When he returned from dinner he would try to settle in and read. He had a library of oversized art books filling one wall of the studio; he had been accumulating and studying them all his life, but now he couldn't sit in his reading chair and turn the pages of a single one of them without feeling ridiculous. The delusion1 — as he now thought of it — had lost its power over him, and so the books only magnified his sense of the hopelessly laughable amateur he was and of the hollowness of the pursuit to which he had dedicated2 his retirement3.
Trying to pass more than a little time in the company of the Starfish Beach residents was also unendurable. Unlike him, many were able not merely to construct whole conversations that revolved4 around their grandchildren but to find sufficient grounds for existence in the existence of their grandchildren. Caught in their company, he sometimes experienced loneliness in what felt like its purest form. And even those among the village residents who were thoughtful, well-spoken people were not interesting to be with more than once in a while. Most of the elderly residents had been settled into their marriages for decades and were sufficiently5 connected still to whatever was left of their marital6 felicity that only rarely could he get the husband to go off by himself for lunch without the wife. However wistfully he might sometimes look at such couples as dusk approached or on Sunday afternoons, there were the rest of the hours of the week to think about, and theirs wasn't a life for him when he was on top of his melancholy7. The upshot was that he should never have moved into such a community in the first place. He had displaced himself just when what age most demanded was that he be rooted as he'd been for all those years he ran the creative department at the agency. Always he had been invigorated by stability, never by stasis. And this was stagnation8. There was an absence now of all forms of solace9, a barrenness under the heading of consolation10, and no way to return to what was. A sense of otherness had overtaken him — "otherness," a word in his own language to describe a state of being all but foreign to him till his art student Millicent Kramer had jarringly used it to bemoan11 her condition. Nothing any longer kindled12 his curiosity or answered his needs, not his painting, not his family, not his neighbors, nothing except the young women who jogged by him on the boardwalk in the morning. My God, he thought, the man I once was! The life that surrounded me! The force that was mine! No "otherness" to be felt anywhere! Once upon a time I was a full human being.
1 delusion | |
n.谬见,欺骗,幻觉,迷惑 | |
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2 dedicated | |
adj.一心一意的;献身的;热诚的 | |
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3 retirement | |
n.退休,退职 | |
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4 revolved | |
v.(使)旋转( revolve的过去式和过去分词 );细想 | |
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5 sufficiently | |
adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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6 marital | |
adj.婚姻的,夫妻的 | |
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7 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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8 stagnation | |
n. 停滞 | |
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9 solace | |
n.安慰;v.使快乐;vt.安慰(物),缓和 | |
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10 consolation | |
n.安慰,慰问 | |
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11 bemoan | |
v.悲叹,哀泣,痛哭;惋惜,不满于 | |
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12 kindled | |
(使某物)燃烧,着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 ); 激起(感情等); 发亮,放光 | |
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