He believed, nevertheless, that I might one day be capable of seeing what was worth seeing. If he could forget my young man’s eagerness to look at simple coloured images of the plains, he might concede that at least I was trying to discover my own kind of landscape. (And what mattered more than the search for landscapes? What distinguished a man after all but the landscape where he finally found himself?) Perhaps, young and blind as I was, I ought to present myself at his country seat at sundown on the following day.
