1

I. INTRODUCTION
It would be worthwhile to point out that both Francois Mauriac
and Graham Greene turned to an overt treatment of Catholic
themes in their fiction at the height of their careers. For
Mauriac, he recognizes three of his novels that merit the title
Catholic novels: That Which Was Lost !"#$%&, The Knot of
Vipers !"#$'&, and The Dark Angels !"#$(&. Greene has four
ma)or novels in Catholic fiction, namel*: Brighton Rock !"#$+&,
The Power and the Glory !"#,%&, The Heart of the atter
!"#,+&, and The !nd of the Affair !"#-"& !.tratford, "#(,&.
/his paper will attempt to present, however briefl*, a
comparative stud* of sin vs. grace in Graham Greenes novel
The Heart of the atter. 0t the same time, it will give some
bac1ground information as to what made Graham Greene write
this particular novel. 0bout halfwa* through the novel, he
e2plains:
If one 1new, he wondered, the facts, would one have to feel pit*
even for the planets3 if one reached what the* called the heart of
the matter !4einemann56ctopus, p.#7&3

2
II. THE AUTHOR
GREENE, GRAHAM
8orn 6ctober ', "#%, in 8er1hamsted, 4ertfordshire, 9ngland,
Graham Greene was an 9nglish novelist, short:stor* writer,
pla*wright, and )ournalist whose novels treat lifes moral ambiguities
in the conte2t of contemporar* political settings. For a time, Greene
wor1ed for the Foreign 6ffice during ;orld ;ar II and was stationed
briefl* at Freetown, .ierra <eone, the scene of another of his best:
1nown novels, The Heart of the atter !"#,+&. /his boo1 traces the
decline of a 1ind:hearted 8ritish colonial officer whose pit* for his wife
and mistress eventuall* leads him to commit suicide.
Greenes ne2t four novels were each set in a different /hird ;orld
nation on the brin1 of political upheaveal. /he protagonist of A B"rnt#
$"t %ase !"#("& is a =oman Catholic architect tired of the adulation
who meets a tragic end in the 8elgian Congo shortl* before that
colon* reaches independence.
3
/he world Greenes characters inhabit is a fallen one, and the tone of
his wor1s emphasizes the presence of evil as a palpable force. 4is
novels displa* a consistent preoccupation with sin and moral failure
acted out in seed* locales characterized b* danger, violence, and
ph*sical deca*. Greenes chief concern is the moral and spiritual
struggles within individuals, but the larger political and social settings
of his novels give such conflicts an enhanced resonance. 4is earl*
novels depict a shabb* >epression:stric1en 9urope sliding toward
fascism and war, while man* of his subse?uent novels are set in
remote locales undergoing wars, revolutions, or other political
upheavals.
>espite the downbeat tone of much of his sub)ect matter, Greene was
in fact one of the most widel* read 8ritish novelists of the '%
th
centur*.
4is boo1s unusual popularit* is due partl* to his production of
thrillers featuring crime and intrigue but more importantl* to his
superb gifts as a stor*teller, especiall* his masterful selection of detail
and his use of realistic dialogue in a fast:paced narrative.
4
0lthough most of his wor1s combine elements of the detective stor*,
the sp* thriller, and the ps*chological drama, his novels are
essentiall* parables of the damned. Greene@s heroes realize their
sins and achieve salvation onl* through great pain and soul:
searching agon*. 0 =oman Catholic convert, he was intensel*
concerned with the moral problems of humans in relation to God.
