David Grossman - Falling out of time

He left

and he came back,

he searched their faces

for all

that had been lost.

He ran

and circled

them,

and suddenly—

he fell.

WALKING MAN: Who am I?

ELDERLY MATH TEACHER: Pardon me, sir, do you happen to recall who I am?

COBBLER: Ma’am, any chance you remember—

MIDWIFE: There was a baby, and another baby, and another … Did they all come out of me?

WOMAN IN NET: There was a house, there were clothes—

DUKE: I played with horses, cavaliers—

TOWN CHRONICLER’S WIFE: And you, sir, who are you?

TOWN CHRONICLER: Me? I don’t … Excuse me, ma’am, I don’t know me.

WALKING MAN: Who am I?

WOMAN ATOP THE BELFRY (singing softly):

When I tell you yes,

you will embrace

the no,

embrace

the empty

space of him,

his hollow

fullness—

(pause)

There you are no longer

alone,

no longer

alone,

and you are not

just one there, and

never will be

only

one—

(silence)

WALKING MAN:

There

I touch him?

His inner self?

His gulf?

WOMAN ATOP THE BELFRY:

And he,

he also

touches you

from there,

and his touch—

WALKING MAN:

No one

has ever touched me

in that way?

WOMAN IN NET:

Two human specks

a mother

and

her child—

WALKING MAN:

What more must I do? My legs

can hardly carry me, my life thread

becomes thinner, a moment more

and I’ll be gone. And you were right,

my wife, righter than me—

there is no there , there is

no there ,

and even if I walk

for all of time

I will not get there, not

alive. So many days

have passed

since I left home,

and all in vain, no purpose, but

the passion still remains inside me

like a curse,

walk onward,

walk—

WOMAN ATOP THE BELFRY:

How miserable to be

so right,

while you were wiser

and far bolder.

Get up,

go and be

like him as much as

one alive can be

like the dead — without dying.

Conceive him,

yet be your death, too,

almost.

Like him

be now, but only till

the shadow of his end

falls

on the shadow

of your being.

And there, my love,

among the shadows,

in the netherworld

of father-son,

there will come

peace — for him,

for you.

DUKE:

Listen to her, sir

(my subject,

though subjected now

to no one), listen:

faithful are the wounds

of she who loves. Do it, and if not—

then you have sealed my fate,

our fate,

and we are nothing—

all of us who walk—

but a ripple over death,

a feeble sign, unreadable,

in the dense rock, from which

a wise but uncourageous sculptor

carved the merest hint of us, courageous

but not genius, or genius but surely

not merciful.

Go,

upend time,

conceive him and then die

with him, and be reborn

out of his death.

WALKING MAN:

Only the passion remains

in me, like a curse,

a disease—

walk, walk more, and

more.

Perhaps at some last border

where my wisdom cannot reach,

I will set down

this heavy load and then

take one small step backward,

no more, one pace

across the world,

a concession,

a confession:

I am here,

he is

there,

and a timeless border

stands between us.

Thus to stand,

and then, slowly,

to know,

to fill with knowledge

as a wound fills up

with blood:

this is

to be

man.

WALKERS:

And at that moment ,

with those words ,

the world grew

dark: a shadow

struck us all .

A wall .

A wall stood in our way. A massive

wall of rock bisected ,

cut the world

right through .

A wall. It wasn’t here before ,

it simply wasn’t!

A thousand times we’ve circled

round the town ,

up and down these hills

until we know each stone and crevice, and

suddenly — a wall .

Perhaps we did not notice?

Perhaps we passed it

in our sleep? It was not here ,

it wasn’t! Then how? Then what?

From the sky? Or sprouted

from the ground?

Now it’s here, it’s here ,

and maybe—

Could it be? Possible? But no ,

my friends, no, science won’t allow

such an assumption! But perhaps

our longings will? Perhaps

despair allows it?

Coldness

suddenly spreads

through our limbs. A cool shadow

cast upon us, slashing our world

like an ax ,

like then, yes ,

like the moment

of disaster—

And he ,

the one ,

the walking one ,

the lonely ,

nears the wall .

One step and then another. Fearful ,

feet defeated, walking yet recoiling ,

a grasshopper

beside it .

WOMAN IN NET: Enough! I’m going back.

DUKE: But we’re not there yet. And what if there is right here, now, my lady, just behind the wall?

WOMAN IN NET: You listen to me, m’lord: farther than this we won’t make it alive.

DUKE: Please, don’t go.

WOMAN IN NET: Just so I understand, m’lord — you asking me to stay?

DUKE: When you are here, I am not afraid.

WOMAN IN NET: Give me your hand, m’lord.

WALKERS:

And he, facing the wall ,

head cocked, listening ,

awaits an answer. Where ,

where will he go, where will we go:

along the wall? Or just stand here

and wait?

For whom? For what?

And for how long?

And as it always is with him, we know ,

the feet. A tremble rises

from the shins, the body

tenses, head slowly lifts up

and straightens, and he walks. He walks .

It’s good. This way is good. And everything

comes back to life along with him, one foot

lifts up, then steps back down, a step

and one more step ,

one more, he walks ,

walks and steps, steps

and strikes, he walks

in place—

in place? Yes, treading

in one place, a step ,

another, one more step ,

his eyes upon the wall, walking

without walking, walking ,

dreaming, walking

with himself, from himself

to himself—

WALKING MAN:

Here I will fall

now I will fall—

I do not fall.

Now, here,

the heart will stop—

it does not stop—

TOWN CHRONICLER:

Here is shadow

and fog,

frost

rising

from a dark pit.

Now,

now I will fall—

WALKERS:

He does

not fall

and does not

fail, he walks, before the wall

he walks, a step ,

another, one more step ,

an hour goes by, another hour, sun sets

sun rises, weakened limbs. The shadows