How It Is (10 page)

slept six minutes breathing fitful set off on waking six yards and an inch or two
one hour twelve minutes drops

end of seventh year of stillness beginning of eighth brief
movements
of the snout would seem to be eating the mud

three o’clock morning starts muttering my astoundment then succeed in catching a few
scraps Pim Bim proper names presumably imagination dreams things memories lives
impossible
here’s my first-born old workshop farewell

monster silences vast tracts of time perfect nothingness reread the ancient’s notes
pass the time beginning of the murmur his last day lucky devil be in on that what’s
the use of me

reread our notes pass the time more about me than him hardly a word out of him now
not a mum this past year and more I lose the nine-tenths it starts so sudden comes
so faint goes so fast ends so soon I’m on it in a flash it’s over

no more motion than a slab and forbidden to take our eyes off him what’s the use of
that Krim says his number’s up so is mine we daren’t leave him quick all numbers up
it’s the only solution

yesterday in grandpa’s notes the place where he wishes he were dead weakness happily
honour of the family short-lived he stuck it out till his time was up whereas happy
me tedium inaction don’t make me laugh question of character and the business in the
blood

I lie by his side happy innovation handier for keeping an eye on him not a quiver
that escapes me than squatting on the little stool old style even papa and the state
he’s in now less the eye than the ear if I may say so it’s obvious new methods a necessity

Krim too straight as a die at his stand ballpoint at the ready on the alert for the
least never long idle if nothing I invent must keep busy otherwise death

one notebook for the body inodorous farts stools idem pure mud suckings shudders little
spasms of left hand in sack
quiverings
of the lower without sound movements of the head calm unhurried the face raised from
the mud or the left cheek or the right cheek and the right cheek or the left cheek
laid there in its stead or the face or the right cheek or the left cheek or the face
respectively a new development in my opinion a good mark for me what does it remind
me of

Kram the Seventh at his last gasp perhaps his face whiter than the pillow-slip and
me still a shitty little chit can it be the end at last the long calm agony and me
the happy witness elect one
notebook
for all that in any case entries such as sample eighth of May Victory Day impression
that he’s sinking Krim says I’m mad

a second for the mutterings verbatim no tampering very little a third this for my
comments whereas up till now all pell-mell in the same blue yellow and red respectively
simple once you’ve thought of it

steeping sweating in the light of my lamps he murmurs of
darkness
can he be blind he must the great blue eyes he opens sometimes and of a companion
I see none in his head the dark the friend

forbidden to touch him we might relieve him Krim is all for it and be damned clean
his buttocks at least wipe his face what do we risk no one will know you never know
safer not

dreamt of the great Kram the Ninth the greatest of us all up to date never met him
more’s the pity grandpa remembered him raving mad before the limit brought up by force
trussed like a faggot Krim vanished never seen again

he the first to have pity happily to no effect honour of the family to eliminate the
little stool regrettable innovation discarded and the idea of the three books set
aside where’s the greatness it is there

rich testimony I agree questionable into the bargain especially the yellow book that
is not the voice of here here all self to be abandoned say nothing when nothing

blue the eyes I see them old stone perhaps our new daylight lamps it’s possible I
agree and in the head the dark and friend I agree but this voice the voice of all
what voice I hear none and who all damn it I’m the thirteenth generation

but of course here too no knowing our senses our lights what do they amount to look
at me and even if I here thirteen lives I say thirteen but long before who knows how
long how many other dynasties

this voice yes the sad truth is there are moments when I fancy I can hear it and my
lamps that my lamps are going out Krim says I’m mad

two more years to put in a little more then back to the surface ah no lie down if
I could lie down never stir any more I feel I could weakness for pity’s sake honour
of the family if I could move on a little further if there is a further we only know
this little pool of light there was a time he moved it’s in the book a little further
in the mud the dark and drop my first-born dying to his grandchild your papa’s grandpapa
disappeared never came up never seen again bear it in mind when your time comes

little private book these secret things little book all my own the heart’s outpourings
day by day it’s forbidden one big book and everything there Krim imagines I am drawing
what then places faces loved forgotten

that’s enough end of extracts yes or no yes or no no no no witness no scribe all alone
and yet I hear it murmur it all alone in the dark the mud and yet

and now to continue to conclude to be able a few more little scenes life above in
the light as it comes as I hear it word for word last little scenes I set him off
stop him short thump thump can’t take any more or he stops can’t give any more it’s
one or the other opener instantly or not often not silence rest

he has stopped I have made him stop suffered him to stop it’s one or the other not
specified the thing stops and more or less long silence not specified more or less
long rest I set him off again opener or capitals as the case may be otherwise never
a word new instalment so on

the gaps are the holes otherwise it flows more or less more or less profound the holes
we’re talking of the holes not specified not possible no point I feel them and wait
till he can out and on again or I don’t and opener or I do and opener just the same
that helps him out as I hear it as it comes word for word to continue to conclude
to be able part two leaving only three and last

what land all lands midnight sun midday night all latitudes all longitudes

all longitudes

what men all colours black to white tried them all then gave up no worse too vague
pardon pity home to native land to die in my twenties iron constitution above in the
light my life my living made my living tried everything building mostly it was booming
all branches plaster mostly met Pam I think

love birth of love increase decrease death efforts to resuscitate through the arse
joint vain through the cunt anew vain jumped from window or fell broken column hospital
marguerites lies about mistletoe forgiveness

out by day no by night less light a little less hid by day a hole a ruin land strewn
with ruins all ages my spinal dog it licked my genitals Skom Skum run over by a dray
it hadn’t all its wits broken column in my thirties and still alive robust constitution
what am I to do

