Читать книгу The Favourite Game - Leonard Cohen - Страница 27

Breavman and Shell were beside the lake. The evening mist was piling up along the opposite shore like dunes of sand. They lay in a double sleeping bag beside the fire, which was built of driftwood they had gathered that afternoon. He wanted to tell her everything.

‘I still do.’

‘Me too,’ she said.

‘I read that Rousseau did right to the end of his life. I guess a certain kind of creative person is like that. He works all day to discipline his imagination so it’s there he’s most at home. No real corporeal woman can give him the pleasure of his own creations. Shell, don’t let me scare you with what I’m saying.’

‘But doesn’t it separate us completely?’

They held hands tightly and watched the stars in the dark part of the sky; where the moon was bright they were obliterated. She told him she loved him.

A loon went insane in the middle of the lake.