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- Джон Фоулз
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- Коллекционер
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Things
he
says
.
They
shock
you
,
but
you
remember
them
.
They
stick
.
Hard
,
meant
to
last
.
I
’
ve
been
doing
skyscapes
all
day
.
I
just
draw
a
line
an
inch
from
the
bottom
.
That
’
s
the
earth
.
Then
I
think
of
nothing
but
the
sky
.
June
sky
,
December
,
August
,
spring
-
rain
,
thunder
,
dawn
,
dusk
.
I
’
ve
done
dozens
of
skies
.
Pure
sky
,
nothing
else
.
Just
the
simple
line
and
the
skies
above
.
A
strange
thought
:
I
would
not
want
this
not
to
have
happened
.
Because
if
I
escape
I
shall
be
a
completely
different
and
I
think
better
person
.
Because
if
I
don
’
t
escape
,
if
something
dreadful
happened
,
I
shall
still
know
that
the
person
I
was
and
would
have
stayed
if
this
hadn
’
t
happened
was
not
the
person
I
now
want
to
be
.
It
’
s
like
firing
a
pot
.
You
have
to
risk
the
cracking
and
the
warping
.
Caliban
’
s
very
quiet
.
A
sort
of
truce
.
I
’
m
going
to
ask
to
go
up
tomorrow
.
I
want
to
see
if
he
’
s
actually
doing
anything
.
Today
I
asked
him
to
bind
me
and
gag
me
and
let
me
sit
at
the
foot
of
the
cellar
steps
with
the
door
out
open
.
In
the
end
he
agreed
.
So
I
could
look
up
and
see
the
sky
.
A
pale
grey
sky
.
I
saw
birds
fly
across
,
pigeons
,
I
think
.
I
heard
outside
sounds
.
This
is
the
first
proper
daylight
I
’
ve
seen
for
two
months
.
It
lived
.
It
made
me
cry
.
December
6th
I
’
ve
been
up
for
a
bath
and
we
’
ve
been
looking
at
the
room
I
shall
occupy
.
He
has
done
some
things
.
He
’
s
going
to
see
if
he
can
’
t
find
an
antique
Windsor
chair
.
I
drew
it
for
him
.
