Портрет художника в юности
Chapter 5
TherecametohismindacuriousphrasefromCORNELIUSALAPIDEwhichsaidthatthelicebornofhumansweatwerenotcreatedbyGodwiththeotheranimalsonthesixthday.Buttheticklingoftheskinofhisneckmadehismindrawandred.Thelifeofhisbody,illclad,illfed,louse-eaten,madehimclosehiseyelidsinasuddenspasmofdespairandinthedarknesshesawthebrittlebrightbodiesoflicefallingfromtheairandturningoftenastheyfell.Yes,anditwasnotdarknessthatfellfromtheair.Itwasbrightness.
Brightnessfallsfromtheair.
HehadnotevenrememberedrightlyNash’sline.Alltheimagesithadawakenedwerefalse.Hismindbredvermin.Histhoughtswerelicebornofthesweatofsloth.
Hecamebackquicklyalongthecolonnadetowardsthegroupofstudents.Wellthen,lethergoandbedamnedtoher!Shecouldlovesomecleanathletewhowashedhimselfeverymorningtothewaistandhadblackhaironhischest.Lether.
Cranlyhadtakenanotherdriedfigfromthesupplyinhispocketandwaseatingitslowlyandnoisily.Templesatonthepedimentofapillar,leaningback,hiscappulleddownonhissleepyeyes.Asquatyoungmancameoutoftheporch,aleatherportfoliotuckedunderhisarmpit.Hemarchedtowardsthegroup,strikingtheflagswiththeheelsofhisbootsandwiththeferruleofhisheavyumbrella.Then,raisingtheumbrellainsalute,hesaidtoall:
—Goodevening,sirs.