From the "#$%s until long into the cold:war era, Graham Greene
mapped a uni?ue landscape of pain, human frailt*, political drama,
and moral bewilderment. 4is tortured sinners, doubting Catholics,
furtive adulterers, c*nical e2patriates, burnt:out cases, and violent
criminals constitute one of the most memorable, if disturbing, fictional
worlds in modern literature. In Greeneland, the moral weather is
perpetuall* gra*. Fidelit* and lo*alt* are impossible idealsA someone
is forever betra*ing a lover, a friend, a creed, an ideolog*, a God, a
countr*. .alvation is fleeting, while damnation is a permanent
temptation, rarel* resisted, if not activel* courted. BI am damned
alread*CI ma* as well go the whole length of m* chain,B .cobie, the
colonial policeman in The Heart of the atter !"#,+&, concludes
hopelessl* before he 1ills himself after he has cheated on his wife
and conspired to commit murder. 4e could be spea1ing on behalf of
5
half a dozen of Greene@s characters. B.ins have so much beaut*,B
sa*s the whis1e* priest in The Power and the Glory !"#,%&,
lu2uriating in his fallen state.
9vil and deca* aroused Greene@s imaginationA as Milton did with
.atan, he gives his wic1ed characters and dodg* dealers all the best
lines. ;ho can forget The Third an&s !"#-%& deliciousl* sinister
4arr* <ime as he defends his bogus penicillin rac1et3 BDictims3B
<ime spits bac1 at =ollo Martins, who has accused him of 1illing
innocent people: B;ould *ou reall* feel an* pit* if one of those dots
stopped movingCforever. . . . In these da*s, old man, nobod* thin1s
in terms of human beings. Governments don@t, so wh* should we3B
Characterizing fiction@s possibilities, >.4. <awrence famousl* called
the novel the Bone bright boo1 of life,B but Greene@s fiction, as >avid
<odge insightfull* remar1ed, spea1s Belo?uentl* in favor of death.B
9ven when he@s writing in a lighter vein, Greene cannot resist the
macabre touch. 4enr* Eulling, the retired ban1 manager of the
delightful, picares?ue )eu d@esprit Tra'els With y A"nt !"#(#&, has Ba
wea1ness for funerals,B while the ghoulish Captain .egura of $"r
an in Ha'ana !"#-+& carries a cigarette case made of human flesh.
6
8orn one hundred *ears ago in the 9nglish town of 8er1hamsted,
from his earliest da*s Greene had a morbid predilection for dar1
material. B/he first thing I remember,B he writes in his "#7" memoir A
(ort of Life, Bis sitting in a pram at the top of a hill with a dead dog
l*ing at m* feet.B 0t the far end of the 4igh .treet was a village with
Ban atmosphere of standing outside the pale: a region of danger
where nightmare might easil* become realit*.B Greene@s imagination
was steeped in shades of blac1. <ong before he )oined the Catholic
churchChe converted in "#'(Che saw a cosmic drama of good and
evil pla*ing out in his own bac1*ard. 0t thirteen, faith came to him
Bshapelessl*, without dogma, a presence above a cro?uet lawn,
something associated with violence, cruelt*, evil across the wa*.B 0t
8er1hamsted .chool, where his father was headmaster, he was
fre?uentl* pulled in opposing directions, his filial obligations clashing
with the lo*alt* his fellow classmates e2pected of him. 4ere, Greene
was tutored in the wa*s of duplicit* and divided conscience, betra*al
and trust, all fodder for his wor1 as a novelist. In 0 (ort of Life,
Greene writes that if he had to choose an epigraph for all his novels it
7
would be these lines from =obert 8rowning@s Bishop Blo"gra)&s
Apology:
6ur interest@s on the dangerous edge of things.
/he honest thief, the tender murderer,
/he superstitious atheist, demi:rep
/hat loves and saves her soul in new French boo1sC
;e watch while these in e?uilibrium 1eep
/he gidd* line midwa* . . .
B/he dangerous edge of things,B Greene later declared, Bremains
what it alwa*s has beenCthe narrow boundar* between lo*alt* and
dislo*alt*, between fidelit* and infidelit*, the mind@s contradictions, the
parado2 one carries within oneself. /his is what men are made of.B
Greene@s uneas* lifetime on that narrow boundar* has been the
sub)ect of one of the great ventures in contemporar* biograph*,
Forman .herr*@s massive three:volume The Life of Graha) Greene.
