Волны

           "ButwhatdidBernardfeelfortheplumber?Didhenotonlywishtocontinuethesequenceofthestorywhichheneverstopstellinghimself?Hebeganitwhenherolledhisbreadintopelletsasachild.Onepelletwasaman,onewasawoman.Weareallpellets.WeareallphrasesinBernard’sstory,thingshewritesdowninhisnotebookunderAorunderB.Hetellsourstorywithextraordinaryunderstanding,exceptofwhatwemostfeel.Forhedoesnotneedus.Heisneveratourmercy.Thereheis,wavinghisarmsontheplatform.Thetrainhasgonewithouthim.Hehasmissedhisconnection.Hehaslosthisticket.Butthatdoesnotmatter.Hewilltalktothebarmaidaboutthenatureofhumandestiny.Weareoff;hehasforgottenusalready;wepassoutofhisview;wegoon,filledwithlingeringsensations,halfbitter,halfsweet,forheissomehowtobepitied,breastingtheworldwithhalf-finishedphrases,havinglosthisticket:heisalsotobeloved.

           ’NowIpretendagaintoread.Iraisemybook,tillitalmostcoversmyeyes.ButIcannotreadinthepresenceofhorse-dealersandplumbers.Ihavenopowerofingratiatingmyself.Idonotadmirethatman;hedoesnotadmireme.Letmeatleastbehonest.Letmedenouncethispiffling,trifling,self-satisfiedworld;thesehorse-hairseats;thesecolouredphotographsofpiersandparades.Icouldshriekaloudatthesmugself-satisfaction,atthemediocrityofthisworld,whichbreedshorse-dealerswithcoralornamentshangingfromtheirwatch-chains.Thereisthatinmewhichwillconsumethementirely.