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The Sorrow of Sunset
- University of Minnesota Press
- Chapter
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The Sorrow of Sunset It was at sunset one day when Madame killed an iguana. She had a stone in one hand, and when she heard the rustling in the grass, she stopped and waited, without a sound. When the animal emerged out of the gloom, she was frightened at first by its size: shehadn't intended to kill such a big iguana, but with the aid of the stone she soon had it over on its back before it could bite her or run away. Once she'd killed the iguana with the stone, she turned it over on to its belly again, so that it would look as if it were still alive, sleeping in the grass, or on its way somewhere extremely slowly. She threw the sticky stone a long way away, and heard it crash into another one on the beach. On her way back, she nearly fell over a big iguana sleeping in the grass, whipped it over on its back with her bare hands, and discovered it was dead. On her way back to camp, she'd been going round in circles and returned to the exact spot where she'd killed the iguana. The third time it happened, she decided to scream. She gave a short, piercing scream and, immediately, someone came rushing through the grass;she could tell from the cracklingof the canvas 95 and the squeaking of the jackboot that it was the captain. She stood in front of the iguana so that he couldn't see it, wrapped her cloth sheet tightly around her as if she were cold, and when he arrived, said to him in a plaintive voice: 'Captain, help me down again, please. I suddenly feel unwell.' Without saying a word, they crossed over the grassy plateau, where the horizontal light of the setting sun was lighting up the grass panicles from underneath, so that they looked like lips,blood-red lips pursing to meet other lips. They emerged on to the cliff top, and Madame paused to enjoy the view down the path, over the beach, the ship, the sea, the horizon, which now seemed to be bulging under the weight of the sun. The rocks below them were gleaming red with a modest brick-like colour very familiar to her; large expanses of sea as still as water in a glass had assumed the same soothing hue, and the wavy columns of smoke coming from the fire on the beach also looked red. Asusual, the thin English girl was at the boxer's side, more interested in herself than in him. The captain's arm was resting gently on Madame's shoulder; she could feel its wretched inertness through the cloth, and put off by this sensation of coldness, she started on her way down in order to be alone at last. The small iguanas were scuttling around agilely at her feet, but she no longer had any feelings when it came to iguanas. Ignoring everybody's gaze, she made her way to her place by the fire, which was marked out by four thin lines she drew in the sand with her forefinger every morning in order to be alone. In order to be even more alone, she curled herself into a ball so that her face was hidden by her hands and her hands by 96 [52.55.55.239] Project MUSE (2024-03-28 10:14 GMT) her knees and her knees by the cloth. Thus ensured of her privacy, she felt as if she were sinking down from the world as if in a lift, confused and cluttered up with inessentials, sinking down into a necessary sorrow. The sorrow took possession of her, cleansing, vehement , untarnished now that the iguana had been killed, and precise and cruel in such a natural way that there was no room for any other thoughts. Pure sorrow is majestic in its ferocity, and for these brief moments in the sunset, she experienced all its necessary stages: the brief, stupefying paralysis when you think you've gasped the truth, although you know next to nothing about the truth asyet; something protests inside you and your heart suddenly feels staggeringly strong, as if it were beating outside your body somehow or other. Then the first tears come to your eyes, even though you're not actually crying and don't even want to cry. They are unusually big and hot as tears go, and if you tried...