0 dogged, obsessedCsome would sa* foolhard*Cbiographer, .herr*
spent twent*:si2 *ears trac1ing the sources of Greene@s wor1 in his
8
famed )ourne*s to 0frica, .outh 0merica, Cuba, and 4aiti. .herr*
wanted to relive Greene@s life, but his underta1ing came close to
ban1rupting him. It also nearl* 1illed him: In an episode from the
strange:but:true file, the biographer contracted d*senter* in the same
Me2ican town where Greene himself battled the affliction. >espite his
thorough devotion, .herr*@s labors produced mi2ed results. 6n
balance, the first two volumes are e2emplar*C)udicious in their
estimate of Greene@s troubled character, insightful on the novelist@s
literar* evolution. 8ut .herr*@s final installment is, b* a large margin,
the wea1est of the lot: poorl* organized, overl* word*, a tendentious
wor1 that verges on hagiograph*.
/hough Greene is best 1nown for serious novels with religious and
political themes such as The !nd of the Affair !"#-"& and The *"iet
A)erican !"#--&Cboth recentl* republished in delu2e centenar*
editionsCwe should not forget he got his start as a writer of pulp
thrillers. 4is temperament made him a natural hand at the genre. <i1e
the hardboiled era@s classic st*lists 4ammett and Chandler, Greene
was a master of noir mood and atmosphere, action, and scene
setting. 4is compact visual st*le was influenced b* both )ournalism
9
and filmCGreene wor1ed on The Ti)es of <ondon as an editor in the
@'%s and was an obsessive moviegoerCand b* the popular writers he
read as a bo*. 4e e2celled at noir fiction@s all:important opening
sentence: BMurder didn@t mean much to =aven. It was )ust a new )ob.B
!A G"n for (ale G"#$(H&A B4ale 1new, before he had been in 8righton
three hours, that the* meant to murder him.B!Brighton Rock G"#$+H&.
Greene@s outlaws 1now onl* distrust and savager*A their onl* vocation
is revenge. Ein1ie, the fiendish bo*:criminal of Brighton Rock,
seethes with hatredA =aven is a one:man 1illing machine.
.omewhat disingenuousl*, Greene dubbed these wor1s
Bentertainments,B for he was aiming at something more than the
tawdr* pleasures of the pulp aesthetic. /o the crime thriller, the love
stor*, and the sp* novel, Greene added the heav* ballast of politics
and religious belief !or unbelief, as is often the case&. The
%onfidential Agent !"#$#&, one of his best wor1s, powerfull* conve*s
the universal menace and geopolitical unease of the 4itler5.talin era,
as a hunted, hapless agent from an unnamed countr*Cobviousl*
.painCtries to procure coal for his besieged government in a dar1,
brooding <ondon. /he action in A G"n for (ale unfolds against a
10
political crisis touched off b* =aven@s assassination of a socialist
minister. /he borders between genres, between the popular and the
literar*, are never clear in Greene@s wor1. 4is ma)or novels all have
pulp touches: Brighton Rock is a wor1 of Catholic apologetics
mas?uerading as a gangster novelA The Power and the Glory,
perhaps his greatest novel, a masterpiece of near e2pressionist
intensit* set in a blasted corner of Me2ico, is the stor* of a manhuntA
The !nd of the Affair is a 1ind of detective stor* about a failed
romance and religious faithA The *"iet A)erican, his prophetic novel
of Dietnam, opens with a murder investigation, while both The
Honorary %ons"l !"#7$& and The H")an +actor !"#7+& are thrillerish
variations on Greene@s dominant themes of compromised lo*alt* and
betra*al.
