Хвилі
ShallIalwaysdrawtheredsergecurtaincloseandseemybook,laidlikeablockofmarble,paleunderthelamp?Thatwouldbeagloriouslife,toaddictoneselftoperfection;tofollowthecurveofthesentencewhereveritmightlead,intodeserts,underdriftsofsand,regardlessoflures,ofseductions;tobepooralwaysandunkempt;toberidiculousinPiccadilly.
’ButIamtoonervoustoendmysentenceproperly.Ispeakquickly,asIpaceupanddown,toconcealmyagitation.Ihateyourgreasyhandkerchiefs--youwillstainyourcopyofDonJuan.Youarenotlisteningtome.YouaremakingphrasesaboutByron.Andwhileyougesticulate,withyourcloak,yourcane,Iamtryingtoexposeasecrettoldtonobodyyet;Iamaskingyou(asIstandwithmybacktoyou)totakemylifeinyourhandsandtellmewhetherIamdoomedalwaystocauserepulsioninthoseIlove?
’Istandwithmybacktoyoufidgeting.No,myhandsarenowperfectlystill.Precisely,openingaspaceinthebookcase,IinsertDonJuan;there.Iwouldratherbeloved,Iwouldratherbefamousthanfollowperfectionthroughthesand.ButamIdoomedtocausedisgust?AmIapoet?Takeit.Thedesirewhichisloadedbehindmylips,coldaslead,fellasabullet,thethingIaimatshop-girls,women,thepretence,thevulgarityoflife(becauseIloveit)shootsatyouasIthrow--catchit--mypoem.’
’Hehasshotlikeanarrowfromtheroom,’saidBernard.’Hehasleftmehispoem.Ofriendship,ItoowillpressflowersbetweenthepagesofShakespeare’ssonnets!Ofriendship,howpiercingareyourdarts--there,there,againthere.
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