from the novel Roads (1961/2000)  

chapter ten

(an excerpt -- the closing scene)  

It was morning when I woke up, and the memory of last night's events instantly came back to me clear and distinct, as if woken up by the strong light that streamed into my mind through the lenses of my eyes, and, not feeling in the least tired, I jumped out of bed and, standing in the middle of the room, facing the window, I spread out my arms and filled my lungs with air, feeling it first whirl in my mouth, heavy as water, and then, tensing my muscles and shutting my eyes, remained standing like that for a while, feeling the cold flow down my body, unable to seep into it as into a bronze statue.   Then, suddenly, without having planned to do it, I turned around and went into the bathroom, and turned on the light there, and opened the faucet, and filled my hands with water, and buried my face in it as if in a pile of fragrant petals, and then, looking in the mirror and seeing in its glass cage my dark face, smiling wide, so that my teeth showed, I tensed my arms again this time so strongly that my veins hurt from the blood that had rushed into them.   And then, continuing this unplanned, mechanical behavior, after mixing up some shaving soap in the cup and covering my face with a thick layer of foam, delicate, as the touch of a girl's fingers, took the razor out of the medicine cabinet and began to shave

Looking in the mirror, continuing to go through the simple motions of shaving, as I realized later, I completely lost awareness of myself and of the passage of time, undoubtedly because of the alcohol I had consumed in the course of the night, the effect of which I hadn't noticed so far, but which, as I finally realized, had thrown into stupor my already tired mind, and I was shaken out of this state only by the red color which, as I began to gradually notice, seemed to hang in big patches on the mirror, about which my eyes had for a while now been trying to inform my benumbed mind.

Brought to my senses by a fear that, like the roar of a siren was raging inside me, I stopped shaving, and, with the razor still in my raised hand, continuing to stare into the mirror, I saw that blood, like a big tattered rag, covered my chest, as I realized, coming from a cut on my throat, and then, as I glanced directly at myself, that it wound its way, like thin sluggish snakes, over my flat stomach and then down the columns of my legs, dripping finally onto the white tiled floor in silent red buttons, only at that point realizing that my brain was covered with a thick bark of inebriation.

previous | next.

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12