Greene@s longevit* and range are astonishing. 0 pivotal writer of the
interwar *ears, he moved with ease into the cold:war era, doing
double dut* as a )ournalist and part:time 8ritish sp*, visiting danger
zones and trouble spotsCFrench Indo:China and Cuba in the @-%s,
Congo and 4aiti in the @(%s, 0rgentina and Earagua* under the
dictators in the @7%sCthat provided him with the settings for the
11
novels of his middle and late periods. 0ll told, he wrote some thirt*
novels, a thic1 portfolio of )ournalism and essa*s, travel boo1s,
several pla*s, and film scripts. ;ith the e2ception of 0nthon* Eowell,
Greene outlived and outproduced his entire generation of 9nglish
writers, publishing his last novel, The %aptain and the !ne)y, in
"#++. 4e was also a marvelous literar* essa*ist, superb on the great
technicians of the 9nglish novel li1e 4enr* Iames and Ford Mado2
Ford but laudabl* unsnobbish in his enthusiasms, which e2tended to
bo*hood favorites Mar)orie 8owen, 4. =ider 4aggard, Iohn 8uchan,
and 0nthon* 4ope, writers he alwa*s claimed as his most significant
influences. !In 8owen@s The Viper of ilan, a tale of treacher* and
revenge set in fourteenth:centur* Ital*, Greene sees Bperfect evil
wal1ing the world where perfect good can never wal1 again.B&
.till, Greene had a wea1ness for middlebrow didacticism and
theological heav*:handedness. 4is religious notions were often
bizarre. Jnli1e friend and fellow Catholic convert 9vel*n ;augh,
Greene elected to challenge God rather than worship 4im. Michael
.helden, another of Greene@s biographers, argues that B>amnation
and hateCnot God and loveCdefine . . . his sense of religious
12
intensit*,B which is true up to a point. Ket Greene@s suggestion that the
wa* to redemption lies down the path of sin has troubled Catholics
and non:Catholics ali1e. George 6rwell, in one of the nastiest boo1
reviews ever written, assailed The Heart of the atter in the ,ew
-orker for its implied rebu1e of decenc* and plain common sense: BIt
is impossible not to feel a sort of snobbishness in Mr. Greene@s
attitude,B 6rwell charged. B4e appears to share the idea, which has
been floating around ever since 8audelaire, that there is something
rather distinguL in being damnedA 4ell is a sort of high:class night
club, entr* to which is reserved for Catholics onl*, since the others,
the non:Catholics, are too ignorant to be held guilt*.B
For all his footloose wandering and cosmopolitanism, Greene@s
fictional landscapesCwhether 4aiti or 4anoi, <ondon, or FreetownC
sometimes blur together into a tedious sameness, with their funereal
gloom and obligator* vultures hovering overhead. .ometimes the
e2otic, dangerous locales serve as mere bac1ground decoration for
the private muddles of his characters. 6rwell )ibed, perhaps
somewhat unfairl*, that The Heart of the atter, which Greene set in
.ierra <eone, Bmight as well be happening in a <ondon suburb.B
13
III. SUMMARY OF THE NOVEL
Ma)or 4enr* .cobie is a longtime police inspector in a 8ritish colonial
town on the ;est Coast of 0frica during ;orld ;ar II, responsible for
providing both local and wartime securit* as well as controlling
smuggling. 4e is married to <ouise, a solitar* woman who loves
literature and poetr* but struggles to form social relationships, but he
does not love her. 4e feels responsible for her happiness, but is
unable to love an*one, including himself. /he* had a daughter,
Catherine, who died at school in 9ngland several *ears before.
.cobie was in 0frica when his daughter died. <ouise calls 4enr*
M/ic1i,N although its apparent that he disli1es the nic1name. <ouise is
a devout Catholic, and for her sa1e 4enr* converted to Catholicism.
0lthough he firml* believes in the teachings of Catholicism, his
practice of his faith is largel* superficial.
.cobie is passed over *et again for a promotion to Commissioner,
causing <ouise great distress, both for her personal ambition and her
hopes that the local 8ritish communit* will begin to accept her. <ouise
14
as1s .cobie to send her awa* to .outh 0frica, and then to )oin her
there in a few *ears when he can retire.
