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Seeds planted by dead men
I am weary and want to be made clean
Created on 2004-03-31 02:46:30 (#2681575), last updated 2005-12-07
631 comments received, 535 comments posted
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157 Journal Entries, 0 Tags, 0 Memories, 0 Virtual Gifts, 3 Userpics
Basic Info| Name: | _roomwithaview |
|---|---|
| Website: | my Myspace profile |
Bio Yesterday I saw LeRoy and he talked to me again of the woman and her strange and terrible fate. We walked in the park by the lake. As we went along the figure of the woman kept coming into my mind. An idea came to me.
"You might have been her lover," I said. "That was possible. She was not afraid of you."
LeRoy stopped. Like the doctor who was so sure of his ability to walk into lives he grew angry and scolded. For a moment he stared at me and then a rather odd thing happened. Words said by the other man in the dusty road in the hills came to LeRoy's lips and were said over again. The suggestion of a sneer played about the corners of his mouth. "How smart we are. How aptly we put things," he said.
The voice of the young man who walked with me in the park by the lake in the city became shrill. I sensed the weariness in him. Then he laughed and said quietly, "It isn't so simple. By being sure of yourself you are in danger of losing all of the romance in life. You miss the whole point. Nothing in live can be settled so definitely. The woman--you see--was like a young tree choked by a climbing vine. The thing that wrapped her about had shut out the light. She was a grotesque as many trees in the forest are grotesques. Her problem was such a difficult one that thinking of it has changed the whole current in my life. At first I was like you. I was quite sure. I thought I would be her lover and settle the matter."
LeRoy turned and walked a little away. Then he came back and took hold of my arm. A passionate earnestness took posession of him. His voice trembled. "She needed a lover and at the same time a lover was not what she needed. The need of a lover was, after all, a quite secondary thing. She needed to be loved, to be long and quietly and patiently loved. To be sure she is a grotesque, but then all the people of the world are grotesques. We all need to be loved. What would cure her would cure the rest of us, also. The disease she had is, you see, universal. We all want to be loved and the world has no plan for creating our lovers."
[Sherwood Anderson] [Seeds]
"You might have been her lover," I said. "That was possible. She was not afraid of you."
LeRoy stopped. Like the doctor who was so sure of his ability to walk into lives he grew angry and scolded. For a moment he stared at me and then a rather odd thing happened. Words said by the other man in the dusty road in the hills came to LeRoy's lips and were said over again. The suggestion of a sneer played about the corners of his mouth. "How smart we are. How aptly we put things," he said.
The voice of the young man who walked with me in the park by the lake in the city became shrill. I sensed the weariness in him. Then he laughed and said quietly, "It isn't so simple. By being sure of yourself you are in danger of losing all of the romance in life. You miss the whole point. Nothing in live can be settled so definitely. The woman--you see--was like a young tree choked by a climbing vine. The thing that wrapped her about had shut out the light. She was a grotesque as many trees in the forest are grotesques. Her problem was such a difficult one that thinking of it has changed the whole current in my life. At first I was like you. I was quite sure. I thought I would be her lover and settle the matter."
LeRoy turned and walked a little away. Then he came back and took hold of my arm. A passionate earnestness took posession of him. His voice trembled. "She needed a lover and at the same time a lover was not what she needed. The need of a lover was, after all, a quite secondary thing. She needed to be loved, to be long and quietly and patiently loved. To be sure she is a grotesque, but then all the people of the world are grotesques. We all need to be loved. What would cure her would cure the rest of us, also. The disease she had is, you see, universal. We all want to be loved and the world has no plan for creating our lovers."
[Sherwood Anderson] [Seeds]
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