842. THE DIRECTOR REACHED A HUNDRED

THE DIRECTOR
REACHED A HUNDRED
Not without a doubt did the circus-lines
cross and the old, foul man come stumbling
in. At five-fifteen I sat on a bench. Two
men like that who were hiding. All
Life is a mystery to me.
-
The bus - a town bus, local - ran by
secreting tears and noise. Windows
pinched out little faces looking this
way and that. The federation of
trees around me winced : 'these are
all such simple people', I thought,
complexly, to myself.
-
I want to ask the finance man why he exists.
'Little fellow next to me, let me comment
on your eyes. Each day another newspaper,
another set of numbers, another peek at
such unreal figures? No? Have we not yet
reached an end? For this is a sadness
I too am part of.'
-
The circus lines (this time, this tiny circus),
are taken down, and the tent falls in the
old man's eyes. Yes! Yes! The tent falls
in the old man's eyes, (which now are
both gently closed).