 World without end, amen. Begin, Winnie. Begin your day, Winnie. Well, can't be helped. Just one of those old things. Another one of those old things. Can't be cured. Cannot be cured. Ah, yes. Poor dear Lily. Poor Lord. Oh well. No worse. No better. No worse. No change. No pain. Hardly any. Great thing, Matt. Nothing like it. What? I guess. No zest for anything. No interest in life. Sleep forever. Marvellous gift. Nothing to touch it, in my opinion. Always said so. Wish I had it. Genuine, pure, what? Blind next. Ah well, seen enough, I suppose, by now. Those wonderful lines. Whoa, wouldn't miss it. Or would I? Holy light. Bob off out of dark. Blaze of hellish light. Well, this gift. Wish I had it. Ah well, can't complain. No, no, mustn't complain. So much to be thankful for. No pain. Hardly any. Wonderful thing, Matt. Slight headache sometimes. Guaranteed. Genuine, pure. Genuine, pure, what? Occasional mild migraine. It comes, then goes. Ah yes, great mercies, great mercies. Prayers perhaps not for naught. First thing, last thing. Holy guarantee. Genuine, pure. Lies on Winnie. No worse. No better, no worse, no change. No pain. I may need you. No hurry, no hurry, just don't. Perhaps a shade off color, just the same. Spirits, lack of keenness. Want of appetite. Infants, children, adults. Six level, tablespoon, bowls. Daily, the old style. Daily, before and after meals. Instantaneous improvement. That's better. Running out. Ah well, mustn't complain. What are those wonderful lines? Fleeting joy, oh something lasting woe. On your drawers, dear, before you get singed. No? I see you have some of that stuff left. Working in well, dear. Now the other. Oh, this is going to be another happy day. Ensign, crimson, tail flag. His grace and most reverend father in God, Dr. Caramas Hunter. Dead in tub. Charlie Hunter. I close my eyes. I am sitting on his knees again in the back garden at Burrow Green under the horse beach. Happy memories. Opening for smart youth. My first ball. My second ball. My first kiss. Mr. Johnson, John Stone. Perhaps I should say Mr. John Stone. Very bushy mustache. Very tawny, almost ginger. We were within a tool shed. Although whose I cannot conceive. We had no tool shed and he most certainly had no tool shed. I see the piles of pots. The tangles of vast. The shadows deepening among the rafters. Granted, bright boy. Genuine, pure. Fully guaranteed. Genuine, pure. Fully guaranteed. Genuine, pure. Hogs set hay. Hogs set hay. That is what I find so wonderful that not a day goes by to speak in the old style. Hardly a day without some addition to one's knowledge. However tranquil. The addition I need. Provided one takes the pains. And if for some strange reason no further pains are possible why then simply close the eyes and wait for the day to come. A happy day to come when flesh shall melt at so many degrees and the night of the moon has so many hundred hours. That is what I find so comforting when I lose heart and envy the brute beast. I hope you are taking in as what are they up to? This is genuine pure filth. Make any nice minded person want to vomit. What does that creature in the background think he's doing? Oh no, really. Take it away. Hogs set hay. What is a hog exactly? Now of course I know, but a hog. Ah well, what does it matter? That is what I always say, if you'll all come back. That is what I find so wonderful. All comes back. All. No, no, no. Not all. Loads up one day. Out of the blue. That is what I find so wonderful. So wonderful. No, no. Gently, Winnie. What then? Winnie? What is the alternative? What is the alternative? You sleep on. If only I could bear to be alone. I mean, prattle away without a soul to hear. Not that I flatter myself that you hear much, Willie. No. Days perhaps when you hear nothing. But days too when you answer. So that I may say at all times, even when you do not answer and perhaps hear nothing, something of this is being heard. I'm not merely talking to myself. That is in the wilderness. A thing I could never bear to do. For any length of time. That is what enables me to go on. Go on talking, that is. Whereas if you were to die. To speak in the old style. Or go away and leave me. What would I do? What could I do all day long? I mean, between the bell for waking and the bell for sleep. Gaze before me with compressed lips. Not another word so long as I drew breath. Nothing to break the silence of this place. Save possibly. Now and then, every now and then. Signed the looking glass. Or a brief gale of laughter should I happen to see the old joke again. My hair. Did I brush and comb my hair? I may have done. Normally I do. There is so little to do. One does it all. All one can. It is only human. Human nature. Human weakness. Natural weakness. I see no comb. Nor any brush. The comb is here. The brush is here. Perhaps I put the back after use. But no. Normally I do not put things back after use. No. I leave them lying about and put