The Woman in the Dunes Read Online Free PDF Page B

dumfounded! Is it like this every night?”
    “The sand never stops. The baskets and the three-wheeler keep going the whole night through.”
    “I suppose they do.” And indeed they did. The sand never stopped falling. The man was completely at a loss. He was bewildered, rather as if he had casually stepped on the tail of a snake that he had thought to be small but had turned out to be surprisingly large; by the time he had realized this, its head was already threatening him from behind.
    “But this means you exist only for the purpose of clearing away the sand, doesn’t it?”
    “Yes, but we just can’t sneak away at night, you know.”
    He was more and more upset. He had no intention of becoming involved in such a life.
    “Yes, you can. It would be simple, wouldn’t it? You can do anything if you want to.”
    “No, that wouldn’t be right at all.” She spoke casually, breathing in rhythm with her shoveling. “The village keeps going because we never let up clearing away the sand like this. If we stopped, in ten days the village would be completely buried. Next it will be the neighbor’s turn in back. See, there.”
    “Very praiseworthy, I’m sure. And do the basket gangs work so hard for the same reason?”
    “Well, they do get some pay from the town.”
    “If they have that much money, why don’t they build a more permanent hedge of trees against the sand?”
    “It seems to be much cheaper to do it this way… when you figure the costs.”
    “This way? Is this really a way?” Suddenly a feeling of anger welled up in him. He was angry at the things that bound the woman… and at the woman who let herself be bound. “Why must you cling so to such a village? I really don’t understand. This sand is not a trifling matter. You’re greatly mistaken if you think you can set yourself up against it with such methods. It’s preposterous! Absurd! I give up. I really give up. I have absolutely no sympathy for you.”
    Tossing the shovel on the kerosene cans which had been left out, he abruptly returned to the room, ignoring the expression on the woman’s face.
    He spent a sleepless night, turning and tossing. He pricked up his ears, sensing the woman’s presence. He felt somewhat guilty. Taking such a stand in front of her was actually an expression of jealousy at what bound her; and was it not also a desire that she should put aside her work and come secretly to his bed? Actually, his strong feelings were apparently not simply anger at female stupidity. There was something more unfathomable. His mattress was getting damper and damper, and the sand more and more clammy to his skin. It was all too unreasonable, too eerie. There was no need to blame himself for having thrown the shovel aside and come in. He did not have to take that much responsibility. Besides, the obligations he had to assume were already more than enough. In fact; his involvement with sand and his insect collecting were, after all, simply ways to escape, however temporarily, from his obligations and the inactivity of his life. No matter how he tried, he could not sleep. The sound of the woman’s movements continued without interruption. Again and again the sound of the basket drew near, and then receded. If things went on this way he would be in no condition for tomorrow’s work. The next day he would get up at daybreak, he decided, and put the day to good use. The more he tried to sleep, the more wide awake he became. His eyes began to smart; his tears and his blinking seemed to be ineffective against the ceaselessly falling sand. He spread out a towel and wrapped it over his head. It was difficult to breathe, but it was better this way.
    He tried thinking of something else. When he closed his eyes, a number of long lines, flowing like sighs, came floating toward him. They were ripples of sand moving over the dunes. The dunes were probably burned onto his retina because he had been gazing steadily at them for some twelve hours. The same