566
PAR.TISAN REVIEW
reflected in the stone's facets. Illuminated and inspired by his own perse–
verance, it could not be defaced.
Suddenly, as he was scrambling desperately up the arid scree, his bare
feet sliding down, yet again facing the danger of being crushed by his
burden, Sisyphus scrambled to the very top of the hill, in a last effort.
Startled, disbelieving his eyes, he looked around. DefYing the old myth,
the stone stood there instead of rolling back down the precipice. Now
Sisyphus heard the voice of his own soul: Did you succeed? Have you
really done it? Now you realize that you never thought you would.
Why, though, aren't you triumphant? Were you resigned to the fate of
pushing that stone uphill to your last breath? Is it that you actually en–
joyed the bruising roughness of the stone that made your hands bleed?
Did you feel yourself to be only an extension of the stone? Why are you
smiling yet so sad? Now you are faced with an even more impossible
challenge: to balance the heavy rock on the ridge of the hill. What can
you do? All your life you have defied power, and now you are holding
supreme power in your hands. Can you run away, just now, and leave
the stone so precariously balanced? Will you be able to fix it there with–
out breaking it asunder and ruining it, this shaky, rugged granite
overhanging the abyss?
Here, think of the absurdity of human life! A Sisyphean victory: a
bare peak, devastated by the former almighty rulers, barrenness all around.
The stone up there turns into a pedestal. Once, Sisyphus generated
movement, a striving upwards, albeit doomed to collapse. Today, that
same Sisyphus must create stability. The serpents crawl out of the rocks
and begin to fawn on him. The jackals stalk around the victor, bowing
to him while waiting for him to stumble. The old rhinoceroses "criticize
him constructively." The bluejays mock him, giggling under their tails,
"Ha-ha! What a hairdo! Look at his jagged nails! Look at his humped
back! He looks like a rock formation himself! A megalith!" Cockroaches
creep out of every crack and hole. The wasps sting him "from a position
of principle." Dark clouds gather, bolts of lightning cross swords and
whet them on the stone. Sisyphus stands in the open like a lightning rod
under their blades, straining his muscles and propping up the rock lest it
roll back to the bottom of the precipice. The cowards who used to hide
in cracks and crevices while Sisyphus pushed the stone uphill, who vilified
him for "destabilizing the pyramid," now thump their chests proudly and
complacently tap the stone on its rough flank.
"We helped you scramble up so high, mythical stone! You couldn't
have done it without us!"
"Why didn't I see you?" Sisyphus asks, confused.
"We stood firmly behind you, Sisyphus. We were your sound back,
your eyes and ears! Bent under the burden, preoccupied with pushing the