0t the same time, a 8ritish sp*, named ;ilson, arrives in the town. 4e
is priggish and sociall* inept, and hides his passion for poetr* for fear
of ostracism from his colleagues. 4e and <ouise stri1e up a
friendship, which ;ilson mista1es for love. ;ilson rooms with another
colleague named 4arris, who has created a sport for himself of 1illing
the coc1roaches that appear in the apartment each night. 4e invites
;ilson to )oin him, but in the first match, the* end up ?uarreling over
the rules of engagement.
6ne of .cobies duties is to lead the inspections of local passenger
ships, particularl* loo1ing for smuggled diamonds, a needle:in:a:
ha*stac1 problem that never *ields results. 0 Eortuguese ship, the
!speran.a !the Eortuguese word for BhopeB&, comes into port, and a
disgruntled steward reveals the location of a letter hidden in the
captains ?uarters. .cobie finds it, and because it is addressed to
someone in German*, he must confiscate it in case it should contain
secret codes or other clandestine information. /he captain sa*s its a
15
letter to his daughter and begs .cobie to forget the incident, offering
him a bribe of one hundred pounds when he learns that the* share
the same Catholic faith. .cobie declines the bribe and ta1es the
letter, but rather than submit it to his superiors, he reads it and burns
it after deciding that it was innocuous.
.cobie is called to a small inland town to deal with the suicide of the
local inspector, a man named Eemberton, who was in his earl*
twenties and left a note impl*ing that his suicide was due to a loan he
couldnt repa*. .cobie suspects the involvement of a .*rian named
Kusef, a local blac1 mar1eteer. Kusef denies it, but warns .cobie that
the 8ritish have sent a sp* specificall* to loo1 for diamondsA .cobie
claims this is a hoa2 and that he doesn@t 1now of an* such man.
.cobie later dreams that he is in Eemberton@s situation, even writing
a similar note, but when he awa1ens, he tells himself that he could
never commit suicide, as no cause is worth the eternal damnation
that suicide would bring.
.cobie tries to secure a loan from the ban1 to pa* the two hundred
pound fee for <ouises passage, but is turned down. Kusef offers to
16
lend .cobie the mone* at four percent per annum. .cobie initiall*
declines, but after an incident where he mista1enl* thin1s <ouise is
contemplating suicide, he accepts the loan and sends <ouise to
.outh 0frica. ;ilson meets them at the pier and tries to interfere with
their parting.
.hortl* afterwards, the survivors of a shipwrec1 begin to arrive after
fort* da*s at sea in lifeboats. 0 si2:*ear:old girl dies as .cobie tries to
comfort her b* pretending to be the girls father, who was 1illed in the
wrec1. 0 nineteen:*ear:old woman named 4elen =olt also arrives in
bad shape, clutching an album of postage stamps. .he was married
before the ship left its original port and is now a widow, and her
wedding ring is too big for her finger. .cobie feels drawn to her, as
much to the cherished album of stamps as to her ph*sical presence.
4e soon starts a passionate affair with her, all the time being aware
that he is committing a grave sin : adulter*. 0 letter he writes to 4elen
ends up in Kusef@s hands, and the .*rian uses it to blac1mail .cobie
into sending a letter for him via the returning !speran.a, thus
avoiding the censors.
17
;hen <ouise une2pectedl* returns, .cobie struggles to 1eep her
ignorant of his love affair. /hings go from bad to worse when 0li
follows .cobie to the Fissen huts where 4elen sta*s. For the first
time in fifteen *ears, .cobie feels ashamed before the bo*, who must
have heard what he said to 4elen. /hen Kusef sends Eembertons
bo* to .cobies house to give him a diamond. 0gain, 0li witnesses
what his master receives. .cobie decides to visit Kusef and tell him
about 0li. Kusef is more than willing to help. .ure enough, when
.cobie wal1s out of Kusefs room, he finds 0lis bod* in the wharf O
dead. MGod la* there under the petrol drums and .cobie felt the tears
in his mouth, salt in the crac1s of his lipsPN !p."7#&
8ut he is unable to renounce 4elen, even in the confessional, so the
priest tells him to thin1 it over again and postpones absolution. .till, in
order to please his wife, .cobie goes to mass with her and thus
receives communion in a state of Bmortal sinB : one of the gravest
sins for a Catholic to commit.
