Волны

           Hetakesmydevotion;heacceptsmytremulous,nodoubtabjectoffering,mixedwithcontemptasitisforhismind.Forhecannotread.YetwhenIreadShakespeareorCatullus,lyinginthelonggrass,heunderstandsmorethanLouis.Notthewords--butwhatarewords?DoInotknowalreadyhowtorhyme,howtoimitatePope,Dryden,evenShakespeare?ButIcannotstandalldayinthesunwithmyeyesontheball;Icannotfeeltheflightoftheballthroughmybodyandthinkonlyoftheball.Ishallbeaclingertotheoutsidesofwordsallmylife.YetIcouldnotlivewithhimandsufferhisstupidity.Hewillcoarsenandsnore.Hewillmarryandtherewillbescenesoftendernessatbreakfast.Butnowheisyoung.Notathread,notasheetofpaperliesbetweenhimandthesun,betweenhimandtherain,betweenhimandthemoonasheliesnaked,tumbled,hot,onhisbed.Nowastheydrivealongthehighroadintheirbrakehisfaceismottledredandyellow.Hewillthrowoffhiscoatandstandwithhislegsapart,withhishandsready,watchingthewicket.Andhewillpray,"Lordletuswin";hewillthinkofonethingonly,thattheyshouldwin.

           ’HowcouldIgowiththeminabraketoplaycricket?OnlyBernardcouldgowiththem,butBernardistoolatetogowiththem.Heisalwaystoolate.Heispreventedbyhisincorrigiblemoodinessfromgoingwiththem.Hestops,whenhewasheshishands,tosay,"Thereisaflyinthatweb.