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[0119] only known to him freom arfar, seen perhaps from his bedroom window
or, none black day, from the summit of a monument which, having
nothing in particular to do and turning to height for solace he
had paid his few coppers to climb, up the winding stones. [0120] From
there he must have seen it all, the plain, the sea, and then these
very hills that some call mountains, indigo in places in the
evening light, their serried ranges crowding to the sky-[#]line,
cloven with hidden valleys that the eye divines from sudden shifts
[₰]of colour and then from other signs for which there are no words,
nor even thoughts. [0121] But all are not divined, even from that height,
and often where only one escarpment is supposed, and one crest, in
reality there are two, two escarpments, two crests, riven by a
valley. [0122] But now he knows these hills, that is he knows them better,
and if ever again he sees them from afar it will be, I think, with
other eyes, and not only that but the within, all that inner space
one never sees, the brain and heart and other caxverns where thought
and feeling hold their sabbath, all that too quite differently
disposed. [0123] He looks old and it is a sorry sight to see him solitary
after so many years, so many days and nights unthinkinglxy given to
[₰]that rumour rising at birth and even earlier, What shall I do? What shall I do? now low, a murmur, now precise as the headwaiter's
And to follow? and ooften rising to a cscream. [0124] And in the end, or
almost, to be abroad alone, by unknown ways, in the gathering
night, with a stick. [0125] It was a stout stick, he used it to thrust
himself onward, or as a defencse, when the time cxame, against dogs
and marauders. [0126] Yes, night was gathering, but the man was innocent,
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[0126] greatly innocent, he had nothing to fear, though he went in fear,
he had nothing to fear, there was nothing they could do to him, or
very little. [0127] But he can't have known it. [0128] I wouldn't know it myself,
if I thought about it. [0129] Yes, he saw himself threatened, his body
threatened, his reason threatened, and perhaps he was, perhaps they
were, in spite of his innoceneccce. [0130] What business has innocence here? [89]
[0131] What relation to the innumerable spirits of darkness? [0132] It's not [90] clear. [0133] It seemed to me he wore a cocked hat. [0134] I rembember being
struck by it, as I wouldn't have been for example by a cap or by
a bowler. [0135] I watched him recede, overtaken by his anxiety, at least
by an anxiety which was not nedcccessarily his, but of which as it
were he partook. [0136] Who knows if it wasn't my own anxiety overtaking
him. [0137] He hadn't seen me. [0138] I was perched higher than the road's
highest point and flattened what is more against a rock the same
[₰]colour as myself, that is greay. [0139] The rock he probsably saw. [0140] He
gazed around as if to engrave the landmarks on his memory, and must
have seen the rock in the shadow of which I crouched like Belacqua,
or Sordello, I forget. [0141] But a man, a fortiori myself, ixsxn't exactly
a landmark, because. [0142] I mean if by some strange chance he were to
pass that way again, after a long lapse of time, vanquished, or to
look for some forgotten thing, or to destroy something, his yeyes
would search out the rock, not the haphazard in its shadow of that
unstable fugitive thing, still living flesh. [0143] No, he certainly
didn't see me, for the reasons I've given and then because he was
[₰]in no humour for that, that evening, no humour for the living, but [₰]
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[0143] rather for what doesn't stir, or stirs so slowly that a child would
scorn it, let alone an old man. [0144] However that may be, I mean whether
he saw me or whether he didn't, I repeat I watched him recede, at
grips (myself) with the temptation to get up and follow him, perhaps
even to catch up on to him one day, so as to know him better, be myself
less lonely. [0145] But in spite of my soul's leap out to him, at the end
of its elastic, I saw him only darkly, because of the dark and then
because of the terrain, in the folds of which he dissappeared from
time to time, to re-emerge further on, but most of all I think
because of other things calling me and towards which too one after [₰] the other my soul was straining, unmethodical, distracted. [0146] I mean
of course the fields, whitening under the dew, and the animals,
ceasing from wandering and settling for the night, and the sea,
[?] of which nothing, and the sharpening line of crests, and the sky
where without seeing them I felt the first stars tremble, and my
