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[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] that I might take a risk, be courageous. Stay, say the gray eyes, hopelessly, oh, stay! I could come here again next Saturday. I could meet you somewhere. I won t run off, even if you speak to me. Why don t you want to stay? Ah, young lady, his heart wept with sensual affection, I would stay, how could I not want to stay? But you have reminded me of a day in a foreign land, an unhappy man in a foreign land, I don t know why so unhappy and so hopeless; you have reminded me of a happy coincidence, a smile, loving words in a foreign tongue and a lovely glance that is no longer returned: the joy that you would know, and that exquisite day in a foreign land! Nothing is more beautiful than love and happy coincidence, nothing can match a fine, chance meeting that never recurs. I would stay: but you have awakened in me an eternal yearning for coincidence, for chance. Reflections CAREFUL, LHOTA CALLED to a fisherman he didn t know from Adam, you ve got a bite! Aha, thank you, the man replied affably, would you like to land it? Lhota promptly slid down the embankment and took the rod. There was nothing on the line, and when Lhota pulled it in, he discovered that the hook had a red string attached to it. Isn t this where the worm goes? he asked, annoyed. Yes, the fisherman said with a sheepish smile. Have you caught anything yet? Never. Lhota returned to the embankment, not knowing whether or not to laugh. How is it possible, he thought, how could it ever be possible to fish this way? You see, I m not fishing, the fisherman remarked, I m only sitting here with a rod so that people won t laugh when they see me. Are you from around here? I live in that cottage behind us. I ve been walking over to this place for many years, because I love it here. But I don t fish. Lhota looked into the fisherman s large, shining eyes. You re not well, are you? I can t walk well. Not for ages now. I haven t been past this point for years But it s beautiful here. Indeed, Lhota said doubtfully. The bare embankments stretched as far as the eye can see, and between them flowed the wide, gray river. You ought to be here at sunset, the sick man said, or in the morning. I sit here from morning on, and it s never tiresome. Later, when I go home, I sleep without dreaming; REFLECTIONS 77 night after night I sleep beautifully and dreamlessly. It s only in winter What happens in winter? Nothing, just dreams. In the winter I can t come here, and I sleep night and day, without pause, until I m too tired to sleep any longer. In summer I m here every day. Deep in thought, Lhota looked at the water: it flowed by, broad and formless, chafing against the rocks in never-ending streams; he watched it rippling, undulating, churning, until his eyes failed him. And then it was a rushing river no more, only a purling sound which did not linger but kept flowing away and disappearing without bounds, without limits, an escape from everything And in winter I dream only of water, the sick man continued. The same dream appears to me all day and night, for months on end, interrupted only when I wake up frightened. It only ceases in the summer, when I see actual water. Lhota, his mind slightly reeling, narrowed his eyes. I wouldn t want to dream about flowing water. No, it s not really flowing, the invalid said. I don t dream about real water. There is this great river which stands without moving, and all along it flow reflections. They drift away much as those leaves are being carried away in the current. What kind of reflections? Things mirrored. Riverbanks reflected on the surface. They float by on the water as rapidly as those waves and never cause a ripple. Perhaps they come all the way from the mountains. There are giant trees which slip along quietly with their crowns facing down, as if they were descending into the bottomless sky. Even the sky flows along this motionless river, as do the sun and the clouds and the stars. I ve seen reflections of hills and riverside villages go drifting by, and reflections of people, too. Sometimes a white house, standing all by itself, or a lighted window. 78 C ROSS ROADS It s an absurd dream, said Lhota. Frightening. Sometimes a mirrored city floats by, and the [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] |