Digital Manuscript ProjectMalone meurt / Malone Dies

[0365] conferences usually ended.
[0366] It was as though the Saposcats drew the
strength to live from the prospect of their impotence.
[0367] But sometimes,
before reaching that stage, they paused to consider the case of
their first-born.
[0368] What age is he now? asked Mr Saposcat.
[0369] His wife
provided the information, it being understood that this was of her
province.
[0370] She was always wrong.
[0371] Mr Saposcat took over the erroneous
figure, murmuring it over and over to himself as though it were a
question of the rise in price of some indispensable commodity, such
as butcher's meat.
[0372] And at the same time he sought in the appearance
of his son some alleviation of what he had just heard.
[0373] Was it at
least a nice sirloin?
[0374] Sapo looked at his father's face, sad, astonished,
loving, disappointed, confident in spite of all.
[0375] Was it on the cruel
flight of the years he brooded, or on the time it was taking his son
to command a salary?
[0376] Sometimes he stated wearily his regret that his
son should not be more eager to make himself useful, about the place.
[0377] It is better for him to prepare his examinations, said his wife.
[0378] Starting from a given theme their minds laboured in unison.
[0379] They
had no conversation properly speaking.
[0380] They made use of the spoken
word in much the same way as the guard of a train makes use of his
flags, or of his lantern.
[0381] Or else they said, This is where we get
down.
[0382] And their son once signalled they wondered sadly if it was
not the mark of superior minds to fail miserably at the written
paper and cover themselves with ridicule at the viva voce.
[0383] They were
not always content to contemplate in silence the same landscape.
[0384] At
least his health is good, said Mr Saposcat.
[0385] Not all that, said his
wife.
[0386] But no definite disease, said Mr Saposcat.
[0387] A nice thing that
would be, at his age, said his wife.
[0388] They did not know why
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Malone meurt / Malone Dies © 2017 Samuel Beckett Digital Manuscript Project.
Editors: Dirk Van Hulle, Pim Verhulst and Vincent Neyt