hand on my knee and above all the other wayfarer, A or C, I don't
remember, going resignedly home. [0147] Yes, towards my hand also, which [₰]
my knee felt tremble and of which my eyes saw the wrist only, the
heavily-veined back, the pallid rows of knuckles. [0148] But that is not,
I mean my hand, what I wish to speak of now, everything ian due
course, but A or B returning to the town he had just left. [0149] But
after all what was there particularly urban in his aspect? [0150] He was
[₰]bare-headed, wore sand-shoes, smoked a cigar. [0151] He moved with a kind
of loitering indolence which rightly or wrongly seemed to me
expressive. [0152] But all that proved nothing, refuted nothing. [0153] Perhaps
he had come from afar, from the other end of the island even, and
was approaching the town for the first time or returning to it
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[0153] after a long absence. [0154] A little dog followed him, a pPomeranian
I think, but I don't think so. [0155] I wasn't sure at the time and I'm
still not sure, though I've hardly thought about it. [0156] The Little [lc]
dog followed wretchedly, after the fashion of pomeranians, stopping,
describing long gyrations, giving up, and then, a little farther on,
beginning all over again. [0157] Constipation is a sign of good health
in pomeranians. [0158] At a given moment, pre-established if you like,
I don't mind, the gentleman turned back, took the little creature
in his arms, drew the cigar from his lips and buried his face in
the orange fleece, [0159] for it was a gentleman, that was obvious.
[0160] Yes, it was an orange pomeranian, the less I think of it the more
certain I am. [0161] And yet. [0162] But would he have come from afar, bare-headed, in sand-shoes, smoking a cigar, followed by a pomeranian?
[0163] Did he not seem rather to have [|] issued from the ramparts, after a
good dinner, to take his dog and himself for a walk, like so
many citizens, dreaming and farting[?] , when the weather is fine?
[0164] But was not perhaps in reality the cigar a cutty, and were not the
sand-shoes boots, hobnailed, dust-whitened,. and what prevented the
dog from being one of those stray dogs wttthat you pick up and take
in your arms, from compassion or because you have long been straying
with no other company than the endless roads, sands, shingle, bogs, and heather, than this nature answerable to another court, than at
long intervals the fewllow convict you long to stop, embrace, sucxk, [?]
[?] suckle and whom you pass by, with hostile eyes, for fear of his
familiarities. [0165] Until the day when, your endurance gone, in this
world for you without arms, you catch up in yours the first mangy
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[0165] cur you meet, carry it the time needed for it to love you and you
it, then throw it away. [0166] Perhaps he had come to that, in spite of
appearances. [0167] He disappeared, his head on his chest, the smoking
object in his hand. [0168] Let me try and explain. [0169] From things about
to disappear I turn away in time. [0170] To watch them out of sight, no,
I can't do it. [0171] It was in this sense he disappeared. [0172] Looking away
I thought of himk, saying, He dwindles, dwindles. [0173] I knew what I
meant. [0174] I knew I could catch him, lame as I was. [0175] I had only to
want to. [0176] And yet no, for I did want to. [0177] To get up, to get to
the road, to set hobbling off in pursuit of him, to hail him, what
could be easier. [0178] He hears my cries, turns, waits for me. [0179] I am up
against him, up against the dog, gasping, between my cruthches. [0180] He
is a little frightened of me, a little sorry for me, [0181] I disgust him
not a little. [0182] I am hnot a pretty sight, I don't smell good. [0183] What
is it I want? [0184] Ah that tone I know, compounded of pity, of fear, of
disgust. [0185] I want to see the dog, see the man, at close quarters,
know what smokes, inspect the shoes, find out other things. [0186] He is
kind, tells me of this and of wthat and of tother things, whence he
comes, whither ghe goes. [0187] I believe him, xI know it's my only chance
to —[
] my only chance, I believe all I'm told, I've disbelieved
only too much in my long life, now I swallow everything, avidly.
[0188] What I need now is stories, it took me a long time to know that,
[0189] and I'm not sure of it. [0190] There I am then, informed as to certain
things, knowing certain things about him, things I didn't know,
things that troubled me, even things that never troubled me. [0191] What
language. [0192] I am even capable of having learnt what his porrrofession
is, I who am so interested in professions. [0193] And to think I try my
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