2 RECORDS OF AN INCITEMENT TO SILENCE
1 I woke in the night and struggled to find the light switch, my glasses, a pen. I wrote: It was as if all sounds and smells were smells and sounds of you. I kept looking back. Did I not want to leave? Did I already regret the journey I was embarking on? Did I fear I would never pass this way again? Was I expecting someone to appear on the quayside to wave me away or call me back? I wrote only sonnets. They seemed to fit the shape of my complaint. 2 A truck was broken down at the side of the road, its cab folded forward to expose the steaming engine. The driver was crouching with his eyes shut in the low shade of a banana tree. 3 For several years I lived in a city in the South. Its people had a reputation for great warmth. The climate of the gulf it clings to had given them every reason to be open-hearted and optimistic. The furtive corruption of their officials went unremarked. There was a uniformed guard with a submachine gun at the door of every bank. All was for the best.