EARTH—THE EXPECTATION
THE AWAKENING OCCURRED WITH THE FEELING OF REMISSNESS: this too was a mere impression like his falling asleep, however it came abruptly, and feeling that someone was near his bed, he also felt that this would spell frustration for him; with the second prod of this sensation he crossed the sill of awareness, knowing that he should have rushed to the seashore at dawn to destroy the Aeneid, and that it had become too late to do this. And he fled back into sleep again to find the angel who had vanished, perhaps even hoping that the strange glance which he felt still resting on him might be his. He was certain it was not; all too surely he sensed the strangeness that stood next to him, and actually to frighten it away, even though still with a last spark of hope for the angel’s presence, he asked out of sleep: “Are you Lysanias?”
The answer was something unintelligible, uttered by a quite unfamiliar voice.
Something sighed in him. “You are not Lysanias … go away.”
“Master …,” came hesitantly, almost pleadingly.
“Later …”; the night must not end, he did not wish to see the light.
“Master, your friends have arrived … they are waiting …”
There was no help. And the light hurt. The cough was in his breast ready to break out and there was a risk involved in speaking.
“My friends?… which ones …?”
“Plotius Tucca and Lucius Varius have come from Rome just to greet you … they would like to see you before they are called before Caesar …”
The light hurt. Slanting from southward, the rays of the September sun cut sharply through the corner alcove, filling it with warmth, the light and warmth of a September morning, and the room although beyond reach of the sunrays was affected by them, having become sober-looking in the light, ugly in the heat: the dark floor of relucent mosaic was soiled, the tall candelabrum with its faded flowers and its burnt-down candles looked shoddy. Over there in the corner of the room stood the commode, a necessity and a temptation. Everything that could hurt began to hurt. The friends would have to wait. “First of all I must cleanse myself … help me.”
Death of Virgil Page 24
