Kort efter ringede korrekturens Gertz igen og sagde bare "Den dristige unge mand i den flyvende trapez", apropos min min kritiske trapez-poetik, og i mine hænder var lige præcis William Saroyans novellesamling The Daring Young Man In the Flying Trapeze fra 1935, indeholdende novellen af samme navn, en art kæk, amerikansk Sult, som jeg netop havde læst, apropos trapezer:
Through the air on the flying trapeze, his mind hummed. Amusing it was, astoundingly funny. A trapeze to God, or to nothing, a flying trapeze to some sort of eternity; he prayed objectively for strength to make the flight with grace.
I have one cent, he said. It is an american coin. In the evening I shall polish it until it glows like a sun and I shall study the words.
He was now walking in the city itself, among living men. There were one or two places to go. He saw his reflection in plate-glass windows of stores and was disappointed with his appearance. He seemed not at all as strong as he felt; he seemed, in fact, a trifle infirm in every part of his body, in his neck, his shoulders, arms, trunk, and knees. This will never do, he said, and with an effort he assembled all his disjointed parts and became tensely, artificially erect and solid.