The Next Chapter
I couldn’t see a single thing yesterday, Olanda. All day long. Then, in my darkness it occurred to me that, still and all, I’m a worker like everyone else; that for thirty years I’ve worked all day long. I’ve shovelled out sumps, cleaned a school, helped masons at a building site, farmers carting off beets, digging potatoes. And now I’m working in your shop. It seemed to me that all this time I’ve been lying on the couch in your shop talking, because the whole world comes of talking. But when I set myself to tot up all my hours, portions of the day, weeks, months, I arrived at the conclusion that I’m working at your shop amongst the crates, the fruit, the meat, the packaging and the bottles for ten hours a day — and you hardly pay me a red cent.
