Suddenly, he feels the thirst.
There, underneath, man feels dry within.
Life appears to him short and green.
Submerged, man can be only a submarine .
From the mouth, bubbles are bursting free .
In the eyes, an equivalent of sunrise replaces glee.
In the ears, a colorless baritone keeps uttering: "One. Two. Three."
IX
"Dear Blanche, I write this to you sitting inside a gigantic octopus.
A miracle, but the stationery and your picture survived. This jelly
is hard to inhale. Yet in a sense it's populous:
there are a couple of savages, both playing the ukalele.
Main thing: it's dark. I strain my eyes and listen.
Sometimes I make out some arches and vaults . When I write, it also
becomes less black.
I resolve to examine the metabolic system.
That's the only railroad to freedom. Kisses. Your faithful Jacques.»
"It's like being back in the womb ... Still, one should be grateful
for the octopus. Sharks are worse. So is water as such - for yours
Am still searching. The savages brought a grapefruit.
But when I ask for directions, all I hear is 'hoolie-hoolie.'
All I see are infinite, slippery, coiling tunnels.
Some peculiar, tangled system that's hard to memo-
rize . And unless I'm delirious, yesterday in these trammels
I bumped into somebody who calls himself Captain Nemo."
"Nemo again. Invited me to his rooms. I went.
He says he has reared this octopus as a protest
against society. Well, earlier, I understand,
he was married, with kids. But his wife - the hottest
truly.
pants in town ... and so forth. And he had no choice. He says,
the world drowns in Evil. The octopus ('opus' for some) avenges
hubris and heartlessness, alias earthly ways.
Promised me immortality if I don't leave the trenches."
