SUNDAY READING | JUSTINE BY LAWRENCE DURRELL
...AND THEN IN AUTUMN THE DRY, PALPITANT AIR, HARSH WITH STATIC ELECTRICITY, INFLAMING THE BODY THROUGH ITS LIGHT CLOTHING. THE FLESH COMING ALIVE, TRYING THE BARS OF ITS PRISON. A DRUNKEN WHORE WALKS IN A DARK STREET AT NIGHT, SHEDDING SNATCHES OF SONG LIKE PETALS. WAS IT IN THIS THAT ANTHONY HEARD THE HEART-NUMBING STRAINS OF THE GREAT MUSIC WHICH PERSUADED HIM TO SURRENDER FOR EVER TO THE CITY HE LOVED?
THE SULKING BODIES OF THE YOUNG BEGIN TO HUNT FOR A FELLOW NAKEDNESS, AND IN THOSE LITTLE CAFéS WHERE BALTHAZAR WENT SO OFTEN WITH THE OLD POET OF THE CITY, THE BOYS STIR UNEASILY AT THEIR BACKGAMMON UNDER THE PETROL-LAMPS: DISTURBED BY THIS DRY DESERT WIND— SO UNROMANTIC, SO UNCONFIDING– STIR, and TURN TO WATCH EVERY STRANGER. THEY STRUGGLE FOR BREATH AND IN EVERY SUMMER KISS THEY CAN DETECT THE TASTE OF QUICKLIME...
/ justine, from the alexandria quartet BY LAWRENCE DURRELL
THE SULKING BODIES OF THE YOUNG BEGIN TO HUNT FOR A FELLOW NAKEDNESS, AND IN THOSE LITTLE CAFéS WHERE BALTHAZAR WENT SO OFTEN WITH THE OLD POET OF THE CITY, THE BOYS STIR UNEASILY AT THEIR BACKGAMMON UNDER THE PETROL-LAMPS: DISTURBED BY THIS DRY DESERT WIND— SO UNROMANTIC, SO UNCONFIDING– STIR, and TURN TO WATCH EVERY STRANGER. THEY STRUGGLE FOR BREATH AND IN EVERY SUMMER KISS THEY CAN DETECT THE TASTE OF QUICKLIME...
/ justine, from the alexandria quartet BY LAWRENCE DURRELL