The Unnamable (19 page)

that, it can only be that, what it is, what it can be, what what can be, what I seek,
no, what I hear, now it comes back to me, all back to me, they say I seek what it
is I hear, I hear them, now it comes back to me, what it can possibly be, and where
it can possibly come from, since all is silent here, and the walls thick, and how
I manage, without feeling an ear on me, or a head, or a body, or a soul, how I manage,
to do what, how I manage, it’s not clear, dear dear, you say it’s not clear, something
is wanting to make it clear, I’ll seek, what is wanting, to make everything clear,
I’m always seeking something, it’s tiring in the end, and it’s only the beginning,
how I manage, under such conditions, to do what I’m doing, what am I doing, I must
find out what I’m doing, tell me what you’re doing and I’ll ask you how it’s possible,
I hear, you say I hear, and that I seek, it’s a lie, I seek nothing, nothing any more,
no matter, let’s leave it, no harking, and that I seek, listen to them now, jogging
my memory, seek what, firstly what it is, secondly where it comes from, thirdly how
I manage, that’s it, now we’ve got it, thirdly how I manage, to do it, seeing that
this, considering that that, inasmuch as God knows what, that’s clear now, how I manage
to hear, and how I manage to understand, it’s a lie, what would I understand with,
that’s what I’m asking, how I manage to understand, oh not the half, nor the hundredth,
nor the five thousandth, let us go on dividing by fifty, nor the quarter millionth,
that’s enough, but a little nevertheless, it’s essential, it’s preferable, it’s a
pity, but there it is, just a little all the same, the least possible, it’s
appreciable
, it’s enough, the rough meaning of one expression in a thousand, in ten thousand,
let us go on multiplying by ten, nothing more restful than arithmetic, in a hundred
thousand, in a million, it’s too much, too little, we’ve gone wrong
somewhere
, no matter, there is no great difference here between one expression and the next,
when you’ve grasped one you’ve grasped them all, I am not in that fortunate position,
all, how you exaggerate, always out for the whole hog, the all of all and the all
of nothing, never in the happy golden, never, always, it’s too much, too little, often,
seldom, let me now sum up, after this
digression, there is I, yes, I feel it, I confess, I give in, there is I, it’s essential,
it’s preferable, I wouldn’t have said so, I won’t always say so, so let me hasten
to take advantage of being now obliged to say, in a manner of speaking, that there
is I, on the one hand, and this noise on the other, that I never doubted, no, let
us be logical, there was never any doubt about that, this noise, on the other, if
it is the other, that will very likely be the theme of our next deliberation, I sum
up, now that I’m there it’s I will do the summing up, it’s I will say what is to be
said and then say what it was, that will be jolly, I sum up, I and this noise, I see
nothing else for the moment, but I have only just taken over my functions, I and this
noise, and what about it, don’t interrupt me, I’m doing my best, I repeat, I and this
noise, on the subject of which, inverting the natural order, we would seem to know
for certain, among other things, what follows, namely, on the one hand, with regard
to the noise, that it has not been possible up to date to determine with certainty,
or even
approximately
, what it is, in the way of noise, or how it comes to me, or by what organ it is emitted,
or by what perceived, or by what intelligence apprehended, in its main drift, and
on the other, that is to say with regard to me, this is going to take a little longer,
with regard to me, nice time we’re going to have now, with regard to me, that it has
not yet been our good fortune to establish with any degree of accuracy what I am,
where I am, whether I am words among words, or silence in the midst of silence, to
recall only two of the hypotheses launched in this connection, though silence to tell
the truth does not appear to have been very conspicuous up to now, but appearances
may sometimes be deceptive, I resume, not yet our good fortune to establish, among
other things, what I am, no, sorry, already mentioned, what I’m doing, how I manage,
to hear, if I hear, if it’s I who hear, and who can doubt it, I don’t know, doubt
is present, in this connection, somewhere or other, I resume, how I manage to hear,
if it’s I who hear, and how to understand, ellipse when possible, it saves time, how
to understand, same observation, and how it happens, if it’s I who speak, and it may
be assumed it is, as it may be suspected it is not, how it happens, if it’s I who
speak, that I speak without ceasing, that I long to cease, that I can’t cease, I indicate
the principal divisions, it’s more synoptic, I resume, not the good fortune to establish,
with regard to me, if it’s I who seek, what exactly it is I seek, find, lose, find
again, throw away, seek again, find again, throw away again, no, I never threw anything
away, never threw anything away of all the things I found, never found anything that
I didn’t lose, never lost anything that I mightn’t as well have thrown away, if it’s
I who seek, find, lose, find again, lose again, seek in vain, seek no more, if it’s
I what it is, and if it’s not I who it is, and what it is, I see nothing else for
the moment, yes I do, I conclude, not the good fortune to establish, considering the
futility of my telling myself even any old thing, to pass the time, why I do it, if
it’s I who do it, as if reasons were required for doing any old thing, to pass the
time, no matter, the question may be asked, off the record, why time doesn’t pass,
doesn’t pass, from you, why it piles up all about you, instant on instant, on all
sides, deeper and deeper, thicker and thicker, your time, others’ time, the time of
the ancient dead and the dead yet unborn, why it buries you grain by grain neither
dead nor alive, with no memory of anything, no hope of anything, no
knowledge
of anything, no history and no prospects, buried under the seconds, saying any old
thing, your mouth full of sand, oh I know it’s immaterial, time is one thing, I another,
but the
question
