glisten, and the light from the streetcars would glint off someone's shiny hair,

or off a smile or a silver bracelet. Soon afterwards, with the streetcars

running less often and the sky already blue above the trees and the lamps, the

neighborhood emptied out, almost imperceptibly, until the first cat slowly made

its way across the now deserted street. Then I thought maybe I ought to have

some dinner.' My neck was a little stiff from resting my chin on the back of the

chair for so long. I went downstairs to buy some bread and spa­ ghetti, did my

cooking, and ate standing up. I wanted to smoke a cigarette at the window, but

the air was getting colder and I felt a little chilled. I shut my windows, and

as I was coming back I glanced at the mirror and saw a corner of my table with

my alcohol lamp next to some pieces of bread. It occurred to me that anyway one

more Sunday was over, that Maman was buried now, that I was going back to work,

and that, really, nothing had changed.

 

3

 

I worked hard at the office today. The boss was nice. He asked me if I wasn't

too tired and he also wanted to know Maman's age. I said, "About sixty," so as

not to make a mistake; and I don't know why, but he seemed to be relieved

somehow and to consider the matter closed.

 

There was a stack of freight invoices that had piled up on my desk, and I had to

go through them all. Before leaving the office to go to lunch, I washed my

hands. I really like doing this at lunchtime. I don't enjoy it so much in the

evening, because the roller towel you use is soaked through : one towel has to