Волны

           OutofmysufferingIwilldoit.Iwillknock.Iwillenter.’

           ’IhavetornoffthewholeofMayandJune,’saidSusan,’andtwentydaysofJuly.Ihavetornthemoffandscrewedthemupsothattheynolongerexist,saveasaweightinmyside.Theyhavebeencrippleddays,likemothswithshrivelledwingsunabletofly.Thereareonlyeightdaysleft.Ineightdays’timeIshallgetoutofthetrainandstandontheplatformatsixtwentyfive.Thenmyfreedomwillunfurl,andalltheserestrictionsthatwrinkleandshrivel--hoursandorderanddiscipline,andbeinghereandthereexactlyattherightmoment--willcrackasunder.Outthedaywillspring,asIopenthecarriage-doorandseemyfatherinhisoldhatandgaiters.Ishalltremble.Ishallburstintotears.ThennextmorningIshallgetupatdawn.Ishallletmyselfoutbythekitchendoor.Ishallwalkonthemoor.Thegreathorsesofthephantomriderswillthunderbehindmeandstopsuddenly.Ishallseetheswallowskimthegrass.Ishallthrowmyselfonabankbytheriverandwatchthefishslipinandoutamongthereeds.Thepalmsofmyhandswillbeprintedwithpine-needles.IshallthereunfoldandtakeoutwhateveritisIhavemadehere;somethinghard.Forsomethinghasgrowninmehere,throughthewintersandsummers,onstaircases,inbedrooms.Idonotwant,asJinnywants,tobeadmired.Idonotwantpeople,whenIcomein,tolookupwithadmiration.Iwanttogive,tobegiven,andsolitudeinwhichtounfoldmypossessions.

           ’ThenIshallcomebackthroughthetremblinglanesunderthearchesofthenutleaves.