Cosmos Page #5

- Mother loved Gombrowicz.

- Another acquaintance?

I can well imagine a decent touch

or an indecent one,

libertarian, furious, even brutal,

because why would regular hands

not touch each other in irregular ways?

Pretty boy, Grard Philippe.

To think that she lets herself go

regardless

to worsen the indecency...

If he had just hooked a finger

on her finger

it would have been enough for both

to attain the supreme licentiousness.

Supreme licentiousness.

That sounds good.

One evening,

do you remember?

We were drifting in silence.

- What?

- The corner.

- What?

- What do you see?

Nothing.

This straight line behind the island

and the triangle close to the isthmus.

- Isth... what?

- Isthmus.

- Remind you of anything?

- No.

It looks like an arrow.

The offshoots are flakes from the damp.

This line, so straight.

It wasn't there when we arrived.

There was a spider...

A spider in your brain!

It looks like the arrow

in the dining room.

What dining room?

The one from just now, dammit.

Pointing through the ceiling.

I see a rake.

A rake, why not.

If it's an arrow, then it was carved

recently. I can smell it.

Smell, you? You're drenched

in this nauseating perfume.

Ralph and Lang. Monsieur Lucien

found it very good on me.

I'd remind you, sir, that "Nausea"

is a book that you recommended.

- No cat walks?

- Weather's bad.

- Not going out?

- No.

At least you'll stay in one piece.

Passing a threshold...

The two fishes. Why not three?

Oh my.

We forgot to close the kitchen door

and Mrs Woytis cannot stand noises

in the morning.

The day will be radiant.

Lena and Lucien are already...

at their house. To oversee the work.

Bom dia.

We could check

where your arrows are pointing.

They're not mine.

- And your sparrow?

- Not my sparrow!

Whose then?

I'm an expert in human passions.

A rake.

We need a rake.

I'll be right back.

Hold it.

Don't let go.

Got it.

Wood hanged -

one doesn't see that everyday.

Chance, the wind...

But the birdies sacrificed,

the sparrow put on show...

It moves me.

I will write it.

- Why?

- Someone is screwing with us.

- What if this was just a novel?

- Novel?

Hang a sparrow, draw arrows,

hang a piece of wood?

- Well, the rake took us somewhere.

- To a charade.

A leaning for symmetry,

a kind of confusing signal...

I'm looking better.

It's someone from the house.

The sparrow

reinforced by the piece of wood.

Now you've lost me.

A wacko, yes.

Oh no.

So much effort for such a refined joke?

How many unnoticed signs

in the natural order of things?

- Stupid jerk.

- You say? He says?

He's breathing.

- A swim?

- It's raining.

Rain, that? Ha!

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