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NEXT TO NOTHING BY PAUL BOWLES . . ;

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NE;rr TO NO"f HING PAUL BOWLES

KAt:HMANDU, NEPAL 1976 _, .

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' HB~ TO NOTHING

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At first there was mud, a~ the sound of. breathi.QJ,, a nd no one was. sure of where we were.

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When we found out, .it was much too late. ow nothing can ~appen save as it has to happen.

And then I was alone, and it did not matt((r Only becaus, by that tinre notbipg.could matter.

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The next year there wereF1knifing matches in the &tadi um. I

I think the people are roady for it, the mayor said. Total involvement. A new conceptin sports. The loser docs not leave the ring alive.

B\lt no one ~an know where he is until he: koo-;,s where he has been. I sat quietty, and the air cbanacd then, and I looked up. And the black branches traJling in the living water stirred slowly with the change of air. Piropos, you said. El aire Jes hace-piropos.

Have yeu...bange for this banknote? It is closed off for the time being. .--~ -=-----~ Take nie to 'tbe-other end of the city

where they slice )IP the _s.barks on ~he sand.

T~e double tariff applie~ after sundown. It is fm-bidden to pass beyond this railing. Take me to the other end of the city where n0body wa_nts to go.

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Yes, I said we would_ need the machine..:.:guns by next March, but I also warned against saying life was easy. I mixed hoops and coffins, cradles and needles while the lights twinkled on far-off Monte Tomas. We sat in a park that smelled of pine trees, and tha~ night there were voices in the corridors / and I remcmb~red the empty face of the blind man as. he sang.

Tu misma enes la culpa de lo q~e hat .echo conmigo.

You will find yourself among people. There is no help f ':r this nor should you want it otherwise. The passaaes where no one waits are dark and hard to navigate.

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The \!Ct walls touch _your shoulders on each side . . When the trees :were there I cared that they w~rc there. And now t~ey are gone, does it matter? The passages where no one waits go on and give no promise of an end. You ~ill find yo~rsolf among peopl~, Faces, clothing, teeth and hair and words, and many words. When there was life, I said that l.ife was wrong. What do I say now? You understand?

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y -:. Something is g'Jfng on these recent days. lfhe clouds that lie in /trees

~an skim your head as you run uphill, After-. sunset birds fly d?wn push inside the grill and eat the plants. Seafog swells across the lowlands

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and the: slow ships moan.

Yes, something is going on. you said you saw them together I

. but th_ey ,were not togetker.

Wlfo loves the fog? Why do the bifds come ?

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As to the clouds, you-may be i,nnocent.

Living branches trail in black w~ er. Nothing moves. And how do I know what yo u are to me?

A Our theories are untested. Y/ou must no~ laugb. We thought there were other ways.

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Probalilly there are, but they a~e hidden ' and we shall never find them.

What's his name? God forbid . Where does he live '! Nobody knows. How do we get there'? '. Ask the conductor.

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Thaf s his face? Nobody knows. Now shall I ask him?

- God forbid.

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Take m~ to the other end of the city f

where no one knows the difference between you and me. I went back. I did not find him. And what do I say now? You understand?

.The womln pointed. That's the model we _

r-.- ' should have had with us . We thought about it, hung back and didn't.

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Wished a thousand times we had. But that's the way those things go.

You never can know -~

until afterwards. _,_ R;oads of nothing but I shar~ebbles and stones.

And they say .there are snakes behiud the rocks. YOU SCC DO snake! but / you know they are there .

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And after you've goae down into seven 'empty valleys, one

. aft.er the other,

you find that you've been quietly crying for the past half hour. Or at least I did.

Because there was no connection. No more connection to any- . thing at all. Nothing.

, I . It might not have been

such an awful trip if we'd had that one.

The woman pointed. ThatYthe model we

/ ought to have chosen.

It will be raining up therct. by the tjme you arrive. ' Try to get through quickly. The forest's cold green breath

is best left undisturbed, coiled ctose to the boughs. / " . In open country again you ~an breathe.

That is the theory, but our theori~s arc untested. Tbiogsare not the way they were.

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can we be sure? New laws apply, ho knows the difference between the law and the wind 1

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ho knows the differenc~ between you-' and me?

