Sisyphus
est l'histoire d'un homme qui se met au travers d'une tempete de neige dans la veine tentative d'atteindre une destination qu'il n'a pas l'espoir de pouvoir jamais rejoindre, mais toujours il essaye...
He returned again. Tightly gripping a mug in his hand, he opened the door. There was a strong blizzard outside. His way led through the whirlwind of snow. And that cold. It was the lowest temperature ever. Frost could be smelled, for his nose hardly took icy air into the lungs. He was not warm dressed for the journey but he was good dressed. A long, black coat that is rather worn in autumn and a cap with ear-protectors, a Siberian type. The leather on his boots was cracking and he could feel that his feet were freezing. One would observe that his trousers looked as if made of fragile material. If touched, they would crumble and shatter into small pieces. Dry snow screech under the sole.
He put the cup on the fridge and reached for a bag of tea. Then he poured some boiling water into the cup (smiling Piglet was walking around the cup) and squeezed a lemon, just a bit. Just for the taste. When Piglet was steaming with hot tea, he lighted a Chesterton, took a deep breath inhaling the smoke and produced a puff with a sigh of relief. His face resembled an arctic iceberg, the one mountaineers have after having experienced hard routes on the Arctic Circle. Frost on his beard gave a tinge of nobility. His face was so rigid because of cold that the only facial expression he got was but a smile. He could not change it due to freezing wind he fought with outside.
When he was finished with the duality of his standard procedures, he uttered:
‘And I’m off!’
and a blast of icy wind got through the threshold as he opened the door. With the cup of tea and a lighted Chesterton, he set off on his journey toward the Nord. He knew that the less he inhaled, the farther point he would reach. He also bore in mind that the cup of tea had its finite content and the fewer gulps he took, the less he would have to inhale and the fewer puffs, the fewer gulps. And the fewer puffs and gulps, the nearer it is to the aim of the journey. And the aim was always at the hand. When the point was close, he would feel it. But the closer he was, the more he doubted. ‘Will I get to the point this time? Will my fuel suffice? How long do I still have to go?’
The wind was almost blowing off his face. The frozen drops of water hit his cheeks, puncturing and cutting his jubilant visage. Many miles have passed, his muscles began to get tired and the body suffered. His step slowed demanding a force he no longer possessed. But his bare hands still held Piglet cup and a glowing Chesterton. He watched out not to let the tea freeze in the cup and to keep his smouldering cigarette going.
When the place was within his reach (he could feel it), he suddenly enlivened himself. Though the blizzard was severe and it was hard to see anything, the power and energy filled his organic system. The goal was near, he could almost touch the place. A few steps and he’s there. Joy struck his heart. He was almost there!
But it was a short-term happiness. He looked at his cup and saw it empty. He wanted to take a puff but the Chesterton was now only a fag-end. He was smiling due to the incapability of changing his facial expression but in the heart he cried. Once again he failed. The way he had walked ended in a downfall. He held his expired Chesterton and could see the bottom of the cup. He had to go to the base. Once again.
On the way back, as usual, he reconsidered the plan. Fewer puffs, fewer gulps. One puff a minute, no, one puff per three minutes. He pondered about the ideal solution.
‘Three gulps per five minutes or maybe one and a half per six minutes?’ – he wondered being not sure whether this was his last decision or the fifth before the last one. The spirit of the challenge pushed him forward, so he headed for another cup of tea and a next Chesterton. And when he reached the base, once again he collected the two necessary items and tried again to finish his journey, though the journey was never to be finished.
‘This time I’m gonna make it. This time be my success’ – he repeated. ‘And I’m off!’
He closed the door and went off heading the Nord, heading the night.
He put the cup on the fridge and reached for a bag of tea. Then he poured some boiling water into the cup (smiling Piglet was walking around the cup) and squeezed a lemon, just a bit. Just for the taste. When Piglet was steaming with hot tea, he lighted a Chesterton, took a deep breath inhaling the smoke and produced a puff with a sigh of relief. His face resembled an arctic iceberg, the one mountaineers have after having experienced hard routes on the Arctic Circle. Frost on his beard gave a tinge of nobility. His face was so rigid because of cold that the only facial expression he got was but a smile. He could not change it due to freezing wind he fought with outside.
When he was finished with the duality of his standard procedures, he uttered:
‘And I’m off!’
and a blast of icy wind got through the threshold as he opened the door. With the cup of tea and a lighted Chesterton, he set off on his journey toward the Nord. He knew that the less he inhaled, the farther point he would reach. He also bore in mind that the cup of tea had its finite content and the fewer gulps he took, the less he would have to inhale and the fewer puffs, the fewer gulps. And the fewer puffs and gulps, the nearer it is to the aim of the journey. And the aim was always at the hand. When the point was close, he would feel it. But the closer he was, the more he doubted. ‘Will I get to the point this time? Will my fuel suffice? How long do I still have to go?’
The wind was almost blowing off his face. The frozen drops of water hit his cheeks, puncturing and cutting his jubilant visage. Many miles have passed, his muscles began to get tired and the body suffered. His step slowed demanding a force he no longer possessed. But his bare hands still held Piglet cup and a glowing Chesterton. He watched out not to let the tea freeze in the cup and to keep his smouldering cigarette going.
When the place was within his reach (he could feel it), he suddenly enlivened himself. Though the blizzard was severe and it was hard to see anything, the power and energy filled his organic system. The goal was near, he could almost touch the place. A few steps and he’s there. Joy struck his heart. He was almost there!
But it was a short-term happiness. He looked at his cup and saw it empty. He wanted to take a puff but the Chesterton was now only a fag-end. He was smiling due to the incapability of changing his facial expression but in the heart he cried. Once again he failed. The way he had walked ended in a downfall. He held his expired Chesterton and could see the bottom of the cup. He had to go to the base. Once again.
On the way back, as usual, he reconsidered the plan. Fewer puffs, fewer gulps. One puff a minute, no, one puff per three minutes. He pondered about the ideal solution.
‘Three gulps per five minutes or maybe one and a half per six minutes?’ – he wondered being not sure whether this was his last decision or the fifth before the last one. The spirit of the challenge pushed him forward, so he headed for another cup of tea and a next Chesterton. And when he reached the base, once again he collected the two necessary items and tried again to finish his journey, though the journey was never to be finished.
‘This time I’m gonna make it. This time be my success’ – he repeated. ‘And I’m off!’
He closed the door and went off heading the Nord, heading the night.
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