Fow desperate, he decides to free ever*one from himself : even God
: so he commits suicide, being aware that this would end in
18
damnation according to the teaching of the Church. 8ut his efforts
prove useless in the end : <ouise had been not as naive as he had
believed, the affair with 4elen and the suicide are found out, and his
wife is left behind wondering about the merc* and forgiveness of
God.
IV. ANALYSIS OF THE NOVEL
A. PLOT STRUCTURE
1. EXPOSITION
/he stor* begins with 9dward ;ilson sitting on the
balcon* of the 8edford 4otel. It is a .unda* and he gazes at
the passersb* with a lac1 of interest. ;ilson li1es poetr*, but
he absorbs it secretl*, li1e a drug. Mr. 4arris, a middle:aged
man in 1ha1i shorts, )oins him and points to Ma)or 4enr*
.cobie, the deput*:commissioner.
2. INCENTIVE MOMENT
.cobie is passed over for promotion to
Commissioner. /his clearl* upsets <ouise .cobie, his wife.
.he as1s .cobie to send her awa* to .outh 0frica, and )oin
her there in a few *ears when he retires. .he hesitates to
19
go to the Club, fearing that she will onl* be the butt of )o1es
b* club members. 8ut .cobie persuades her and
accompanies her there. .cobie spots ;ilson and is
introduced b* =eith. .cobie introduces his wife, <ouise.
<ouise and ;ilson soon find a sub)ect that the* both share
in common: poetr* and boo1s. .cobie is relieved.
8ut )ust as he thought he could sleep well, .cobie
overhears some members ridiculing ;ilson and his wife,
<ouise. MPhe could feel the malice and snobber* of the
world padding up li1e wolves around her. /he* wouldnt
even let her en)o* her boo1s, he thought, and his hand
began to sha1e again !4einemann56ctopus, p.$,&.N
4alfwa* down the hill, he encounters Kusefs car
stuc1 b* the roadside. 0lthough he is aware that his
1indness ma* be misinterpreted, he gives the .*rian a lift in
his Morris. M/o give help to a .*rian was onl* a degree less
dangerous than to receive help !4einemann56ctopus,
p.$-&.N
0cting on his wifes wish to be sent to .outh 0frica,
.cobie goes to the ban1 and tries to as1 for mone*. 4e is
20
refused because of the ban1s polic* and the nature of the
times !war&.
;hen he inspects the ship !speran.a, .cobie acts
on a tip sent b* a steward: the captain has letters
concealed in his bathroom. /rue enough, he finds the letter.
8ut the Eortuguese captain, upon learning that the* share
the same Catholic faith, pleads with the police officer
sa*ing that the letter is for his daughter in <eipzig. 4e
confiscates the letter but does not surrender it for
e2amination. Instead, he burns it. Greene describes .cobie
thus:
.cobie put his hand against his forehead and shivered: the
sweat seeped between his fingers, and he thought, 0m I in for a
touch of fever3 Eerhaps it was because his temperature had
risen that it seemed to him he was on the verge of a new life.
6ne felt this wa* before a proposal of marriage or a first crime
!4einemann56ctopus, p. ,#&.
3. RISING ACTION
.cobie turns to Kusef for help to get the mone* needed for
his wifes trip to .outh 0frica. <ouise finall* sees her dream
21
come true O shes off to .outh 0frica. .cobie tells Kusef
Mthat *oud want something out of me. 8ut *ou are going to
get nothing but four per centP!4einemann56ctopus,
p.#-&.N
.hortl* afterwards, the survivors of a torpedoed ship
begin to arrive after fort* da*s at sea in lifeboats. Mrs.
