| OCR Text |
Show DESPITE THE LIGHT, THE DARK He loosens the buckle and, stepping from his oants, falls onto the bed. A ceiling light flares as he lies with eyes open, too scared to sleep, afraid that when he wakes the empty chair in the corner or the bulbless bubble-lamp on the end-table will be gone. Blunt objects become faces and the bundled clothes, hunched, limbless bodies squatting in the shadows. The windows brush the darkened exterior of the house. Outside, the moonless sky is cradled by a ring of hills in the same way that the windows are cradled by the surrounding walls slowly entering the landscapes of the paintings they support, becoming the white sands of a distant desert or a snowdrift swelling along the sides of tool sheds at the mouth of a mine shaft. Despite the light, the dark windows, and the transformation |
