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as if it asked for the permission to warm itself at our hearth.
Sometimes in a general harmony of the murmuring waves, one can catch some more highly-pitched tunes, or one frolicsome joy; then a bolder wave creeps near to us. Rahim compares such a wave with a woman who desires unexpectedly to embrace and kiss.
Rahim lies with his chest on the sand, his head turned to the sea, and looks musingly into the far distance, leaning on his elbows, and putting his head on his palms, his shaggy cap of lamb’s wool slipped down on the back of his head, and the fresh wind from the sea blowing upon his high forehead, which is covered with small wrinkles.
He lies and philosophises, not caring if I listen to him, and not paying the slightest attention to me, as if he were talking with the sea: “A man who is
