He couldn’t understand why he’d acted like such a crackpot. What an idea, going back and forth like that. The kiss certainly was disturbing, and he had to admit that lately his love life had been especially uneventful, but that was no reason for acting so childish. He should have kept his cool. He still wanted an explanation from Natalie, but he would no longer try to run into her by faking a coincidence. He’d merely go and see her.He rapped on the door to her office with a firm hand. “Come in,” she said, and he walked in unflinchingly. But then he had to face a major problem: she’d gone to the hairdresser’s. Markus had always been very sensitive when it came to hair. And now he was faced with a disconcerting sight: Natalie’s hair was wonderfully sleek. Of an astonishing beauty. If only she’d tied it back, as she did sometimes, everything would have been simpler. But in the face of such a capillary revelation, he felt at a loss for words.“Yes, Markus, what is it?”Interrupting the rush of thoughts in his mind, he ended up saying the first sentence that popped into his head:“I really like your hair.”“Thanks, that’s nice.”“No, I mean, I adore it.”Natalie was surprised by such an early morning admission. She didn’t know whether to smile or get embarrassed.“Okay, and so?”“…”“You certainly didn’t come to see me just to talk about my hair?”“No … no …”“All right, then. I’m listening.”“…”“Markus, are you there?”“Yes …”“Well?”“I’d like to know why you kissed me.”The memory of the kiss returned to the foreground of her memory. How had she been able to forget it? Each instant was being pieced together again, and she couldn’t hold in a pout of disgust. Was she crazy? For three years, she hadn’t approached a single man, hadn’t even thought about being interested in anybody, and then she goes kissing this inconsequential coworker. He was waiting for an answer, which was perfectly understandable. Time was passing. She had to say something.“I don’t know,” murmured Natalie.Markus would have preferred any answer, even a rejection, to this nothing of an answer.“You don’t know?”“No, I don’t.”“You can’t leave it like that. You need to explain it to me.”There was nothing to say.This kiss was like modern art. Forty-four

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