life little scenes just time to see the hangings part heavy swing of black velvet
what life whose life ten twelve years old sleeping in the sun at the foot of the wall
white dust a palm thick azure little clouds other details silence falls again

what sun what have I said no matter I’ve said something that’s what was needed seen
something called it above said it was so said it was me ten twelve years old sleeping
in the sun in the dust to have a moment’s peace I have it I had it opener arse following
scene and words

sea beneath the moon harbour-mouth after the sun the moon always light day and night
little heap in the stern it’s me all those I see are me all ages the current carries
me out the awaited ebb I’m looking for an isle home at last drop never move again
a little turn at evening to the sea-shore seawards then back drop sleep wake in the
silence eyes that dare open stay open live old dream on crabs kelp

astern receding land of brothers dimming lights mountain if I turn water roughening
he falls I fall on my knees crawl forward clink of chains perhaps it’s not me perhaps
it’s another perhaps it’s another voyage confusion with another what isle what moon
you say the thing you see the thoughts sometimes that go with it it disappears the
voice goes on a few words it can stop it can go on depending on what it’s not known
it’s not said

on what the nails that can go on the hand dead a fraction of an inch life a little
slow to leave them the hair the head dead a hoop rolled by a child me higher than
him me I fall disappear the hoop rolls on a little way loses way rocks falls disappears
the garden-path is still

can’t go on we’re talking of me not Pim Pim is finished he has finished me now part
three not Pim my voice not his saying this these words can’t go on and Pim that Pim
never was and Bom whose coming I await to finish be finished have finished me too
that Bom will never be no Pim no Bom and this voice quaqua of us all never was only
one voice my voice never any other

all that not Pim I who murmur all that a voice mine alone and that bending over me
noting down one word every three two words every five from age to age yes or no but
above all go on impossible for the moment quite impossible that’s the essential nay
folly I hear it murmur it to the mud folly folly stop your drivel draw the mud about
your face children do it in the sand at the sea-shore in the country in the sandpits
the humbler

all about pressed tight as a child you would have done it in the sandpits even you
the mud above the temples and nothing more be seen but three grey hairs old wig rotting
on a muckheap false skull foul with mould and rest you can say nothing when time ends
you may end

all that the time it takes to say all that my voice a voice of mine not like that
more faint less clear but the purport and back to Pim where abandoned part two it
still can end it must end it’s preferable only a third to go two fifths then part
three leaving only part three

E then good and deep sick of light quick now the end above last thing last sky that
fly perhaps gliding on the pane the
counterpane
all summer before it or noonday glory of colours behind the pane in the mouth of
the cave and the approaching veils

two veils from left and right they approach come together or one down the other up
or aslant diagonal from left or right top corner right or left bottom corner one two
three and four they approach come together

a first pair then others on top as many times as necessary or a first one two three
or four a second two three four or one a third three four one or two a fourth four
one two or three as many times as necessary

for what for to be happy eyes starting pupils staring night in the midst of day better
the fly at break of morn four o’clock five o’clock the sun rises its day begins the
fly we’re talking of a fly its day its summer on the pane the counterpane its life
last thing last sky

E then good and deep quick now the end above sick of light and nail on skin for the
down-stroke of the Roman N when suddenly too soon too soon a few more little scenes
suddenly I cross it out good and deep Saint Andrew of the Black Sea and opener signifying
again I’m subject to these whims

my life again above in the light the sack stirs grows still again stirs again the
light through the worn thread strains less white sharp sounds distant still but less
it’s evening he crawls tiny out of the sack me again I’m there again the first is
always me then the others

what age my God fifty sixty eighty shrunken kneeling arse on heels hands on ground
splayed like feet very clear picture thighs aching the arse rises the head drops touches
the straw it’s preferable sound of sweeping the dog’s tail we want to go on home at
last

my eyes open still to light I see each halm sounds of hammers three or four at least
hammers chisels crosses perhaps or some other ornament

I crawl to the door raise my head yes I assure you peer through a chink and so I would
go to the world’s end on my knees to the world’s end right round it on my knees arms
forelegs eyes an inch from the ground I’d smell the world again my laughter in dry
weather raises the dust on my knees up the gangways between decks with the emigrants

homer mauve light of evening mauve wave among the streets the serotines abroad already
we not yet not such fools I’m the brain of the two sounds distant still but less its
the evening air does that one must understand these things and later drawing near
that it’s only a creaking of wheels drawing near iron felly jolting on the stones
the harvest perhaps coming home but the hooves in that case

no matter there I am again how I last on my knees hands joined before my face thumb-tips
before my nose finger-tips before the door my crown or vertex against the door one
can see the
attitude
not knowing what to say whom to implore what to implore no matter it’s the attitude
that counts it’s the intention

how I last some day it will be night and all asleep we shall slip out the tail sweeps
the straw it hasn’t all its wits mine now to think for us both here come the veils
most dear from left and right they wipe us away then the rest the whole door away
life above little scene I couldn’t have imagined it I couldn’t

thump on skull no point in post mortems and then what then what we’ll try and see
last words cut thrust a few words DO YOU LOVE ME CUNT no disappearance of Pim end
of part two leaving only part three and last one can’t go on one goes on as before
can one ever stop put a stop that’s more like it one can’t go on one can’t stop put
a stop

so Pim stops life above in the light he can’t give any more me permitting or thump
on skull I can’t take any more it’s one or the other and what them him me I’ll ask
him but first me when Pim stops what becomes of me but first the bodies glued together
mine on the north good so much for the trunks the legs but the hands when Pim stops
where are they the arms the hands what are they at