568
PARTISAN
REVIEW
his thirst had grown and fueled his aspiration. Once more, he would push
the stone with fresh hope and energy. Now, from the vantage of the
bare ridge, the blue sky withdrew and dilated into an endless firmament.
The blue appeared paler in the bright noon sun. Sisyphus's lips were dry
from the endless speeches and interviews he had to give.
Where is your strength, Sisyphus? The world seems very different
from the top, doesn't it - complex, descending precipitously to deep
gorges, an intricate maze of roads, an insatiable beast with a mouth
gaping like an abyss, waiting to swallow up all your illusions. Down
there, the colors merge into a ragged blanket pulled every which way.
Once, your difficult path led straight uphill; now there is no way up ex–
cept in your dreams. Yet you no longer are a dreamer bu t a doer. So
cling to the rock bearing the mark of your fingers as its wrinkles are im–
printed on your palms. Hold firmly onto it, gnash your teeth, grind the
angry, stony words between them, grind them into fine sand and swal–
low it! A taste of desert! Keep smiling, outdoing yourself, and then
again. If you fail to hold the rock up at the peak, you yourself will col–
lapse into the abyss, banishing forever the white swall ow, harbinger of
hope, from those barren slopes. In your naive and stubborn belief, your
wild urge to challenge and transform fate, you could be cast down to
the very bottom, stoned to death.
Watch out, Sisyphus, lest you yourself turn into marble, a monu–
ment. Look around you . Don't you see, down there in the town
squares, countless granite monuments, bizarre cairns, petrified violence?
You are dizzy at this great height, and everything looks upside down.
The peak seems a muddy bottom and the bottom a bright summit. The
stone is the only landmark by which you can get your bearings; wherever
the inanimate stone is, so are you. You are cursed to stay always with it,
to breathe life into it. You have no right to withdraw and look into
your soul. Meanwhile, so many subjects for biting satires, Shakespearean
dramas, and verses carved out of suffering well up and choke you. Stifle
them! Remember the stone! You are bound to mold, warm, and revive
every dent and pore of its surface. Is not the daily fight with deadly iner–
tia, with the hardness and cold of the stone on the ridge, enough to give
sense to your human life? Once down at the base of the pyramid, now at
its summit, you, Sisyphus, cannot be unhappy.
Susan Sontag:
Thank you very much. Tatyana Tolstaya.
Tatyana Tolstaya:
As far as I can see, this conference, as are many
other such gatherings that involve Eastern Europeans, is not one of
intellectuals but of emotionals. That is quite understandable. Intellectu–
ally, we know it is better to be unified, but emotionally it is wiser to
