Sous Rature

Lydia Davis



The Husband-Seekers

            Flocks of women attempt to land on an island seeking husbands from a tribe of very beautiful young men.  They blow across the sea like cotton-buds or seeding wild plants, and when rejected they pile up offshore in a floating bank of woolly white.



Two Sligo Lads

            Two Sligo lads are on their way to work at an immense, monolithic factory building.  Abruptly, then, they are whirled up into a fairground ride consisting of spinning cars moving in eliptical arcs, so far above me that they are mere specks in the sky.  As they revolve, crossing over and circling, they cry out to me “Hello, hello” again and again at irregular intervals.  The ride is gone, but they are still there.  They might now be seagulls.



The Low Sun

            I am a college girl.  I tell a younger college girl, a dancer, that the sun is  now very low in the sky.  Its light must be filling the caves by the sea.




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