Волны

           AndIlieback;Igivemyselfuptorapture;IthinkthatattheendofthetunnelIenteralamp-litroomwithchairs,intooneofwhichIsink,muchadmired,mydressbillowingroundme.Butbehold,lookingup,Imeettheeyesofasourwoman,whosuspectsmeofrapture.Mybodyshutsinherface,impertinently,likeaparasol.Iopenmybody,Ishutmybodyatmywill.Lifeisbeginning.Inowbreakintomyhoardoflife.’

           ’Itisthefirstdayofthesummerholidays,’saidRhoda.’Andnow,asthetrainpassesbytheseredrocks,bythisbluesea,theterm,donewith,formsitselfintooneshapebehindme.Iseeitscolour.Junewaswhite.Iseethefieldswhitewithdaisies,andwhitewithdresses;andtenniscourtsmarkedwithwhite.Thentherewaswindandviolentthunder.Therewasastarridingthroughcloudsonenight,andIsaidtothestar,"Consumeme."Thatwasatmidsummer,afterthegardenpartyandmyhumiliationatthegardenparty.WindandstormcolouredJuly.Also,inthemiddle,cadaverous,awful,laythegreypuddleinthecourtyard,when,holdinganenvelopeinmyhand,Icarriedamessage.Icametothepuddle.Icouldnotcrossit.Identityfailedme.Wearenothing,Isaid,andfell.Iwasblownlikeafeather,Iwaswafteddowntunnels.Thenverygingerly,Ipushedmyfootacross.Ilaidmyhandagainstabrickwall.Ireturnedverypainfully,drawingmyselfbackintomybodyoverthegrey,cadaverousspaceofthepuddle.ThisislifethentowhichIamcommitted.

           ’SoIdetachthesummerterm.