them back all together at the end of the day. To speak in the old style. The sweet old style. And yet, I seem to remember. Oh well. What does it matter? That is what I always say. I shall simply brush and comb them later on. Purely and simply. I have the whole them or it. Brush and comb it. Sounds improper somehow. What would you say, Willi? What would you say, Willi, speaking of your hair, them or it? The hair on your head, I mean. What would you say, Willi, speaking of the hair on your head, them or it? It. Oh, you are going to talk to me today. This is going to be a happy day. Another happy day. Yes, where was I, my hair? Yes, I shall be thankful for it later on. My, yes, on. I have my hat on. I'll take it off now. To think there are times one cannot take off one's hat, even if one's life were at stake. Times one cannot put it on. Times one cannot take it off. I say, how often have I said, take off your hat now, Winnie, there is nothing else for it. Put on your hat now, Winnie. Be a good girl, it will do you good. You called it. That day after the last guest was gone, to your golden, may it never, may it never, that day, what day, what now? Words fail. There are times when even they fail. Is that not so, Willi? Is that not so that even words fail at times? Once you do then until they come back again, brush and comb the hair, if it has not been done, or if there is some doubt. Fails if they need trimming. These things tied one over. That is what I mean. That is all I mean, is what I find so wonderful, that not a day goes by to speak in the old style without some blessing in disguise. Go back into your hole now, dear. You've exposed yourself enough. Can I seat you, Willi, just yes or no? Can you hear me, just yes or nothing? Yes. And now? Yes. And now? Yes. And now? Yes. The heat of the sun. Did you hear that? Yes. Fear no more. What? Fear no more? What? Fear no more. Bless you, Willi, I do appreciate your goodness. You know what an effort it costs you, I shall not trouble you again unless I am obliged to. You may lie back now and relax. Just to know that in theory you can hear me, even if in fact you don't is all I ask. Just to feel you there within hearing and conceivably on the key-vib is all I need. Not to say anything I would not wish you to hear would cause you pain, to be just babbling along, trust as it were, something gnawing at me. If the time will come when before I can utter a word, I shall need to make sure you heard the one before it. And no doubt another come, another time, when I must learn to talk alone a thing I could never bear to do, such wilderness. There is, of course, the bag. There will always be the bag. Yes, I suppose so. Even when you are gone, Willi. You are going, Willi, aren't you? Going soon, Willi, won't you? You have taken off your straw. That is wise. You do look snug with your chin in your hands and the old blue eyes like saucers in the shadows. Can you see me from there? I wonder. I still wonder. No, it does not follow that when two are gathered together in this way, that because one sees the other, the other sees the one. Life has taught me that, too. Yes, life. I suppose there is no other word. Could you see me, Willi, from where you are if you were to raise your eyes in my direction? Tell me, can you see me? I'll lean back as far as I can. The earth is very tight today. Can it be I have put on flesh? I trust not. The great heat, possibly. All things expanding. Some more than others. Some less. I can very well imagine what is passing through your mind, Willi. It is not enough that I have to listen to the woman. Now I must look at her as well. Will it is understandable? Very understandable. One does not seem to be asking a great deal. Indeed, at times it would seem hardly possible to ask less of a fellow creature. To put it mildly. Whereas actually, if you think about it, look into your heart. What he needs. Peace. To be left in peace. Perhaps the moon all this time asking for the moon. Oh, I say, what have we here? In its arms. Like a little white ball. Eggs. What? Formication. What? Formication. I suppose some people might find us a trifle irreverent. But I doubt it. Magnify the almighty that by sniggering with him at his little jokes. Particularly the poorer ones. I would think you would back me up there, really. Or were we perhaps diverted by two quite different things? What does it matter? That is what I always say. So long as one is, you know, laughing wild. Something, something. Laughing wild amidst severest woe. And was I lovable once, really? Was I ever lovable? I understand my question. I'm not asking you if you loved me. We know all about that. I'm asking you if you found to be lovable. At one stage. Well, it is a bit of a teaser, I admit. And you have done more than your part for the time being. Just lie back and relax. I shall not trouble you again. Unless I am compelled to. Just to know that you are there. In your shot, and