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James K. Baxter Complete Prose Volume 1

Sisyphus and the Angel

page 425

Sisyphus and the Angel

‘Who are you? Are you somebody sent to torment me? No living man ever walks on these slopes.’

‘I am the angel of your fate, Sisyphus.’

‘I cannot speak to you. The sentence I am under stipulates that I may not cease rolling this great stone uphill, even to speak to an angel.’

‘There is always a moment outside justice. That moment has arrived. If you leave the boulder, it will not shift from its place.’

‘I believe you because your face is like one I saw a long time ago. Too early to remember well. My mother’s face or the face of a strong young laughing nurse. If you are my angel, can you answer three questions that trouble me?’

‘Ask them.’

‘Why am I condemned?’ ‘You are not condemned.’

‘What do you call this labour then? Each day I have to shove this great stone to the mountain top. I am a prisoner, though without visible chains. If I shift away a yard from the stone, my strength fails me and anguish drums in every nerve of my body. Morning and evening an invisible warder brings me bread and meat and wine. Never enough for a feast. Only sufficient to strengthen me for labour. The murmur of the sea, the shadows of the riding clouds, used to enchant me. I could hear voices crying, “Sisyphus, immortal happiness is in your reach. Pluck it from the tree.” And a branch came down from the clouds, loaded with aromatic fruit. But when I tried to pluck the fruit, it swung away from me and the sky darkened. And once a girl climbed the mountain and stood at my side. We shared the same cloak at night and spoke together in secret loving parables. But she grew to hate the stone. She said I was an egotist, and left me, in anger and sadness. Only the stone remains, and it grows heavier each year. My shoulders are bent and my hands are callused and thickened with pressing on its granite surface. My soul itself grows coarse as old sacking. If this labour is not a life sentence, what other meaning do you find in it?’

‘The meaning of your life is conquest by surrender. Divine Love ordains it; and no other life is possible for you.’

‘Where did the great stone come from?’

‘The stone is that which lay on the grave of the Incarnate God. It is your humanity, Sisyphus, which He chose to share with you. As long as you embrace it, his strength will fill your veins. And what is the third question?’

‘Who am I? What is the secret of my identity?’

‘That I cannot tell you. It is hidden even from the angels. The day of your death will reveal it to you alone. If you look within, you will see chaos and endless corruption, a field sown with the seeds of evil dreams. If you look without, you will see a world of sterile forms, atoms and nebulaepage 426 revolving to no certain end. Do not look, but pray. Pray for the world; and for yourself ask chiefly the deepening of surrender. Your labour itself is sufficient penance. Do it willingly. Prayer and penance will bring you at length, to the knowledge of your identity. And it might be good to sing a little. The songs of the land you come from as well as the land you are going to.’

‘I can’t sing in tune.’

‘It doesn’t matter. Sing all the same. Perhaps you will make the angels laugh. Angels and humans both need to develop a sense of humour.’

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