Fariha’s Reviews > Near to the Wild Heart > Status Update

The girl stretched out on the bed, her eye vigilant in the waning light. The whitish bed swimming in the darkness. Weariness creeping inside her body, lucidity fleeing the dusk. Tattered dreams, awakening visions.

Now fully awake, should she so desire, Joana could relax a little, and relive her entire childhood...The outcome of those days when she had wandered to and fro, renouncing and loving the same things a thousand times over. The outcome of those nights, lived in darkness and silence, tiny stars twinkling on high.

But I am tired, despite my happiness today, a happiness which comes from who knows where, like that of a summer dawn. I am tired, I am now desperately tired! Let us weep together, softly. At having suffered, and let us continue to suffer sweetly. Let us sleep holding hands. The world goes round and somewhere there are things unknown to me. Let us sleep on God and on mystery, a quiet, fragile ship floating on the sea,

Who am I? Well, that is asking too much. I am reminded of a chromatic study by Bach and my intellect fails me. It is as cold and pure as ice, yet one can sleep on it.
I feel who I am and the impression is lodged in the upper part of my brain, on my lips — especially on my tongue — on the surface of my arms and is also coursing inside me, deep down inside my body, but where, precisely where, I cannot say.

Even in freedom, when she gladly chose new paths, she recognized them afterwards. To be free was to proceed in the end, and here once more is the path traced out.

In the first, in the final centre, the simple sensation without adjectives, blind as a rolling stone. In her imagination, for it alone has the power of evil, there is merely the vision enlarged and transformed: beneath it, the impassive truth.

To think now, for example, of fair streams. Precisely because fair streams don't exist, do you understand? this is how one escapes. Yes, but those streams gilded by the sun, are fair after a fashion...

She was happy that day and she also looked pretty. She was even a little feverish. Why this romanticism: a little feverish? But the truth is that I do have a little fever: bright eyes, this strength and weakness, irregular heart-beats. When the light breeze, the summer breeze, caught her body, she shivered all over with cold and heat.

I am more than my almost normal self— I possess a body and all that I might do is the continuation of my beginning;

The worst thing of all is that she could obliterate all her thoughts. Once erected, her thoughts were statues in the garden and she passed through, taking a good look as she went on her way.