Chile is going to change. And then his jawbone hung out of joint, but still he said: I won’t live to see it. And I said: Farewell, you’ll see it, you’ll see it all. And then I knew that my words did not refer to heaven or eternal life, for I was pronouncing my first prophecy: if what Farewell had predicted was to happen, he would witness it. And Farewell said: The story of that Austrian has saddened me, Urrutia. And I: You have many years left to live, Farewell. And he: What’s the use, what use are books, they’re shadows, nothing but shadows. And I: Like the shadows you have been watching? And Farewell: Quite. And I: There’s a very interesting book by Plato on precisely that subject. And Farewell: Don’t be an idiot. And I: What are those shadows telling you, Farewell, what is it? And Farewell: They are telling me about the multiplicity of readings. And I: Multiple, perhaps, but thoroughly mediocre and miserable. And Farewell: I don’t know what you’re talking about.
And I: The blind, Farewell, the stumbling of the blind, their futile flailing around, their bumping and tripping, their staggering and falling, their general debilitation. And Farewell: I don’t know what you’re talking about, what’s happened to you, I’ve never seen you like this. And I: I’m glad to hear you say that. And Farewell: I don’t know what I’m saying any more, I want to talk, but all that comes out is drivel. And I: Can you make out anything clearly in that shadow play? Can you see particular scenes, or the whirlpool of history, or a crazy ellipse? And Farewell: I can see a rural scene. And I: Something like a group of farmers praying, going away, coming back, praying and going away again?
And Farewell: I see whores stopping for a fraction of a second to contemplate something important, then heading off again like meteorites. And I: Can you see anything there about Chile? Can you see the future of our land? And Farewell: That meal didn’t agree with me. And I: Can you see our Palatine Anthology in that shadow play? Can you read any names? Or recognize any profiles? And
Farewell: I see Neruda’s profile and my own, but, no, I’m mistaken, it’s just a tree, I see a tree, the multiple, monstrous silhouette of its dead leaves, like a sea drying up, it looks like a sketch of two profiles, but actually it’s a tomb out in the open, cloven by an angel’s sword or a giant’s club. And I: What else? And Farewell: Whores coming and going, a river of tears. And I: Be more precise. And Farewell: That meal didn’t agree with me. And I: How odd, it doesn’t look like anything to me, just shadows, electric shadows, as if time had speeded up. And Farewell: There is no comfort in books. And I: And I can see the future clearly, and I can see you there, living to a ripe old age, loved and respected by all. And Farewell: Like Doctor Johnson? And I: Precisely, to a T, you’ve hit the nail right on the head. And Farewell: Like the Doctor Johnson of this godforsaken strip of earth. And I: God is everywhere, even in the most outlandish places. And Farewell: If I weren’t so drunk and didn’t have such a gut-ache I’d ask you to hear my confession right now. And I: It would be an honor. And Farewell: Or I’d drag you into the bathroom and screw you good and proper. And I: That’s not you talking, it’s the wine, it’s the shadows upsetting you. And Farewell: No need to blush, we’re all sodomites here in Chile. And I: Not just our pitiable compatriots but all men are sodomites, each of us harbors a sodomite in the architrave of his soul, and it is our duty to prevail over that unwelcome guest, to vanquish him, to bring him to his knees. And Farewell: Now you’re talking like a cocksucker. And I: Never, I have never done that. And Farewell: I won’t tell anyone, I promise. Not even at the seminary? And I: I studied and prayed, prayed and studied. And Farewell: I promise I won’t tell anyone, I promise, I promise. And I: I read
And I: The blind, Farewell, the stumbling of the blind, their futile flailing around, their bumping and tripping, their staggering and falling, their general debilitation. And Farewell: I don’t know what you’re talking about, what’s happened to you, I’ve never seen you like this. And I: I’m glad to hear you say that. And Farewell: I don’t know what I’m saying any more, I want to talk, but all that comes out is drivel. And I: Can you make out anything clearly in that shadow play? Can you see particular scenes, or the whirlpool of history, or a crazy ellipse? And Farewell: I can see a rural scene. And I: Something like a group of farmers praying, going away, coming back, praying and going away again?
And Farewell: I see whores stopping for a fraction of a second to contemplate something important, then heading off again like meteorites. And I: Can you see anything there about Chile? Can you see the future of our land? And Farewell: That meal didn’t agree with me. And I: Can you see our Palatine Anthology in that shadow play? Can you read any names? Or recognize any profiles? And
Farewell: I see Neruda’s profile and my own, but, no, I’m mistaken, it’s just a tree, I see a tree, the multiple, monstrous silhouette of its dead leaves, like a sea drying up, it looks like a sketch of two profiles, but actually it’s a tomb out in the open, cloven by an angel’s sword or a giant’s club. And I: What else? And Farewell: Whores coming and going, a river of tears. And I: Be more precise. And Farewell: That meal didn’t agree with me. And I: How odd, it doesn’t look like anything to me, just shadows, electric shadows, as if time had speeded up. And Farewell: There is no comfort in books. And I: And I can see the future clearly, and I can see you there, living to a ripe old age, loved and respected by all. And Farewell: Like Doctor Johnson? And I: Precisely, to a T, you’ve hit the nail right on the head. And Farewell: Like the Doctor Johnson of this godforsaken strip of earth. And I: God is everywhere, even in the most outlandish places. And Farewell: If I weren’t so drunk and didn’t have such a gut-ache I’d ask you to hear my confession right now. And I: It would be an honor. And Farewell: Or I’d drag you into the bathroom and screw you good and proper. And I: That’s not you talking, it’s the wine, it’s the shadows upsetting you. And Farewell: No need to blush, we’re all sodomites here in Chile. And I: Not just our pitiable compatriots but all men are sodomites, each of us harbors a sodomite in the architrave of his soul, and it is our duty to prevail over that unwelcome guest, to vanquish him, to bring him to his knees. And Farewell: Now you’re talking like a cocksucker. And I: Never, I have never done that. And Farewell: I won’t tell anyone, I promise. Not even at the seminary? And I: I studied and prayed, prayed and studied. And Farewell: I promise I won’t tell anyone, I promise, I promise. And I: I read
Similar Books
