The vast cycle of starry life bore his weary mind outward to its verge and inward to its centre, a distant music accompanying him outward and inward. The indices appearing and disappearing were eyes opening and closing the eyes opening and closing were stars being born and being quenched. The equation on the page of his scribbler began to spread out a widening tail, eyed and starred like a peacock's and, when the eyes and stars of its indices had been eliminated, began slowly to fold itself together again. Good night, husband! Coming in to have a short time?
Yet as he prowled in quest of that call, his senses, stultified only by his desire, would note keenly all that wounded or shamed them his eyes, a ring of porter froth on a clothless table or a photograph of two soldiers standing to attention or a gaudy playbill his ears, the drawling jargon of greeting: He would pass by them calmly waiting for a sudden movement of his own will or a sudden call to his sin-loving soul from their soft perfumed flesh.
The whores would be just coming out of their houses making ready for the night, yawning lazily after their sleep and settling the hairpins in their clusters of hair. He would follow a devious course up and down the streets, circling always nearer and nearer in a tremor of fear and joy, until his feet led him suddenly round a dark corner. After early nightfall the yellow lamps would light up, here and there, the squalid quarter of the brothels. Stuff it into you, his belly counselled him. He hoped there would be stew for dinner, turnips and carrots and bruised potatoes and fat mutton pieces to be ladled out in thick peppered flour-fattened sauce. The swift December dusk had come tumbling clownishly after its dull day and, as he stared through the dull square of the window of the schoolroom, he felt his belly crave for its food.
0 kommentar(er)
