Après la pluie...

A performer at the circus has no theater curtain to come down and hide him and thus preserve the magic spell of his act unbroken.

Poised high on the trapeze under the blazing arcs, he has flashed and pulsed like a star indeed.
But now, grounded, unsparkling, unfollowed by spotlights, yet plainly visible to anyone who cares to look at him- they are all watching the clowns- he hurries past the tiers of seats toward the exit.
Nobody applauds him any more.

Very few spare him a single glance.

Together with this anonymity, George feels a fatigue come over him which is not disagreeable.
The tide of his vitality is ebbing fast, and he ebbs with it, content.
This is a way of resting.
All of a sudden he is much, much older.

On his way out to the parking lot differently, with less elasticity, moving his arms and his shoulders stiffly.
He slows down.
Now and then his steps actually shuffle.
His head is bowed.
His mouth loosens and the muscles of his cheeks sag.
His face takes on a dull dreamy placid look.
He hums queerly to himself, with a sound like bees around a hive.

From time to time, as he walks, he emits quite loud, prolonged farts.

﹝From a single man, pp92-93﹞

幕 落，熄燈，掌聲無幾，快步疾行，離去。

我們，你、我或大家，都是演員，在名為社會的舞台上，扮演「被賦予」的角色。

有 人恰如其份，活靈活現，把自己的角色給演活了，精準；
有人拙於詮釋，絆手絆腳，怎麼樣也無法達成期盼，喪氣。

換幕了，戲， 還上演著。

帶著怎樣的心情、怎樣的思緒、怎樣的詮釋、怎樣的技巧，你演的是誰？ 開心，就好。
可是George的心，就 像一灘死水，些微的漣漪都未能因風而起。

他不開心，不是因為Mary，而是因為Jim。