Free Falling Out of Time by David Grossman

confession:
    I am here,
    he is
    there,
    and a timeless border
    stands between us.
    Thus to stand,
    and then, slowly,
    to know,
    to fill with knowledge
    as a wound fills up
    with blood:
    this is
    to be
    man.
    WALKERS:
    And at that moment
,
    with those words
,
    the world grew
    dark: a shadow
    struck us all
.
    A wall
.
    A wall stood in our way. A massive
    wall of rock bisected
,
    cut the world
    right through
.
    A wall. It wasn’t here before
,
    it simply wasn’t!
    A thousand times we’ve circled
    round the town
,
    up and down these hills
    until we know each stone and crevice, and
    suddenly—a wall
.
    Perhaps we did not notice?
    Perhaps we passed it
    in our sleep? It was not here
,
    it wasn’t! Then how? Then what?
    From the sky? Or sprouted
    from the ground?
    Now it’s here, it’s here
,
    and maybe—
    Could it be? Possible? But no
,
    my friends, no, science won’t allow
    such an assumption! But perhaps
    our longings will? Perhaps
    despair allows it?
    Coldness
    suddenly spreads
    through our limbs. A cool shadow
    cast upon us, slashing our world
    like an ax
,
    like then, yes
,
    like the moment
    of disaster—
    And he
,
    the one
,
    the walking one
,
    the lonely
,
    nears the wall
.
    One step and then another. Fearful
,
    feet defeated, walking yet recoiling
,
    a grasshopper
    beside it
.
    WOMAN IN NET: Enough! I’m going back.
    DUKE: But we’re not there yet. And what if
there
is right here, now, my lady, just behind the wall?
    WOMAN IN NET: You listen to me, m’lord: farther than this we won’t make it alive.
    DUKE: Please, don’t go.
    WOMAN IN NET: Just so I understand, m’lord—you asking me to stay?
    DUKE: When you are here, I am not afraid.
    WOMAN IN NET: Give me your hand, m’lord.
    WALKERS:
    And he, facing the wall
,
    head cocked, listening
,
    awaits an answer. Where
,
    where will he go, where will we go:
    along the wall? Or just stand here
    and wait?
    For whom? For what?
    And for how long?
    And as it always is with him, we know
,
    the feet. A tremble rises
    from the shins, the body
    tenses, head slowly lifts up
    and straightens, and he walks. He walks
.
    It’s good. This way is good. And everything
    comes back to life along with him, one foot
    lifts up, then steps back down, a step
    and one more step
,
    one more, he walks
,
    walks and steps, steps
    and strikes, he walks
    in place—
    in place? Yes, treading
    in one place, a step
,
    another, one more step
,
    his eyes upon the wall, walking
    without walking, walking
,
    dreaming, walking
    with himself, from himself
    to himself—
    WALKING MAN:
    Here I will fall
    now I will fall—
    I do not fall.
    Now, here,
    the heart will stop—
    it does not stop—
    TOWN CHRONICLER:
    Here is shadow
    and fog,
    frost
    rising
    from a dark pit.
    Now,
    now I will fall—
    WALKERS:
    He does
    not fall
    and does not
    fail, he walks, before the wall
    he walks, a step
,
    another, one more step
,
    an hour goes by, another hour, sun sets
    sun rises, weakened limbs. The shadows
    of our bodies swallowed up
    into the darkness as we walk
,
    we all walk
    there—
    And sometimes it does seem
    that there is something moving in the wall
.
    It breathes. We do not say
    a word. More than anything
    we fear
    the hope. Of what awaits beyond the wall
    we do not dare to think. At dawn
,
    and twilight, too, our bodies elongate
,
    we grow into extremely slender
    giants, silhouettes. And sometimes
    deep inside there floats a golden speck
,
    fading from one, skipping to the other
,
    and this we do not speak of either. We walk in gloom
.
    Across the way, on gnarled rock
,
    a spider spins a web, spreads out his taut
,
    clear net. Then he creates a recess
    and he burrows deep inside it—
    Our faces
    are sealed, our feet
    strike, hit the earth
,
    the earth is also a wall
.
    The sky above as well, perhaps
.
    Walk, walk more, constantly
    walk so as not to be crushed
    between the walls. One step
,
    another, another step, our bleary eyes
    see only humps of rocky stone
,
    scabs of brown and gray, and
    a thin