
[3154] the time the expedition was likely to take, the money he would need [⁁]require and
even the very nature of the work to be done and consequently the means to
be employed.
[3155] And yet there I was whistling away while I stuffed into my
haversack a minimum of effects, similar to those I had recommended to my
son.
[3156] I put on my old pepper-and-salt shooting-suit with the knee-breeches,
stockings to match and a pair of stout black boots.
[3157] I bent down, my hands
on my buttocks, and looked at my legs.
[3158] Knock-kneed and skeleton thin they
made a poor show in this accoutrement, unknown locally I may add.
[3159] But when
I left at night, for a distant place, I wore it with pleasure, for the sake
of comfort, though a laughing stock. I looked a sight.
[3160] All I needed was a butterfly net to
have vaguely the air of a country schoolmaster on convalescent leave.
[3161] The
heavy glittering black boots, which seemed to implore a pair of navy-blue
serge trousers, gave the finishing blow to this get-up which otherwise
might have appeared, to the uninformed, an example of well-bred bad taste.
[3162] On my head, after mature hesitation, I decided to wear my straw boater,
yellowed by the rain. [3163] It had lost its band, which gave it an appearance
of inordinate height.
[3164] I was tempted to take my black cloak, but finally
rejected it in favour of a heavy massive-handled winter umbrella.
[3165] The
cloak is a serviceable garment and I had more than one.
[3166] It leaves great
freedom of movement to the arms and at the same time conceals them.
[3167] And
there are times when a cloak is so to speak indispensable.
[3168] But the
umbrella too has great merits.
[3169] And if it had been winter, or even autumn,
instead of summer, I might have taken both.
[3170] I had already done so, with
most gratifying results.
[3171] Dressed thus I could hardly hope to pass unseen.
[3172] I did not wish to.
[3173] Conspicuousness is the A B C of my profession.
[3174] To call forth feelings of
pity and indulgence, to be the butt of jeers and hilarity, is indispensable.
[3175] So many vent-holes in the cask of secrets.
[3176] On confdition you cannot feel,
nor denigrate, nor laugh.
[3177] This state was mine at will.
[3178] And then there was
- Segments
Molloy © 2016 Samuel Beckett Digital Manuscript Project.
Editors: Magessa O'Reilly, Dirk Van Hulle, Pim Verhulst and Vincent Neyt