conceivably on the semi-alert, is a paradise and now. The day is now well advanced to speak in the old style. And yet it is perhaps a little soon for my song. To sing too soon is a grave mistake, I find. There is, of course, the bag. Yes, the bag! Can I enumerate its contents? No. If some kind person were to come along and ask, what all have you got in that big black bag, Winnie? Give an exhaustive answer? No. The depths in particular. Who knows what treasures, what comforts. But something tells me do not overdo the bag. Something tells me make use of it, of course. Let it help you along when stuck by all needs. But something tells me cast your mind forward to the time when words must fail and do not overdo the bag. Perhaps one quick tip. You again, weight of this thing would bring it down among the last rounds. But it doesn't. Ever uppermost, like browning. Remember, remember how you used to keep on at me to take it away from you? Take it away, you'd say. Take it away before I put myself out of my misery. Or misery. It's a comfort to know you are there, but I'm tired of you just the same. I'll leave you out. That's what I'll do. There. That is your home from this day out. The old style. Is gravity what it was, Willie? I fancy not. No. The feeling more and more that if I were not caught in this way, I would simply float up into the blue. Yes, and perhaps the earth will yield someday Let me out. The pull is so great. Just crack all around and let me go. Do you ever have that feeling, Willie? Being sucked up? Do you have to cling on sometimes, Willie? Gossamer. No? Natural laws. Natural laws. I suppose it's like everything else. It all depends upon the creature you happen to be. All I can say is that for my part, they are not what they were when I was young and foolish and beautiful, possibly lovely in a way, to look at. Forgive me, Willie. Sorrow keeps breaking in. Not a joy in any case to know that you are there, as usual, and perhaps awake. And perhaps taking all of this in some of all of this, what a happy day for me it will have been so far. What a blessing nothing grows. Imagine if all of this stuff were to start growing. Ah, yes. Imagine great mercies, great mercies. I can say no more for the moment. I suppose I might, yes, I suppose I might hoist this thing up now. One keeps putting off, putting up, for fear of putting up too soon. And the days go by, certain days, quite by without ones having put up at all. Ah, yes. So little to say. So little to do. And the fear so great. Certain days of being left with hours still to run before the bell for sleep. Nothing more to say, nothing more to do. But the days go by, certain days quite by. Little are nothing said, little are nothing done. That is the danger to be guarded against. I used to perspire freely, now hardly at all. The heat is much greater. The perspiration less. That is what I find so wonderful. The way man adapts himself to changing conditions. I am weary holding it up. There is one holding it up when one is sitting still, but not when one is going along. It's a curious observation. I've heard that really. I should agree to think you had not heard that. I am weary holding it up and I cannot put it down. Reason says, put the thing down Winnie. It is not helping you. Put the thing down and get on with something else. Something must happen in the world. Some change take place if I am going to move again. Willie, bid me put this thing down and I will obey you, honor and obey as I have always done. Pity's sake, you won't blame you. It would ill become me who cannot move to blame my willy because he cannot speak. Fortunately, I am in tongue again. That is what I find so wonderful. My two lamps, one goes out, the other burns brighter. You old extinguisher. I presume this has occurred before, though I cannot recall it. Can you Willie? Can you recall this having occurred before? Do you know what has occurred Willie? Have you gone off on me again? Ask if you were alive to all that is going on. I merely ask if you have not gone off on me again. Your eyes appear to be closed, but that is no particular significance we know. Raise a finger dear, Willie please, if you are not quite senseless. Do that for me, just a little finger, if you are still conscious. All five. You are darling today. Now I may continue with an easy mind. Yes. Whatever has occurred that has not occurred before, and yet I wonder, I confess, I wonder with the sun blazing so much fiercer down and hourly fiercer, is it not natural that things should go up in smoke not known to do so before, in this way I mean, spontaneous like, shall I myself not melt in the end, or burn? Oh, I don't mean burst into flames necessarily, just be charred little by little to a black cinder, all this visible flesh. On the other hand, did I ever know a temperate time? I speak of temperate times and torrent times. These are empty words. I speak of when I was not yet caught in this