Y tu misma tienes la culpfi de lo que has hecho conm~o.

_I should like to see the bottom ot the fountain . Do noi go near the edge. ,Does this path lead to the artificial lake? The band concert }las been po~tponed. Is there a waterfall behind these rocks? The guardian is not-on duty.

I have no idea of what is going to happen or in _which parts the 'Pain will be. We are oply in spring, and spring has a twistiug light. Spriug's Images are made of crystal and cannot be recalled.

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There will be suff~ring, but you know how to ~oax it. 'ifhere will hf memories, but they can be deflec ed.

\fhere will be your heart still moving in th~ wind that Has not stopped flying-westward, and you will give a signal. Wi.ll somcon.e sec it?

.... Jit there .were other ways. ftJlleSS would stay outside.

Ya, yes, go with her. The old man smiled. You will be back. You will not find me.

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w.S a time when life went along brigq\er li~es . llill drank the y.rater from the lake, the bucket came up cold .J! sweet wiib the smell o~deep water. IODI was everywliere that year, an absurd refrain:

y that it seems so long, and isn't.

the trees were there I cared that they were there, mw they are gone.

way out .we uied the path that goes around the swamp. we started back the tide had risen. was another way, but it was far above and bard to get to.

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IO we waited here, and everything is still the same.

were many things I wanted to say to yo~ ' JGU left, and DOW VliaJl never say them.

tbe light spills_ onto the balcony the same iihadows in the same places,

I can see it, only I can-hear the wind - it much too loud.

orld seethes with words. Forgive me. JOU, out I must not think of you.

- the law. Not everyone obeys It.

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r.-llh time mov s past and the wind is never the same not change. That is the law, and it is right.

Yes, yet,' I went with her. Yes. In the shine of morning and the glow of afternoon.

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Piropos, you said. El tiempo te hace piropos. ' There wiif'l!cver be a way of knowing. ' I did go back. The old man was gone.

We do no thinking, give no reasons, have no scn~ations, make no apologies. This is our behavior, and it impresses them. The .anguish was not real emrngb,

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the age of terror too short-lived. They thought all that was finished, left behind. They were sure the.re must be other ways .

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the spider-in your salad, the bloodsmear on your bread. rusted scalpel, the tbofo beneath your nail.

y I shall be of u&e to you, as you can_ never be t~ me. ts.leap from grave to grave, and nibble at fast y~ar's thiitles.

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-.ie of something more ~ban nothing, of Sidi Bouayad, ho haff wisdom and power and art,

I dirc'Ction, the dead nerve-end, the unfinished scream. 1 my words may comfort you, as yours can never comfort me

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Piropos arc the little compliments a man murmurs to a girl walking past. Like~ Where is ll that beauty on its way to? Que guapa ! Qu linda ! Etcetera. And the gi ts

:kon their attractiveness on a given day by the number -piropos they've called forth.

mismo tienes Ia culpa de lo que has becho conmigo" the opening line of an old flame nco song from the pties, a~fan~anguillo, I think, sung_ ~y Pepe Marchena. tits Ilteral meani ng isn't ~onnected with the context--

' sound, as a memory of a song.

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2 n 5 IT! iC ~r:r o U s '.!~" i>. ' "' I' .B 2! ~:n~ d 7 : e ... J ..... ;:, r. .J~ .. ::; 10 V. VI 0 ;ii::H3t HS , , d! n ){o~

ri o1 b~ I o n 'Y. 1 ?.0~01iq 1o

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. , -iil ~Ji tcH :.. :.::o ad x1ao

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Copyright @ 1976 All rights reserved for the Author. The ST ARSTREAMS Poetry series is under the direct

Aegis of Ira Cohen

Cover design: Verifax by Maya _ Frontispiece Collage by Dana Young

Title Pag~ Illustration by Sidney Hushour

Bone Ship P sing by Pet.ra Vogt Skull Colophon by Lee BaarsJa&

ufic Design on Back Cover supplied by the Author

edition is limited te 500 .copies of which this is her 1.. at Sharada Printing Press, Nhusal, ( Dharmapath)

Kathmandu, in the-Kingdom of Nepal.

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B ARDO MATRIX

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