Волны

           Buttwelveo’clockbringsneitherrainnorsunshine.ItisthehourwhenMissJohnsonbringsmemylettersinawiretray.UponthesewhitesheetsIindentmyname.Thewhisperofleaves,waterrunningdowngutters,greendepthsfleckedwithdahliasorzinnias;I,nowaduke,nowPlato,companionofSocrates;thetrampofdarkmenandyellowmenmigratingeast,west,northandsouth;theeternalprocession,womengoingwithattachécasesdowntheStrandastheywentoncewithpitcherstotheNile;allthefurledandclose-packedleavesofmymany-foldedlifearenowsummedinmyname;incisedcleanlyandbarelyonthesheet.Nowafull-grownman;nowuprightstandinginsunorrain.Imustdropheavyasahatchetandcuttheoakwithmysheerweight,forifIdeviate,glancingthisway,orthatway,Ishallfalllikesnowandbewasted.

           ’Iamhalfinlovewiththetypewriterandthetelephone.WithlettersandcablesandbriefbutcourteouscommandsonthetelephonetoParis,Berlin,NewYork,Ihavefusedmymanylivesintoone;Ihavehelpedbymyassiduityanddecisiontoscorethoselinesonthemaptherebywhichthedifferentpartsoftheworldarelacedtogether.Ilovepunctuallyattentocomeintomyroom;Ilovethepurpleglowofthedarkmahogany;Ilovethetableanditssharpedge;andthesmooth-runningdrawers.Ilovethetelephonewithitslipstretchedtomywhisper,andthedateonthewall;andtheengagementbook.MrPrenticeatfour;MrEyressharpatfour-thirty.

           ’IliketobeaskedtocometoMrBurchard’sprivateroomandreportonourcommitmentstoChina.