way and had my legs and the use of my legs and could go seek out a shady place when I was tired of the sun. Or a sunny place when I was tired of the shade. Like you. These are empty words. No. It is no hotter today than yesterday. It will be no hotter tomorrow than today and so on, backward into the far past, forward into the far future. And should someday the earth cover my breasts, I shall never have seen my breasts, no one shall ever have seen my breasts. I hope you caught something of that really. I should be sorry to think you caught nothing of that. It is not every day I rise to such great heights. Yes, something seems to have occurred. Something has seemed to occur, but nothing has occurred, nothing at all. You are quite right, really. The sunshade will be beside me on this mound tomorrow to help me through the day. I take up this little glass, I shiver it on a stone, I throw it behind me. It will be in the bag tomorrow without a scratch to help me through the day. No, one can do nothing. That is what I find so wonderful. The way things so wonderful. Are you understandable? One cannot sing just to please someone no matter how much one loves them. No, song must come from the heart. That is what I always say. Pour out from the inmost like the thrush. Often have I said in evil hours, sing, Winnie, sing your song. There is nothing else for it. And did not. No, like the thrush or the bird of dawning. With no thought of benefit to myself or anyone else. Strange feeling, strange feeling that someone is looking at me. Then clear, then dim, then gone, then dim again, then clear again, back and forth in and out of someone's eyes. Strange. No, here all is strange. Something says stop talking, Winnie. Stop talking, Winnie, for a minute and do something for a change, can't you? Do something. What clothes? There floats up into my thoughts a Mr. Shower. Mr. and Mrs. Shower. No, they're holding hands. They don't say then more likely. Or some loved one. Very written today. Shower. Shower. Does the name mean anything to you, Willie? Evoke any reality for you on me, Willie? Don't answer if you don't feel up to it. You've done more than your bit already. Bit more like it. Keep yourself nice, Winnie. That is what I always say, come what may. Keep yourself nice. It's only natural. Human. What is one to do all day long? Day after day. The old style. Done him already. Should have put my glasses on too late now. Well, anyway. This man's shower. Or cooker, no matter. And this woman, hand in hand. And the other hand, bags. Kind of big brown grips. Standing there gaping at me. This man's shower. Ends in urr, anyway. Just take my life moment. What's she doing? He says, what's the idea? He says, stuck up to her ditties in the bleeding ground. What does it mean? He says, what is it meant to mean? And so on. Usual dribble. Lot more stuff like that. Do you hear me? He says, I do. She says, God help me. What do you mean, God help you? And you, she says. What is the idea of you? What are you meant to mean? Just because you're on your two flat feet. With your old ditty full of tinned muck. And changes of underwear. Dragging me up and down this fornicating wilderness. Course creature. Fit mate. I show my hand and drop. She says, drop. Dig her out. He says, why doesn't he dig her out? Referring to you, my dear. What good is she to him like that? What good is he to her like that? And so on. Usual tosh. Good. She says, have a heart. Dig her out. She says, no sense in her like that. Dig her out with what? She says, I dig her out with my bare hands. Must have been man and wife. Then they're away. And the bags dim then gone. Last humankind to stray this way. Strange. Thing like that float into the mind. Time like this. Strange. No. Thankful for it in any case. Most thankful. Bow and raise the head. Bow and raise. Always that. It is perhaps a little soon. To make ready for the night. The old style. And yet I do make ready for the night. Feeling it at hand. The bell for sleep. And to myself it will not be long now any. Until the bell for sleep. Sometimes I am wrong. But not often. Sometimes all is over for the day. All ready for the night. And the day not over. Far, far, far, far, far, over. The night not ready. Far, far, far, ready. But not often. When I feel it at hand. The bell for sleep. And so make ready. In this way. Sometimes I am wrong. But not often. Used to think. I say I used to think that all of these things. If put back too soon. Into the bag too soon. Could be taken out again. Into the bag. Out of the bag. And so on and so forth. Until the bell went. No, no, no. I suppose this might seem. Strange. This. What shall I say? This. What have I said? Were it not. Were it not. That all is strange. Most strange. Never any change. And more and more strange. Well I can understand that. They were my love. But I gave my heart too. Knees, try the hands and knees. Personal ability. Crick in my neck admiring