How It Is (5 page)

what to begin with drink to begin with I turn over on my face that lasts a good moment
I last with that a moment in the end the mouth opens the tongue comes out lolls in
the mud that lasts a good moment they are good moments perhaps the best difficult
to choose the face in the mud the mouth open the mud in the mouth thirst abating humanity
regained

sometimes in this position a fine image fine I mean in
movement
and colour blue and white of clouds in the wind
sometimes
some days this time as it happens this day in the mud a fine image I’ll describe
it it will be described then go right leg right arm push pull towards Pim he does
not exist

sometimes in this position I fall asleep again the tongue goes in the mouth closes
the mud opens it’s I who fall asleep again stop drinking and sleep again or the tongue
out and drink all night all the time I sleep that’s my night present formulation I
have no other I wake from sleep how much nearer to the last that of men of beasts
too I wake ask myself how much nearer I quote on last a moment with that it’s another
of my resources

the tongue gets clogged with mud that can happen too only one remedy then pull it
in and suck it swallow the mud or spit it out it’s one or the other and question is
it nourishing and vistas last a moment with that

I fill my mouth with it that can happen too it’s another of my resources last a moment
with that and question if swallowed would it nourish and opening up of vistas they
are good moments

rosy in the mud the tongue lolls out again what are the hands at all this time one
must always try and see what the hands are at well the left as we have seen still
clutches the sack and the right

the right I close my eyes not the blue the others at the back and finally make it
out way off on the right at the end of its arm full stretch in the axis of the clavicle
I say it as I hear it opening and closing in the mud opening and closing it’s another
of my resources it helps me

it can’t be far a bare yard it feels far it will go some day on its four fingers having
lost its thumb something wrong there it will leave me I can see it close my eyes the
others and see it how it throws its four fingers forward like grapnels the ends sink
pull and so with little horizontal hoists it moves away it’s a help to go like that
piecemeal it helps me

and the legs and the eyes the blue closed no doubt no since suddenly another image
the last there in the mud I say it as I hear it I see me

I look to me about sixteen and to crown all glorious weather egg-blue sky and scamper
of little clouds I have my back turned to me and the girl too whom I hold who holds
me by the hand the arse I have

we are if I may believe the colours that deck the emerald grass if I may believe them
we are old dream of flowers and seasons we are in April or in May and certain accessories
if I may believe them white rails a grandstand colour of old rose we are on a racecourse
in April or in May

heads high we gaze I imagine we have I imagine our eyes open and gaze before us still
as statues save only the swinging arms those with hands clasped what else

in my free hand or left an undefinable object and consequently in her right the extremity
of a short leash connecting her to an ash-grey dog of fair size askew on its hunkers
its head sunk
stillness
of those hands

question why a leash in this immensity of verdure and
emergence
little by little of grey and white spots lambs little by little among their dams
what else the bluey bulk closing the scene three miles four miles of a mountain of
modest elevation our heads overtop the crest

we let go our hands and turn about I dextrogyre she sinistro she transfers the leash
to her left hand and I the same instant to my right the object now a little pale grey
brick the empty hands mingle the arms swing the dog has not moved I have the
impression
we are looking at me I pull in my tongue close my mouth and smile

seen full face the girl is less hideous it’s not with her I am concerned me pale staring
hair red pudding face with pimples protruding belly gaping fly spindle legs sagging
knocking at the knees wide astraddle for greater stability feet splayed one hundred
and thirty degrees fatuous half-smile to posterior horizon figuring the morn of life
green tweeds yellow boots all those colours cowslip or suchlike in the buttonhole

again about turn introrse at ninety degrees fleeting face to face transfer of things
mingling of hands swinging of arms stillness of dog the rump I have

suddenly yip left right off we go chins up arms swinging the dog follows head sunk
tail on balls no reference to us it had the same notion at the same instant Malebranche
less the rosy hue the humanities I had if it stops to piss it will piss without stopping
I shout no sound plant her there and run cut your throat

brief black and there we are again on the summit the dog askew on its hunkers in the
heather it lowers its snout to its black and pink penis too tired to lick it we on
the contrary again about turn introrse fleeting face to face transfer of things swinging
of arms silent relishing of sea and isles heads pivoting as one to the city fumes
silent location of steeples and towers heads back front as though on an axle

suddenly we are eating sandwiches alternate bites I mine she hers and exchanging endearments
my sweet girl I bite she
swallows
my sweet boy she bites I swallow we don’t yet coo with our bills full

my darling girl I bite she swallows my darling boy she bites I swallow brief black
and there we are again dwindling again across the pastures hand in hand arms swinging
heads high towards the heights smaller and smaller out of sight first the dog then
us the scene is shut of us

some animals still the sheep like granite outcrops a horse I hadn’t seen standing
motionless back bent head sunk animals know

blue and white of sky a moment still April morning in the mud it’s over it’s done
I’ve had the image the scene is empty a few animals still then goes out no more blue
I stay there

way off on the right in the mud the hand opens and closes that helps me it’s going
let it go I realize I’m still smiling there’s no sense in that now been none for a
long time now

my tongue comes out again lolls in the mud I stay there no more thirst the tongue
goes in the mouth closes it must be a straight line now it’s over it’s done I’ve had
the image

that must have lasted a good moment with that I have lasted a moment they must have
been good moments soon it will be Pim I can’t know the words can’t come solitude soon
over soon lost those words

