Волны

           ’ShouldIseekoutsometree?ShouldIdeserttheseformroomsandlibraries,andthebroadyellowpageinwhichIreadCatullus,forwoodsandfields?ShouldIwalkunderbeechtrees,orsaunteralongtheriverbank,wherethetreesmeetunitedlikeloversinthewater?Butnatureistoovegetable,toovapid.Shehasonlysublimitiesandvastitudesandwaterandleaves.Ibegintowishforfirelight,privacy,andthelimbsofoneperson.’

           ’Ibegintowish,’saidLouis,’fornighttocome.AsIstandherewithmyhandonthegrainedoakpanelofMrWickham’sdoorIthinkmyselfthefriendofRichelieu,ortheDukeofStSimonholdingoutasnuff-boxtotheKinghimself.Itismyprivilege.Mywitticisms"runlikewildfirethroughthecourt".Duchessestearemeraldsfromtheirearringsoutofadmiration--buttheserocketsrisebestindarkness,inmycubicleatnight.IamnowaboyonlywithacolonialaccentholdingmyknucklesagainstMrWickham’sgrainedoakdoor.Thedayhasbeenfullofignominiesandtriumphsconcealedfromfearoflaughter.Iamthebestscholarintheschool.ButwhendarknesscomesIputoffthisunenviablebody--mylargenose,mythinlips,mycolonialaccent--andinhabitspace.IamthenVirgil’scompanion,andPlato’s.IamthenthelastscionofoneofthegreathousesofFrance.ButIamalsoonewhowillforcehimselftodesertthesewindyandmoonlitterritories,thesemidnightwanderings,andconfrontgrainedoakdoors.Iwillachieveinmylife--Heavengrantthatitbenotlong--somegiganticamalgamationbetweenthetwodiscrepanciessohideouslyapparenttome.