
[1040] it above all other herbs and flowers, because of its smell, and then
also because of its spikes, and its colour.
[1041] And if I had not lost my
sense of smell the smell of lavender would always make me think of
Lousse, in accordance with the well-known mechanism of association.
[1042] And she gathered this lavender when it bloomed I presume, left it to
dry and then made it up into lavender-bags that she put in her cupboards
to perfume her handkerchiefs, her [⁁]underclothing and house-linen.
[1043] But none the
less from time to time I heard the chiming of the hours, from the clocks
and belfries, chiming out longer and longer, then suddenly briefly, then
longer and longer again.
[1044] This will give some idea of the time she took
to cozen me, of her patience and physical endurance, for all the time
she was squatting or kneeling beside me, whereas I was stretched
out at my ease on the grass, now on my back, now on my stomach, now on
one side, now on the other.
[1045] And all the time she never stopped talking,
whereas I only opened my mouth to ask, at long intervals, more and more
feebly, what town we were in.
[1046] And sure of her victory at last, or
simply feeling she had done all she could and that further insistence
[⁁]was useless, she got up and went away, I don't know where, for I
stayed where I was, with regret, mild regret.
[1047] For in me there have
always been two fools, among others, one asking nothing better than to
stay where he is and the other imagining [⁁]that life might be [⁁]slightly less
horrible a little further on.
[1048] So that I was never disappointed, so to speak,
whatever I did, in this domain.
[1049] And [⁁]these inseparable fools I indulged turn about, that they might understand
their [⁁]foolishness.
[1050] And that night there was no question of moon, nor any
other light, but it was a night of listening, a night given to the
faint soughing and sighing stirring at night in little pleasure gardens,
the shy sabbath of leaves and petals and the air that eddies there as
- Segments
Molloy © 2016 Samuel Beckett Digital Manuscript Project.
Editors: Magessa O'Reilly, Dirk Van Hulle, Pim Verhulst and Vincent Neyt