may be asked, why time doesn’t pass, just like that, off the record, en passant,
to pass the time, I think that’s all, for the moment, I see nothing else, I see nothing
whatever, for the time being. But I really mustn’t ask myself any more questions,
if it’s I, I really must not. More resolutions, while we’re at it, that’s right, resolutely,
more resolutions. Make abundant use of the principle of parsimony, as if it were familiar
to me, it is not too late. Assume notably henceforward that the thing said and the
thing heard have a common source, resisting for this purpose the temptation to call
in question the possibility of assuming anything whatever. Situate this source in
me, without specifying
where exactly, no finicking, anything is preferable to the consciousness of third
parties and, more generally speaking, of an outer world. Carry if necessary this process
of compression to the point of abandoning all other postulates than that of a deaf
half-wit, hearing nothing of what he says and
understanding
even less. Evoke at painful junctures, when discouragement threatens to raise its
head, the image of a vast cretinous mouth, red, blubber and slobbering, in solitary
confinement, extruding indefatigably, with a noise of wet kisses and washing in a
tub, the words that obstruct it. Set aside once and for all, at the same time as the
analogy with orthodox damnation, all idea of
beginning
and end. Overcome, that goes without saying, the fatal leaning towards expressiveness.
Equate me, without pity or scruple, with him who exists, somehow, no matter how, no
finicking, with him whose story this story had the brief ambition to be. Better, ascribe
to me a body. Better still, arrogate to me a mind. Speak of a world of my own, sometimes
referred to as the inner, without choking. Doubt no more. Seek no more. Take advantage
of the brand-new soul and substantiality to abandon, with the only possible abandon,
deep down within. And finally, these and other decisions having been taken, carry
on cheerfully as before. Something has changed nevertheless. Not a word about Mahood,
or Worm, for the past – ah yes, I nearly forgot, speak of time, without flinching,
and what is more, it just occurs to me, by a natural association of ideas, treat of
space with the same easy grace, as if it were not bunged up on all sides, a few inches
away, after all that’s something, a few inches, to be
thankful
for, it gives one air, room for the tongue to loll, to have lolled, to loll on. When
I think, that is to say, no, let it stand, when I think of the time I’ve wasted with
these bran-dips, beginning with Murphy, who wasn’t even the first, when I had me,
on the premises, within easy reach, tottering under my own skin and bones, real ones,
rotting with solitude and neglect, till I doubted my own existence, and even still,
today, I have no faith in it, none, so that I have to say, when I speak, Who speaks,
and seek, and so on and similarly for all the other things that
happen to me and for which someone must be found, for things that happen must have
someone to happen to, someone must stop them. But Murphy and the others, and last
but not least the two old buffers here present, could not stop them, the things that
happened to me, nothing could happen to them, of the things that happened to me, and
nothing else either, there is nothing else, let us be lucid for once, nothing else
but what happens to me, such as speaking, and such as seeking, and which cannot happen
to me, which prowl round me, like bodies in torment, the torment of no abode, no repose,
no, like hyenas, screeching and laughing, no, no better, no matter, I’ve shut my doors
against them, I’m not at home to anything, my doors are shut against them, perhaps
that’s how I’ll find silence, and peace at last, by opening my doors and letting myself
be devoured, they’ll stop howling, they’ll start eating, the maws now howling. Open
up, open up, you’ll be all right, you’ll see. What a joy it is, to turn and look astern,
between two visits to the depths, scan in vain the horizon for a sail, it’s a real
pleasure, upon my word it is, to be unable to drown, under such conditions. Yes, but
there it is, I am far from my doors, far from my walls, someone would have to wake
the turnkey, there must be one somewhere, far from my subject too, let us get back
to it, it’s gone, no longer there where I thought I last saw it, strange this mixture
of solid and liquid, where was I, ah yes, my subject, no longer there, or no longer
the same, or I mistake the place, no, yes, it’s the same, still there, in the same
place, it’s a pity, I would have liked to lose it, I would have liked to lose me,
lose me the way I could long ago, when I still had some imagination, close my eyes
and be in a wood, or on the seashore, or in a town where I don’t know anyone, it’s
night, everyone has gone home, I walk the streets, I lash into them one after the
other, it’s the town of my youth, I’m looking for my mother to kill her, I should
have thought of that a bit earlier, before being born, it’s raining, I’m all right,
I stride along on the crown of the street with great yaws to left and right, now that’s
all over, with closed eyes I see the same as with them open, namely, wait, I’ll say
it, I’ll try and say it, I’m curious
to know what it can possibly be that I see, with closed eyes, with open eyes, nothing,
I see nothing, well that is a disappointment, I was hoping for something better than
that, is that what it is to be unable to lose yourself, I’m asking myself a question,
is that what it is, to see nothing, no matter where I look, nor, eyeless, the little
creature in his different guises coming and going, now in shadow, now in light, doing
his best, seeking the means of staying among the living, of getting off with his life,
or shut up looking out of the window at the ever-changing, is that it, to be unable
to lose myself, I don’t know, what did I see in the old days, when I ventured a quick
look, I don’t know, I don’t remember. There I am in any case equipped with eyes, which
I open and shut, two, perhaps blue, knowing it avails nothing, for I have a head now
too, where all manner of things are known, can it be of me I’m speaking, is it possible,
of course not, that’s another thing I know, I’ll speak of me when I speak no more.
