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French adaptation in verse, introduction and notes by Benito Pelegrin.Livre nine.

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Ashes to ashes

Before, she was sometimes asked, it probably happens to everybody, to ask, it probably more, but it was not like before, it's brushed, slowly, there was something a little warm, pleasant, to wonder and to imagine that ? perhaps she too had imagined, although it was still barely, vaguely, in those moments when she allowed herself to wander without thinking about anything, without his thinking can be fixed, really, on something, maybe it was too, by dint imagine it happens - maybe it was already a little weird, this curiosity to wonder who ? , and then finally now it was more like, at all, this was not the same question, she was taken as something in the belly, as the urge to vomit, and her hands were clenched on the sheet and she seemed to feel the ice cold liquid flowing in his veins, very strong, and well up at the same time against his temples, pulse who? who? who?

In a way it was the wrong question, but it mattered little, because the pulsations may be, that were not false at all, who were even too real to explode in his head regularly, as if someone knocked on the inside more and harder without getting tired, and it takes the form of a question, it grows from the inside as a question, like a cry incessantly, it did not matter after all. It was always the same night, unable to know if it really was night or day already, she hoped the day, sleeping at times, at best a half-hour, but it was already it was better than the sleepless night, and feel of the night - the feeling that there was at that time person.

In a sense, it was still an issue, even if they were all there, without exception, it had not really imagined it would be so, they would all be there, that they are all, in one way or another, affected a little, - she had to say that some would be devastated, and most indifferent, but it was not all that, she said, in the darkness, with the beat in the head, that they were more like a lack at all, yes, something is missing, more or less intense, but after all, if it was really finished, it is only this lack, distributed everywhere, in every one of them - there had this image of dust and ashes which she could to get rid of, Ashes to ashes and dust to dust, that whirled him in the head all the time, and she said she would do this, engulfed in dust them in an empty space somewhere in them, but after all, nobody would be devastated, as no one forget, it was not light enough or heavy enough, in between - it would be a blowing ash dispersed in all, everyone has a little but too much whole person. At times it made her very quiet, to say they were all there, and then sometimes it was as if his head would crack under the blows, dissolving in a way, and then she had the impression of think about them from afar, as if they were separated by a very thick glass, through which it would have been difficult to distinguish them again - then she let go, like ghosts, it was no use of s hook too hard, they slipped through his fingers, there was that huge room, very white, and dark. Beyond it could not, they were in a bubble light, iridescent, which broke out when she too thought it was better to focus on the cold liquid in the veins, sheets and yellow pee, and white room . Everything that had seemed before, so important, it now seemed even more importantly, essential-to the point of his whole body stiffen when she thought, as a result of lack, somehow, and then same time, absolutely ridiculous, inconsistent, to the point of tears that came to her eyes, feeling of embracing the void.

And then between the blinds, she saw the snow, or rather glimpsed, it had been blinded, whiteness, movement, and consciousness violent than it was outside, it was without her, she would have pulled the tubes and liquids for a moment under the snow, c ' was so commonplace, it was commonplace to cry, but she could just really screwed up for just a moment in the snow, she imagined one outside in a huge bite white - just for the sensation, have very cold, and eyes full of white, and face wet flakes. Suddenly, she was very angry against all those people who did not like the snow and telling him all the time before, they had very cold - they were going to faint with cold, it was unbearable, she wanted to faint with cold, being in his whole body numb, she wanted them, right now, a lot, telling him they did not like the snow, that it was still up tears, she hardly knew what, anger, no doubt. And then she had said, it had smashed into his stomach, before passing against her temples, she would have screamed, if not more painful scream that silence, she had said that would be the most terrible - perhaps more terrible than to never get out of this darkness, huge, yes, more terrible perhaps, back among people who did not like the snow. She could not blame them, nobody would have understood, she could not turn away from them because they did not understand what it was dark outside and the snow, that c was, to have an explosion somewhere in her body until it is no more, qu'explosée - what it was, a moment, a moment in the snow.