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Meursault and J. Alfred Prufrock are standing on the deck of a small tourist yacht. They are in full Scuba gear and are trying to talk through their snorkels, making communication difficult. Prufrock: How much air do we have? Meursault: I told you, we have enough air for over an hour. It'll be fine. Prufrock: I know, I know, but I don't like this. I'd prefer to be back in London, having my afternoon tea, rather than diving into that cold, opaque water. It looks like ice, glistening back at you, but it doesn't let you see in. Meursault: Is tea any more transparent as it swirls in your tea cup? Do you understand any better the "translucent conversation" at the high teas? Prufrock: No, considering it's mostly small talk without eye contact. Meursault: Make eye contact with a fish. Maybe it'll be more honest with its answers. Prufrock: How do I know the air will be here when I come back up? Meursault: How do you know the air will be here when you take your next breath? Prufrock looks nervously around him, seemingly eying the air around him with mistrust. Prufrock: Can we take off these damn masks? I feel like my face is being pressed into a cake mold, but my nose doesn't conform to the shape of an upside-down pineapple cake. Meursault: Sure, you can always take off your mask. Prufrock: (eying Meursault with suspicion) Do you think I'm wearing a mask? Meursault: We're both wearing masks. Prufrock: But I bet yours doesn't come off. Meursault: Who says I'm wearing one at all? (cont'd on page 51) |
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