Dream of Fair to Middling Women

Dream of Fair to Middling Women by Samuel Beckett Read Free Book Online

Book: Dream of Fair to Middling Women by Samuel Beckett Read Free Book Online
Authors: Samuel Beckett
his torch. I shall separate myself and the neighbour from the moon, and the lurid place that he is from the lurid place that I am; then I need not go to the trouble of hating the neighbour. I shall extinguish also, by banning the torchlight procession in the city that is I, the fatiguing lust for self-emotion. Then we shall all be on the poor sow's back.
    After a little conversation obiter she certainly did seem to look up, and again he appealed to her to confide in him and tell him what the matter could be, what it could be that had distressed her into such a dead calm. That was the expression he used: dead calm.
    â€œYou're going away” she vouchsafed to begin with “and then I won't see you for months and months. What'll I do?”
    â€œOh” he replied lightly “the time will be no time slipping over. I'll write every day, and think how wunnerful it'll be meeting again.”
    â€œMen don't feel these things” she complained “the way women do.”
    â€œNo indeed” he said “I suppose not indeed. Do youremember—of course she does!—the conversation, or rather, perhaps I should say, monologue…”
    â€œMonologue?” She was hostile all of a sudden. “What's that? Something to eat?”
    â€œOh” he said “words that don't do any work and don't much want to. A salivation of words after the banquet.”
    â€œYou use such long ones Bel.” It was always the same passage, from the flashing eye and heaving bosom to the simpering pinafore. He thought it was a good thing and a thing to be thankful for that he had something long to use.
    â€œWell” he said “I remember saying, or rather repeating after some one, and you seeming to hear and understand and agree, that it was not when he… er… held her in his arms, nor yet when he remained remote and shared, so to speak, her air and sensed her essence, but only when he sat down to himself in an approximate silence and had a vision on the strength of her or let fly a poem at her, anyhow felt some reality that somehow was she fidgeting in the catacombs of his spirit, that he had her truly and totally, according to his God. So that in a sense I suppose you might say, if you still acquiesce in that view of the matter, that I leave you now in a day or two in order that I may have you, in three days or four or even next month, according to my God.”
    â€œBesten Dank” she said.
    â€œBut Smerry” he appealed to her sense of equity “don't you see what I mean? Didn't you agree with me when I said all that before?”
    â€œI don't know” she said roughly “what you are talking about, I never agreed with anything, you never said such horrid things to me.”
    â€œOh well” he hastened to mend matters “I apologise, I beg your pardon. Don't let's talk about it any more.”
    â€œBut I will talk about it. What do you mean, that you go away so as to have me. Don't you have me here? Such a thing to say!” she exploded “bist Du verrückt geworden?”
    â€œIt's the little poet speaking” he explained “don't mind him.”
    â€œBut I will mind him” she moaned, on the verge, yes the marble verge, of tears. “Nobody ever said such things to me!” Then the belly-flopper: “Bel, you don't love me any more!”
    Is it not the mercy of God that even a mediocre athlete seems able to console them?
    Wien, biding her time, and the terrible Wienerwald, the fields receding like a brow in sleep to the dark fringe of trees, crowded in upon him now and dehumanised the last days. He was no longer detached, nor ever almost at one with the girl, but an item in the Hof's invisible garrison, going siege-crazy. There was the jungle of stone and the other jungle, crowding in to invest them, soaking up the frivolous wild life of the park. He fidgeted by night in the dark room and the rats were with him, now he was one of them.

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