I have had company mine because it amuses me I say it as I hear it and a little girl
friend’s under the sky of April or of May we are gone I stay there

way off on the right the tugging hand the mouth shut grim the staring eyes glued to
the mud perhaps we shall come back it will be dusk the earth of childhood glimmering
again streaks of dying amber in a murk of ashes the earth must have been on fire when
I see us we are already at hand

it is dusk we are going tired home I see only the naked parts the solidary faces raised
to the east the pale swaying of the mingled hands tired and slow we toil up towards
me and vanish

the arms in the middle go through me and part of the bodies shades through a shade
the scene is empty in the mud the sky goes out the ashes darken no world left for
me now but mine very pretty only not like that it doesn’t happen like that

I wait for us perhaps to come back and we don’t come back for the evening perhaps
to whisper to me what the morning had sung and that day to that morning no evening

find something else to last a little more questions who were they what beings what
point of the earth that family whence this dumb show better nothing eat something

that must have lasted a moment there must be worse moments hope blighted is not the
worst the day is well advanced eat something that will last a moment they will be
good moments

then if necessary my pain which of my many the deep beyond reach it’s preferable the
problem of my pains the solution last a moment with that then go not because of the
shit and vomit something else it’s not known not said end of the journey

right leg right arm push pull ten yards fifteen yards arrival new place readaptation
prayer to sleep pending which questions if necessary who they were what beings what
point of the earth

they will be good moments then less good that too must be expected it will be night
present formulation I can sleep and if ever I wake

and if ever mute laugh I wake forthwith catastrophe Pim and end of part one leaving
only part two leaving only part three and last

the panting stops I am on my side which side the right it’s preferable I part the
mouth of the sack and questions what my God can I desire what hunger to eat what was
my last meal that family time passes I remain

it’s the scene of the sack the two hands part its mouth what can one still desire
the left darts in the left hand in the sack it’s the scene of the sack and the arm
after up to the armpit and then

it strays among the tins without meddling with how many announces a round dozen fastens
who knows on the last prawns these details for the sake of something

it brings out the little oval tin transfers it to the other hand goes back to look
for the opener finds it at last brings it out the opener we’re talking of the opener
with its spindle bone handle to the feel rest

the hands what are the hands at when at rest difficult to see with thumb and index
respectively pad of tip and outer face of second joint something wrong there nip the
sack and with remaining fingers clamp the objects against the palms the tin the opener
these details in preference to nothing

a mistake rest we’re talking of rest how often suddenly at this stage I say it as
I hear it in this position the hands suddenly empty still nipping the sack never let
go the sack otherwise suddenly empty

grope in a panic in the mud for the opener that is my life but of what cannot as much
be said could not as much be always said my little lost always vast stretch of time

rest then my mistakes are my life the knees draw up the back bends the head comes
to rest on the sack between the hands my sack my body all mine all these parts every
part

mine say mine to say something to say what I hear in Erebus in the end I’d succeed
in seeing my navel the breath is there it wouldn’t stir a mayfly’s wing I feel the
mouth opening

on the muddy belly I saw one blessed day saving the grace of Heraclitus the Obscure
at the pitch of heaven’s azure towering between its great black still spread wings
the snowy body of I know not what frigate-bird the screaming albatross of the
southern
seas the history I knew my God the natural the good moments I had

but last day of the journey it’s a good day no surprises good or bad as I went to
rest so back I came my hands as I left them I shall lose nothing more see nothing
more

the sack my life that I never let go here I let it go needing both hands as when I
journey that hangs together ah these sudden blazes in the head as empty and dark as
the heart can desire then suddenly like a handful of shavings aflame the spectacle
then

need journey when shall I say weak enough later some day weak as me a voice of my
own

with both hands therefore as when I journey or in them take my head took my head above
in the light I let go the sack therefore but just a moment it’s my life I lie across
it therefore that hangs together still

through the jute the edges of the last tins rowel my ribs perished jute upper ribs
right side just above where one holds them holds one’s sides held one’s sides my life
that day will not escape me that life not yet

if I was born it was not left-handed the right hand transfers the tin to the other
and this to that the same instant the tool pretty movement little swirl of fingers
and palms little miracle thanks to which little miracle among so many thanks to which
I live on lived on

nothing now but to eat ten twelve episodes open the tin put away the tool raise the
tin slowly to the nose irreproachable freshness distant perfume of laurel felicity
then dream or not empty the tin or not throw it away or not all that it’s not said
I can’t see no great importance wipe my mouth that without fail so on and at last

take the sack in my arms strain it so light to me lay my cheek on it it’s the big
scene of the sack it’s done I have it behind me the day is well advanced close the
eyes at last and wait for my pain that with it I may last a little more and while
waiting

prayer in vain to sleep I have no right to it yet I haven’t yet deserved it prayer
for prayer’s sake when all fails when I think of the souls in torment true torment
true souls who have no right to it no right ever to sleep we’re talking of sleep I
prayed for them once if I may believe an old view it has faded

me again always everywhere in the light age unknown seen from behind on my knees arse
bare on the summit of a muckheap clad in a sack bottom burst to let the head through
holding in my mouth the horizontal staff of a vast banner on which I read

in thy clemency now and then let the great damned sleep here something illegible in
the folds then dream perhaps of the good time their naughtiness procured them what
time the demons may rest ten seconds fifteen seconds

sleep sole good brief movements of the lower face no sound sole good come quench these
two old coals that have nothing more to see and this old kiln destroyed by fire and
in all this tenement

all this tenement of naught from top to bottom from hair to toe and finger-nails what
little sensation it still has of what it still is in all its parts and dream