unnamed woman, but it is detailed in such a way as to give to the sad and tawdry moments a grace, a lyricism, and a meaning that were lacking, apparently, in their riven relationship. Beckett emphasizes the significance of the found memory to Krapp by having him play it three times, and it is that memory that concludes the play. Furthermore, the episode describes a real consummation Krapp was unable to recognize at the moment: “I asked her to look at me and after a few minutes—[Pause.]—after a few moments she did, but the eyes just slits, because of the glare. I bent over her to get them in the shadow and they opened. [Pause. Low.] Let me in” (Beckett, Krapp 316). While Krapp continues to render a lyrical account of what is a wondrous shared sexual experience, it is the communication that occurs through the eyes that brings magic and mystery to the moment. Krapp’s plea to “let me in” is the only authentic attempt at communication with a woman we are allowed to hear, and it clearly leads to a climax. A few minutes later, when Krapp begins his birthday retrospective, he cannot help but talk about her: “The eyes she had! [Broods, realizes he is recording silence, switches off, broods. Finally.] Everything there, everything, all the—[Realizes this is not being recorded, switches on.] Everything there, everything on this old muckball, all the light and dark and famine and feasting of … [hesitates] … the ages! [In a shout.] Yes!” (317) Although Krapp at other moments remembers women’s eyes, this particular evocation begins slowly and accelerates until it arrives at the ejaculatory “Yes!”, trumpeting in its list of the transcendent contents of the eyes and in its rhythmic crescendo and arrival the effect of the involuntary memory on Krapp’s psyche—he is a changed man. Proust’s salvific involuntary memory finds a place in Beckett’s theatre, rendering it, once understood, far less absurd than some would suggest.>