you. But it's worth it. Well worth it. You know what I dream sometimes, Willie. What I dream sometimes. That you'll come around this side. And live where I can see you. I'd be a different woman. Unrecognizable. And let me feast on you. But you can't I know. I know. Won't be long now until the bell. Genuine pure. What's this it was? Willie guaranteed. Genuine pure. Hogs setay. What is a hog exactly? What exactly is a hog? Willie do you know? I can't remember. Is a hog Willie please? Casterated male swine. Reared for slaughter. Oh this is a happy day. This will have been another happy day. After all. So far. For smart youth. And now. Sing. Sing your song Winnie. Then pray. Pray your prayer Winnie. Wanted bright boy. When is looking at me still. Caring for me still. That is what I find so wonderful. Eyes on my eyes. What is that unforgettable line? Willie. May one still speak of time Willie. It is a long time now Willie since I saw you. Since I heard you. May one. One does. The old style. There's so little to speak of. One speaks of it all. One can. I used to think. I say I used to think that I would learn to talk alone. By that I mean to myself. The wilderness. But no. No no. There go you are there. How you are dead. Like the others. No doubt you have died or gone away and left me. Like the others. It doesn't matter. You are there. The bag is there too Willie. Same as ever. I can see it. The bag is there Willie. Good as ever. The one you gave me that day. To go to market. That day. What day? What now? What now? There is so little to speak of. One speaks of it all. All one can. My breasts. My legs. My arms. What breasts? What legs? What arms? Willie. What Willie? Not to know. Not to know for certain. All I ask. And now. I am here for the mind. To have been always what I am. And yet so changed. From what I was. I am the one. I am the one. I say the one. Then the other. Now the one. Then the other. Then now. This. Beach and green. Charlie. Deep trouble for the mind. But it does not trouble mind. Not now. No no. This float up that seemed to see in peace. To close in peace. Not now. Not now. No no. Willie. Do you think the earth has lost its atmosphere Willie? Opinion. Well that is very like you. You never have an opinion about anything. The earth ball. I sometimes wonder. Perhaps not all. There always remains something. Of everything. Some remains. Even if the mind were to go. It won't of course. Not quite. Not mine. Not now. No no. It might be the eternal cold. Everlasting. Perishing cold. Just chance I take it. Happy chance. And now. The face. The nose. I can see it. The tip. Nostrils. Breath of life. The curve you so admired. Hint of lip. Out the mouth. The tongue of course. You so admired. If I stick it out. The tip. Suspicion of brow. Imagination possibly. No. No. Even if I prompt them out. No. Damask. That is all. The bag of course. Perhaps but the bag. The earth of course. And sky. The sunshade you gave me. That day. The lake. The reeds. What day? What reeds? I can see him. Brownie is there really beside me. Brownie is there. What would I do without them? What would I do without them? What would I do without them when words fail? Days before me with compressed lips. Sometimes I hear sounds. Sounds are a boon. Yes sounds are a boon. Those are happy days. When I hear sounds. When there are sounds. I used to think. I say I used to think that they were in my head. But no. No. No. No. That was just logic. Reason. I have not lost my reason. Not quite. Not all. Some remains. Sounds. Like little sunderings. Little falls apart. It's things willy. Things in the bag. Outside the bag. Inside the bag. Things have their life. That is what I always say. Things have a life. Take my looking glass. It doesn't need me. The bell. It hurts like a knife. A gouge. One cannot ignore it. I say how often have I said. Ignore it Winnie. Ignore the bell. Pay no heed. Wake. Sleep and wake as you please. Or open and close. Open and close the eyes as you please. Or in the way that you find most helpful. Open and close. Open and close. Only that. But no. No, no. And now. There is always my story. When all else fails. A life. A long life. Beginning in the womb. Where life used to begin. Mildred has memories. She will have memories. Before she dies. Of the womb. The mother's womb. She is now four or five already. And has recently been given a big wax and dye. Fully clothed. Complete outfit. Shoes. Socks. Undies. Complete set. Frilly frock. Gloves. White mesh. Little pearly necklace. A picture book. With legends in real print to go under her arm when she takes her walk. China blue eyes that open and shut. The sun had not yet rose. When Millie descended the slipped on her nightgown descended all alone the steep wooden staircase backwards on all fours. Although she had been forbidden to do so. Entered the tiptoe down the silent passage. Entered the nursery and began to undress dolly. Scolding for the while. Suddenly