THE GREAT PASSION AND ITS CONTEXT

She bears the problems inherent in her circumstance that are not suddenly in short supply and she sways while guessing who really looks at her impatiently while she faces all of the faces—the multiple rows of the pairs of persons—the prime examples in the train aisle.

She has her shoes back on, because she had to get up to dispose of her lunchtime detritus. But fortunately she did not fall onto the passenger next to her, that man, when she returned.

They are passing through a city center with turn-of-the-century-style lanterns and ice skaters who put their feet down, somewhat decisively, all over a rink!

Some of their legs are bowed and there are the curvilinear, stylized profiles of their legs exemplifying natural organic forms, but they’re none of them hobbling.

This woman’s foot was recently injured and many weeks’ rest were required before she had the rapture of standing on it—in strict accordance with the doctor’s instructions.

Oh, cover my mouth!—she thinks, as her wet nose, while she coughs, finds her forearm. And although she is usually an irate parent, she has her share of lovesick feelings, especially during intervals of freedom from her toddlers, such as this one.

She feels the onset of arousal, of genital swelling that is triggered by no one in particular and she has the inability to think normally.

What’s still to come?—a warm flat landscape?—a shallow swimming pool?—the complete ruin of her health?—her absolute devotion to anyone?

The top of the woman’s foot is still puffy and she has had quarrels at home every day this week and she goes to sleep distraught.

With dexterity, she had managed the bundling of her lunchtime cardboard tray, some cellophane and the napkin and a waxy cup.

Children, who belong to another woman three rows up ahead, are singing a duet—two boys—in unison, and then in contrary motion. They offer their share of resistance to you name it!—in a remote and difficult key, and in poor taste artistically.