There were those who suspected that he was not pinned under his wagon but swept out to sea, with the secrets of his life forever inside him, like a love note in a bottle, to be found one morning by an unsuspecting couple on a romantic beach stroll. It’s possible that he, or some part of him, washed up on the sands of the Black sea, or in Rio, or that he made it all the way to Ellis Island.
Or perhaps a widow found him and took him in, bought him an easy chair, changed his sweater every morning, shaved his face until the hair stopped growing, took him faithfully to bed with her every night, whispered sweet nothings into what was left of his ear, laughed with him over black coffee, cried with him over yellowing pictures, talked greenly about having kids of her own, began to miss him before she became sick, left him everything in her will, thought of only him as she died, always knew he was a fiction but believed in him anyway.
Everything is Illuminated, Jonathan Safran Foer, p 15
14. März 2006 08:57 Uhr. Kategorie Buch. Keine Antwort.