a mouse. Gently Millie. Millie! Put a little strange sometimes, Millie. It is not like you to be wantonly cruel. Strange. No. Not now. Not here. And yet I do hope nothing is amiss. Is all well, dear? God forbid he did not go in head foremost. You're not jammed! Help all this time and I do not hear him. I do of course hear cries. But they are in my head surely. Is it possible? No. No. No. My head was always full of cries. Faint confused cries. They come and go as on a wind that is what I find so wonderful. They cease. I guess great mercies, great mercies. The day is now well advanced. And yet it is perhaps a little soon for my song. To sing too soon is fatal I always find. On the other hand one can leave it too late. The bell goes for sleep and one has not sung. The whole day has blown, blown by, quite by, no song of any kind, class, or description. There is a problem here. One cannot sing just like that. It bubbles up for some unknown reason. The time is ill-chosen. One chokes it back. One says now is the time, it is now or never. Simply cannot sing. Not a note. Willie, while you're on this subject the sadness after song. Have you run across that Willie in the course of your experience? No? Sadness after intimate sexual intercourse, one knows of course. You would concur with Aristotle there Nancy Willie. Yes, that one knows and is prepared to face. But after song it doesn't last of course. It wears away. That is what I find so wonderful. It wears away. What are those exquisite lines? Don't forget me. Why should something or that something shadow fling? Don't forget me. Why should sorrow sweetly sing? Go forget me. Never hear me. Sweetly smile. Brightly sing. One loses one's classics. Not all of course. A part. A part remains that is what I find so wonderful. A part remains of one's classics to help one through the day. I call to the eye of the mind a Mr. Shower or Cooper. Hand in hand in the other hand bags getting on in life no longer young not yet old. Standing there gaping at me can't have been a bad bosom he says in its time seen worse shoulders he says in my day does she feel her legs he says? Has she any life in her legs? Has she anything on underneath? Ask her he says. I'm shy. Ask her what? She says. Has she any life in her legs? Has she anything on underneath? Through yourself she says. Let go by hand and drop for God's sake. Drop. Drop dead. I watch them receive in the bags hand in hand dim then gone last human kind to stray this way to date. And now a mouse crept up her little thigh and mildrew dropping dolly in her fright began to scream and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed till all came running Mama and Papa and Bibi and Old Aunt Annie in their night attire to see what was the matter what could possibly be the matter? Too late. Too late. Won't be long now any until the bell for sleep then you may close your eyes and keep them closed and must close your eyes and keep them closed. Why say that again? I used to think I say I used to think that there was never any difference between one fraction of a second and the next. I used to say I used to say we you are changeless there is never any difference between one fraction of a second and the next. Why bring that up again? There is so little to bring up. One brings up all one can. My neck is hurting me. That's better. Everything within reason I can do no more. Say no more. But I must say more. Problem here. No. Something must move in the world. I cannot anymore. A zephyr. A breath. It might be the eternal dark black night without end. Just chance I take it. Happy chance. Ah yes a bounding mercies. And now that day the flute glasses the pink fizz the last guest gone the last bumper with the bodies nearly touching the look one day one look I hear cries. Sing Winnie. Sing your old song. I worship you Winnie be mine. Life of mockery without wind. What a get up you do like a sight. Showers. That's smile today. Want to watch that before it gets a hold of you? Hear me screaming for you? Did you get stuck in your hole? That's right Willy. Look at me. Feast your old eyes. Does anything remain? Any remains? No. After you know. You are still recognizable in a way. Have you come round to live this side of me Willy? Worship you Winnie be mine. Then nothing from that day forth but tidbits from Reynolds news. What matter? That is what I always say. It will have been a happy day after all. Another happy day. Won't be long now. I hear cries. Do you ever hear cries Willy? Give me again Willy. I never saw such an expression. Again. Don't stand on ceremony. I won't mind. Do you want to touch my face? Is it a kiss you're after Willy? Or is it something else? I could have given you a hand. I did give you a hand. You were always in dire need of a hand Willy. I'll cheer you on. Have you gone off your head Willy? Out of your poor old wits Willy? Oh this is a happy day. This will have been another happy day. So far.