He had been reading to her from Rilke, a poet he admired, when she fell asleep with her head on his pillow.
He liked reading aloud, and he read well - a confident sonorous voice, now pitched low and somber, now rising, now thrilling. He never looked away from the page when he read and stopped only to reach to the nightstand for a cigaret. It was a rich voice that spilled her into a dream of caravans just setting out from walled cities and bearded men in robes. She had listened to him for a few minutes, then she has closed her eyes and drifted off.
He liked reading aloud, and he read well - a confident sonorous voice, now pitched low and somber, now rising, now thrilling. He never looked away from the page when he read and stopped only to reach to the nightstand for a cigaret. It was a rich voice that spilled her into a dream of caravans just setting out from walled cities and bearded men in robes. She had listened to him for a few minutes, then she has closed her eyes and drifted off.
Raymond Carver
The Student's Wife
Aucun commentaire:
Enregistrer un commentaire