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Life
is
fun
with
Dick
—
the
people
in
deck
chairs
look
at
us
,
and
a
woman
is
trying
to
hear
what
we
are
singing
.
Dick
is
tired
of
singing
it
,
so
go
on
alone
,
Dick
.
You
will
walk
differently
alone
,
dear
,
through
a
thicker
atmosphere
,
forcing
your
way
through
the
shadows
of
chairs
,
through
the
dripping
smoke
of
the
funnels
.
You
will
feel
your
own
reflection
sliding
along
the
eyes
of
those
who
look
at
you
.
You
are
no
longer
insulated
;
but
I
suppose
you
must
touch
life
in
order
to
spring
from
it
.
Sitting
on
the
stanchion
of
this
life
-
boat
I
look
seaward
and
let
my
hair
blow
and
shine
.
I
am
motionless
against
the
sky
and
the
boat
is
made
to
carry
my
form
onward
into
the
blue
obscurity
of
the
future
,
I
am
Pallas
Athene
carved
reverently
on
the
front
of
a
galley
.
The
waters
are
lapping
in
the
public
toilets
and
the
agate
green
foliage
of
spray
changes
and
complains
about
the
stern
.
.
.
.
We
travelled
a
lot
that
year
—
from
Woolloomooloo
Bay
to
Biskra
.
On
the
edge
of
the
Sahara
we
ran
into
a
plague
of
locusts
and
the
chauffeur
explained
kindly
that
they
were
bumble
-
bees
.
The
sky
was
low
at
night
,
full
of
the
presence
of
a
strange
and
watchful
God
.
Oh
,
the
poor
little
naked
Ouled
Naïl
;
the
night
was
noisy
with
drums
from
Senegal
and
flutes
and
whining
camels
,
and
the
natives
pattering
about
in
shoes
made
of
old
automobile
tires
.
But
I
was
gone
again
by
that
time
—
trains
and
beaches
they
were
all
one
.
That
was
why
he
took
me
travelling
but
after
my
second
child
,
my
little
girl
,
Topsy
,
was
born
everything
got
dark
again
.
.
.
.
If
I
could
get
word
to
my
husband
who
has
seen
fit
to
desert
me
here
,
to
leave
me
in
the
hands
of
incompetents
.
You
tell
me
my
baby
is
black
—
that
’
s
farcical
,
that
’
s
very
cheap
.
We
went
to
Africa
merely
to
see
Timgad
,
since
my
principal
interest
in
life
is
archeology
.
I
am
tired
of
knowing
nothing
and
being
reminded
of
it
all
the
time
.
.
.
.
When
I
get
well
I
want
to
be
a
fine
person
like
you
,
Dick
—
I
would
study
medicine
except
it
’
s
too
late
.
We
must
spend
my
money
and
have
a
house
—
I
’
m
tired
of
apartments
and
waiting
for
you
.
You
’
re
bored
with
Zurich
and
you
can
’
t
find
time
for
writing
here
and
you
say
that
it
’
s
a
confession
of
weakness
for
a
scientist
not
to
write
.
And
I
’
ll
look
over
the
whole
field
of
knowledge
and
pick
out
something
and
really
know
about
it
,
so
I
’
ll
have
it
to
hang
on
to
if
I
go
to
pieces
again
.
You
’
ll
help
me
,
Dick
,
so
I
won
’
t
feel
so
guilty
.
We
’
ll
live
near
a
warm
beach
where
we
can
be
brown
and
young
together
.
.
.
.
This
is
going
to
be
Dick
’
s
work
house
.
Oh
,
the
idea
came
to
us
both
at
the
same
moment
.
We
had
passed
Tarmes
a
dozen
times
and
we
rode
up
here
and
found
the
houses
empty
,
except
two
stables
.
When
we
bought
we
acted
through
a
Frenchman
but
the
navy
sent
spies
up
here
in
no
time
when
they
found
that
Americans
had
bought
part
of
a
hill
village
.
They
looked
for
cannons
all
through
the
building
material
,
and
finally
Baby
had
to
twitch
wires
for
us
at
the
Affaires
Etrangères
in
Paris
.
No
one
comes
to
the
Riviera
in
summer
,
so
we
expect
to
have
a
few
guests
and
to
work
.
There
are
some
French
people
here
—
Mistinguet
last
week
,
surprised
to
find
the
hotel
open
,
and
Picasso
and
the
man
who
wrote
Pas
sur
la
Bouche
.
