The daily worker. [volume] (Chicago, Ill.) 1924-1958, 1926-04-17
The CRlER By Henri

q
good heart sets itself to create it doesn't STOP it
goes on to familiarity and gayety
The two old people laughed out of the corners
of their eyes. The striking of the clock didn't hit
them in the back of the head now, as it did only
yesterday The fire felt good, burning so brightly
Now they would be able to be comfortable on
their death bed. They were happy. How good
it was
We mustn't forget to say that she had given
an explanation of her return; it was because in
la nightmare she had seen him dead. Like this
she dreamed that she was going to bed in her
room, and turning round while undressing. she
saw the bed. She explained that it was cold
fOggy shivery in her dream. Then she saw there
was someone lying in the bed, and that it was he
yellow and cold as a stone, his corpse. It's true
that the bed is the dead mould of people; and
she saw like flash that what's imppr tantis Life !
More important than all the foolishness and mis-
takes you make even the ones that bring most
trouble.
And you talk nonsense when you say, between
living people: "irreparable"
She said nothing more The silence was spread
over them She said nothing.
'Wife, what happiness would there be left
without all the anguish that is in our fesh?"
He said that, bless him!
In corner the face of the clock shone like
halo.
And he who usually talked so loud and
strong, now used voice that was quiet (mOre
than that timid, little modest), to say:
"In heaven everything will be perfect, 'and it'll
be little bit stupid, eh?" r
Like the politeness of an angel to. say that?
Not entirely. 1t tied up with all the rest:
"TO have all your desire, then what? Be too
happy? But then that would be the endv'
He murmered something to himself. This is
what he murmured 3s Vsss4e4n ~ asa s.4
"Happy are those who weep for they shall be-
comfOrted" epre
From the window where a little while ago the
wind had clattered the shutters, came crumbs of
light and the village at the end of the street look
ed like toy. A fly walking on the pane covered
the steeple with his body.
Well! This isn't man who's going crazy; it's
more like god who will be sane.
THE church at the end of an avenue of trees:
the dying, reborn, eternal pilgrimage of the
procession of trees toward the church.
| He was like beggar at the church door when
the people came to mass, and his look was like
demand.
So different from each other, the people entered
together and disappeared. He seemed to be wait
ing for someone. He was waiting for everybody
But he wouldn't dare do anything: this. public
place, this sacred doorway -.
| He had untangled it in his head, that God is
an answer, fabricated from head to foot, to what
has no answer. God is an idea having no reality
in the world, except what other ideas lend it !
God is a product for the use of those who have
produced nothing: and that the idol is nothing
but the worshipper. iw asmcw
His eyes turned inward on the truth. He
wanted to uncover it and to say to the first
conner: ut is all made in the shape of man.
1t IS you, it is you, it is yOu."
But the first one who came out said to him,
before he could speak:
"Phew! Pm glad it's over; a lot of hocus-
pocus, these massesw
And another one agreed
''Nothing else"
"Aren't you ashamed to go if you feel that way
about it?"
The two men stifened with surprise, but they