In any case it’s not a question of speaking of me, but of speaking, of speaking no
more, this slight confusion augurs well, now I’ll have to find a name for this latest
surrogate, his head splitting with vile certainties and his doll’s eyes, later on,
later on, first I must describe him in greater detail, see what he’s capable of, whence
he comes and whither he returns, in his head of course, we don’t intend to relapse
into picaresque, with the stink of Mahood and Worm still in our nostrils. Now it’s
I the orator, the beleaguerers have departed, I am master on board, after the rats,
I no longer crawl between the thwarts, under the moon, in the shadow of the lash,
strange this mixture of solid and liquid, a little air now is all we need to complete
the elements, no, I’m forgetting fire, unusual hell when you come to think of it,
perhaps it’s paradise, perhaps it’s the earth, perhaps it’s the shores of a lake beneath
the earth, you scarcely breathe, but you breathe, it’s not certain, you see nothing,
hear nothing, you hear the long kiss of dead water and mud, aloft at less than a score
of fathoms men come and go, you dream of them, in your long dream there’s a place
for the waking, you wonder how you know all you know, you even see grass, grass at
dawn, glaucous with
dew, not so blind as all that my eyes, they’re not mine, mine are done, they don’t
even weep any more, they open and shut by the force of habit, fifteen minutes exposure,
fifteen minutes shutter, like the owl cooped in the grotto in Battersea Park, ah misery,
will I never stop wanting a life for myself? No no, no head either, anything you like,
but not a head, in his head he doesn’t go anywhere either, I’ve tried, lashed to the
stake, blindfold, gagged to the gullet, you take the air, under the elms in se, murmuring
Shelley, impervious to the shafts. Yes, a head, but solid, solid bone, and you imbedded
in it, like a fossil in the rock. Perhaps there go I after all. I can’t go on in any
case. But I must go on. So I’ll go on. Air, air, I’ll seek air, air in time, the air
of time, and in space, in my head, that’s how I’ll go on. All very fine, but the voice
is failing, it’s the first time, no, I’ve been through that, it has even stopped,
many a time, that’s how it will end again, I’ll go silent, for want of air, then the
voice will come back and I’ll begin again. My voice. The voice. I hardly hear it any
more. I’m going silent. Hearing this voice no more, that’s what I call going silent.
That is to say I’ll hear it still, if I listen hard. I’ll listen hard. Listening hard,
that’s what I call going silent. I’ll hear it still, broken, faint, unintelligible,
if I listen hard. Hearing it still, without hearing what it says, that’s what I call
going silent. Then it will flare up, like a kindling fire, a dying fire, Mahood explained
that to me, and I’ll emerge from silence. Hearing too little to be able to speak,
that’s my silence. That is to say I never stop speaking, but sometimes too low, too
far away, too far within, to hear, no, I hear, to understand, not that I ever understand.
It fades, it goes in, behind the door, I’m going silent, there’s going to be silence,
I’ll listen, it’s worse than speaking, no, no worse, no better. Unless this time it’s
the true silence, the one I’ll never have to break any more, when I won’t have to
listen any more, when I can dribble in my corner, my head gone, my tongue dead, the
one I have tried to earn, that I thought I could earn. I’m going to stop, that is
to say I’m going to look as if I had, it will be like everything else. As if anyone
were looking at me! As if it were I! It will be the same silence,