THE COW II. THE COW August 25,{51} 1983. Six a.m. Mediterranean landscape. Very clear. Swept pink shadows. Morning flotsam on the beach. A body. Wearing something that was once a pair of white jeans. Barefoot. Sandals—one in his hand, the other just lying there. Two men appear above him. “Turned up his toes … ” “Do you mean to say he’s not alive??” “I don’t mean to say he’s not dead, Doctor.” “But he’s hanging on by one sandal.” “Which means that he’s half dead.” “But not that he’s more dead than alive!” “All it means, Doctor, is that he’s dead drunk.” “Really a very curious expression, you know … Does it mean … ?” “That’s it! You’ve nearly guessed it. The question is, what is a drunk—dead or asleep? Out cold, out like a light … what is he?” “Don’t you mean, honored colleague, that there’s life, there’s death, but there’s also pause?” “Very close, Doctor.
