Голод
Part I
Ilieandrepeatthesewordsovertomyself,andfindthattheyarecapital.Littlebylittleotherscomeandfitthemselvestotheprecedingones.Igrowkeenlywakeful.Igetupandsnatchpaperandpencilfromthetablebehindmybed.Itwasasifaveinhadburstinme;onewordfollowsanother,andtheyfitthemselvestogetherharmoniouslywithtellingeffect.Scenepilesonscene,actionsandspeechesbubbleupinmybrain,andawonderfulsenseofpleasureempowersme.Iwriteasonepossessed,andfillpageafterpage,withoutamoment’spause.
ThoughtscomesoswiftlytomeandcontinuetoflowsorichlythatImissanumberoftellingbits,thatIcannotsetdownquicklyenough,althoughIworkwithallmymight.Theycontinuetoinvademe;Iamfullofmysubject,andeverywordIwriteisinspired.
Thisstrangeperiodlasts—lastssuchablessedlylongtimebeforeitcomestoanend.Ihavefifteen—twentywrittenpageslyingonmykneesbeforeme,whenatlastIceaseandlaymypencilaside,Sosureasthereisanyworthinthesepages,sosureamIsaved.Ijumpoutofbedanddressmyself.Itgrowslighter.Icanhalfdistinguishthelighthousedirector’sannouncementdownnearthedoor,andnearthewindowitisalreadysolightthatIcould,incaseofnecessity,seetowrite.IsettoworkimmediatelytomakeafaircopyofwhatIhavewritten.
Anintense,peculiarexhalationoflightandcolouremanatesfromthesefantasiesofmine.
