.

The road narrowed and became a serpent of clay, then a creamy winding. I
tried so hard to think of nothing that I noticed a great many surprising
things we had not observed before. That tree with a heavy black ball at
the end of its longest branch which the birds of heaven had stuffed with
earth and was now grass-grown; the slope with a red covering of rich
plants made, you'd think, of fingers dipped in blood....

It was in spite of myself that I faced about. A dark figure just this
side of the last bend in the road.

Ah, he turns round; he heard me. Could we remain apart? I stretch my
arms out to him, I begin to run. Why did we talk of other things a few
minutes ago? Were we insane?...

I have already passed the dead aloe, I am near the house with its two
firs. My abrupt race swells my decision not to leave him. I lift my
eyes. He didn't see me.

His form is no more than a black point, a blind insect nibbling at the
road and entering the earth's lair.... One last step. It is over, it is
over.

* * * * *

My arms fall, I turn back stumbling, dizzy. How can you tell what sort
of a road it is when the sun is the color of mourning and the summer has
the taste of tears?... Doesn't he know?

* * * * *

Noon. The Angelus tosses its twelve bronze strokes at the sun and they
slowly dissolve. But I am insensible to everything. Everything. The host
of trees, the flashing breastplate of the sea turn around an empty
space.

Why this sky stretching out after the branches, why this sparkling
happiness, why this sleepiness of the earth when I am racked and branded
with a red-hot iron by what I failed to say while there was still time?

BOOK III

_BECOMING_

I

I had been counting the days until I could call the day I was yearning
for by its name, a name new to me every morning. To have said good-bye
for two months, to have lived apart so long and almost without news, and
now finally to be able to caress the ardent moment which gives each back
to the other, if only for a short space; to caress it as you hold your
hands up to the fire. By a great effort I succeeded in remaining calm.

I had put my house in order, filled my vases with flowers, and made
myself beautiful. My velvet gown dulled the light, so that by contrast I
seemed to have a halo round my bared neck.

The hour drew near. The clock struck. But, no, the clock must be
fast...