
[3587] which of my two knees I had rubbed in front of him, with iodex, the night
we left.
[3588] And I went to sleep again a little reassured, saying, It's a
touch of neuralgia brought on by all the tramping and trudging and the
chill damp nights, and promising myself to procure a packet of thermogenic [place = supralinear] [⁁]e
wool, with the pretty demon the on the outside, at the first opportunity.
[3589] Such is the rapidity of thought.
[3590] But there was more to come.
[3591] For waking
again towards dawn, this time in consequence of a natural need, and with
a mild erection, to make things more lifelike, I was unable to get up.
[3592] That is to say I did get up finally to be sure, I simply had to, but by
dint of what exertions!
[3593] Unable, unable, it's easy to talk about being
unable, whereas in reality nothing is more difficult.
[3594] Because of the will
I suppose, which the least opposition seems to lash into a fury.
[3595] And this
explains no doubt how it was I despaired at first of ever bed [place = overwritten] nding my leg
again and then, a little later, through sheer determination, did succeed
in bending it, slightly.
[3596] The anchylosis was not total.
[3597] I am still talking
about my knee.
[3598] But was it the same one that had waked me early in the
night?
[3599] I w [place = supralinear] [⁁]could not have sworn it was.
[3600] It was not painful. [3601] It simply
refused to bend.
[3602] The pain, having warned me several times in vain, had no
more to say.
[3603] That is how I saw it.
[3604] It would have been impossible for me
to kneel, for example, for no matter how you kneel you must always bend
both knees, unless you adopt an attitude frankly grotev [place = overwritten] sque and impossible
to maintain for more than a few seconds, I mean with the bad leg stretched
out before you, like a Caucasian dancer.
[3605] I examined the bad knee in the
light of my torch.
[3606] It was neither red nor swollen.
[3607] I fiddled with the
knee-cap.
[3608] It felt like a clitoris.
[3609] All this time my son was puffing
like a grampus.
[3610] He had no suspicion of what life could do to you.
[3611] I too
was innocent.
[3612] But I knew it.
- Segments
Molloy © 2016 Samuel Beckett Digital Manuscript Project.
Editors: Magessa O'Reilly, Dirk Van Hulle, Pim Verhulst and Vincent Neyt