Волны

           Awakeoflightseemstolieonthegrassbehindhim.Lookatustroopingafterhim,hisfaithfulservants,tobeshotlikesheep,forhewillcertainlyattemptsomeforlornenterpriseanddieinbattle.Myheartturnsrough;itabradesmysidelikeafilewithtwoedges:one,thatIadorehismagnificence;theotherIdespisehisslovenlyaccents--Iwhoamsomuchhissuperior--andamjealous.’

           ’Andnow,’saidNeville,’letBernardbegin.Lethimburbleon,tellingusstories,whilewelierecumbent.Lethimdescribewhatwehaveallseensothatitbecomesasequence.Bernardsaysthereisalwaysastory.Iamastory.Louisisastory.Thereisthestoryoftheboot-boy,thestoryofthemanwithoneeye,thestoryofthewomanwhosellswinkles.LethimburbleonwithhisstorywhileIliebackandregardthestiff-leggedfiguresofthepaddedbatsmenthroughthetremblinggrasses.Itseemsasifthewholeworldwereflowingandcurving--ontheearththetrees,intheskytheclouds.Ilookup,throughthetrees,intothesky.Thematchseemstobeplayedupthere.Faintlyamongthesoft,whitecloudsIhearthecry"Run",Ihearthecry"How’sthat?"Thecloudslosetuftsofwhitenessasthebreezedishevelsthem.Ifthatbluecouldstayforever;ifthatholecouldremainforever;ifthismomentcouldstayforever--

           ’ButBernardgoesontalking.Uptheybubble--images."Likeacamel,"..."avulture."Thecamelisavulture;thevultureacamel;forBernardisadanglingwire,loose,butseductive.Yes,forwhenhetalks,whenhemakeshisfoolishcomparisons,alightnesscomesoverone.