At the Oceana Apartments, he takes down from the shelf, for the final time, his copy of Chaplin’s memoir. He tells himself that he does so to reread the sections about Chaplin’s early life, and this is true, in part. He remains astonished by the obstacles Chaplin has overcome. He has never disputed Chaplin’s greatness.
He reads a little, but listlessly. He realizes he cannot deny the hurt he feels, because he can only conclude that Chaplin sought to cause him pain.
Not to be mentioned by Chaplin, not to be mentioned at all.
He wants no praise from Chaplin for his work or his acting, or even a testimonial to their former friendship. But to be denied the fact of his existence by this man whom he adored, to be excised entirely from the history of Chaplin’s life, is incomprehensible to him in the scale of its callousness.
He wishes, as he so often does, that Babe were here, so that he might ask of him:
How can a great man be so small?