8owles, the wife of the local missionar*, leaves .cobie to
tend to a d*ing si2:*ear:old girl.
;hen he loo1ed at the child, he saw a white communion veil
over her head: it was a tric1 of the light on the mos?uito net
and a tric1 of his own mind. 4e put his head in his hands and
wouldnt loo1. 4e had been in 0frica when his own child died.
4e had alwa*s than1ed God that he missed that. It seemed
after all that one never reall* missed a thing. /o be a human
being one had to drin1 the cupP!4einemann56ctopus, p.#+&.
/he child eventuall* dies as .cobie tries to help her sleep.
0nother survivor brought to the resthouse is a *oung lad*
of nineteen, newl* married. .he lost her husband in the
shipwrec1. 4er name is 4elen =olt.
22
.cobie alwa*s remembered how she was carried into his life
on a stretcher grasping a stamp:album with her e*es fast
shut!4einemann56ctopus, p.#+&.
4. TURNING POINT
.cobie is surprised to find 4elen =olt sta*ing in one
of the Fissen huts where the minor officials lived. /he huts
are near his house. 4e is drawn to her. .oon he starts a
passionate affair with Mrs. =olt, all the time being aware
that he is committing a grave sin O adulter*.
5. FALLING ACTION
.cobie becomes careless. 4e leaves a letter to
4elen at her door. 4elen does not get it. Kusef tells Ma)or
.cobie that he has his letter and he can use it to blac1mail
.cobie. ;ilson too is hot on his trail.
.oon he receives a cable from <ouise telling him
that shes coming bac1, that she misses him. .cobie is torn
between his dut* to ma1e <ouise happ* and still have
4elen. 0li gets wind of .cobies relationship with 4elen
when he follows his master to the Fissen huts. .cobie
23
begins to lose trust in his bo*. 0li also chances upon
.cobie with Eembertons bo* giving him a diamond from
Kusef. .cobie is forced to see1 the help again of Kusef.
Kusef is more than willing to help him. ;hen he goes to the
wharf, he finds 0lis lifeless bod*.
Pfor a moment he saw the bod* as something ver* small and
dar1 and a long wa* awa* O li1e a bro1en piece of the rosar* he
loo1ed for: a couple of blac1 beads and the image of God coiled
at the end of them. 6h God, he thought, Ive 1illed *ou: *ouve
served me all these *ears and Ive 1illed *ou at the end of them.
God la* there under the petrol drums and .cobie felt the tears in
his mouth, salt in the crac1s of his lips. Kou served me and I did
this to *ou. Kou were faithful to me, and I wouldnt trust *ou
!4einemann56ctopus, p."7#&.
6. CONCLUSION
.cobie has made up his mind O he ma1es his
decision. .tarting with his diar*, he ma1es a careful log of
the temperature and the times when he slept ver* badl*.
4e ma1es an appointment with >r. /ravis and reveals his
pains to the doctor. /he *oung man suspects that it is
24
angina but he is not that certain. From then on, he spea1s
first to the Commissioner but not before passing b* the
church and ma1ing his monologue to God. .tep b* step,
his deception is almost complete. Finall* after his wife
reads him a poem, he watches her go. .he )ust read:
;e are all falling too O
all have this falling sic1ness none withstands.
0nd *et theres alwa*s 6ne whose gentle hands
this universal falling cant fall through !p."+#&.
/he* sounded li1e truth, but he re)ected them O comfort
can come too easil*.
4e pushes the tablets in his mouth si2 at a time, and dran1
them down in two draughts. 4e logs in his diar* dated
Fovember "', %alled on H/R/0 o"t1 te)perat"re at 2 p/)/
4e stops abruptl* and feels the final pain. 4is last words
were: >ear God, I loveP and he did not feel his bod*
when it struc1 the floor or hear the small tin1le of the medal
as it span li1e a coin under the ice:bo2Othe saint whose
name nobod* could remember !p."#%&.
25
In the end, .cobie had no secrets left. 4is deceptions were
discovered.