4
2
BOTTLE FOUND AT SEA*
Lost as I am by the edge of this profound lake in
which is mirrored an unknown sky, shall I ever attain
the linking of my existence with the human centuries
whose faint trail seems scarcely to penetrate these
.regions? Even the sense of time is forgotten : whether
I go toward yesterday or tomorrow, there is no way
of knowing. And these words suggest nothing more,
since it is impossible to tell whether the ages have
been arrested forever or whether their flight has been
hastened with the uniformly accelerated rapidity of a
body approaching the sun. If only I had a watch with
me to end this uncertainty. A diffuse light reigns
eternally over this world and the sun that is of space
as well as of time has deserted this immutable firmament.
The lovely liquid expanse which composes my horizon
rounds out toward the west and receives at the north
west a stream that flows from the north. As far as I
can ascertain with the aid of my compass, its direction
seems to be north-northeast by south-southwest. But
how to measure its extent? I have made the circum
ference of the lake several times without arriving at
even the haziest idea as to the year or minute of the
length of the voyage. At first glance I had estimated
the circumference to be a hundred miles. Later con
jectures brought this figure up from a hundred to a
hundred and fifty or a hundred and sixty miles. The
actual span must be somewhere between these two
numbers. Nor can the time that I place at the disposal
of this investigation serve as a yard-stick : it comprises
anything from a few sparse thoughts to a desert of
ennui and vexation. The beatings of my pulse inform
me no better, their irregularities born no doubt of
the helplessness in which I find myself to appraise
equivalents amid such astounding phenomena. The
vegetation in its development follows no habitual or
logical order of growth. There are trees here which
grow downward, flowers that give forth leaves, buds
that the wind carries off to make a carpet for me.
* Fragment from Telamaque, a novel to be published this
spring. Translated from the French by Will Bray.