Digital Manuscript ProjectMalone meurt / Malone Dies

[0743] event of which is unquestionably the
celebration of the Saviour's birth, in
a stable, while wondering if he would
survive till then.
[0744] Then he would set
forth, hugging under his arm, in
their case, the knives lovingly
whetted in the chimney-corner the night
before, and in his pocket,
wrapped up in paper, the apron destined
to protect his [⁁] Sunday suit, while he worked.
[0745] And at the thought that he, Big Louis, was on
his way to that distant farm where
all was in readiness for his coming, and that
in spite of his great age
he was still so needed, and his methods preferred
to those of younger men, then his old heart
leapt in its cage.
[0746] From these expeditions he
went home late in the night, drunk and
exhausted by the long
road and the emotions of the day.
[0747] And
for days he could speak of nothing but the
pig he had despatched, I would say into
the other world if I did not know that pigs
have none but this, to the great affliction
of his family.
[0748] But they did not dare say
anything to him, for they were afraid of him.
[0749] Yes, at an age when most people cringe and
cower, as though to apologize for being still
present, Louis was still feared and in a
position to do exactly as he pleased.
[0750] And
even his young wife had abandoned all hope
of bringing him to heel, by means of her cunt,
that trump card of young women.
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Malone meurt / Malone Dies © 2017 Samuel Beckett Digital Manuscript Project.
Editors: Dirk Van Hulle, Pim Verhulst and Vincent Neyt