s fixed in a disturbing rut, but it had all been pointless, Ana remained motionless on her knees, her body so wooden I could not even tell whether or not she was breathing; ‘Ana, listen to me, that’s all I ask …’ I fell back into the same calm manner, I’ve already mentioned I was well aware that I needed to prove my patience, to speak to her with reason (and how unabashedly versatile it was!), to use my good sense to sensitize all the saints, I needed the entire chapel to back me up: ‘Ana, listen to me, I’ve already said it once, but I’ll say it again: I’m so tired, I want to be a part of things, to be with everyone, I, the wayward son, the perpetual convalescent, on whom the suspicion of being an aberrant growth weighs so heavily; I want you to know, dear sister, that I do not rebel by choice, nor do I mean to grimace and scowl all the time, nor to harbour the anger that leaves its harsh traces, nor do I choose to hide myself away, and certainly not to live in this nightmarish state for which I am condemned: I want to change the muddy clay of my mask, dear sister, to eliminate the spark of madness lighting my eyes, to remove their vile shadows from my adolescent face, to wash away for ever this blemish on my forehead, this dreary scar no one sees, but that you all sense; everything is going to change, dear sister, my face will soften, I’ll abandon my isolation, my mute silence, I’m going to get along with all my brothers and sisters, make my life a part of theirs, would that I be ever present at the bright table of our family meals; I’m going to speak lightly, like everyone else, make conversation with neighbouring farmers, for example, about next year’s promising harvest, or mention that we can lend out one of our new breeders, I’ll borrow their important manner and finish up by commenting that recent rains have made the crops flourish; when I’m out on the road and meet up with people, I’ll tip my hat, just like they do, and in town, when I go to buy salt, wire or kerosene, I’ll stop and chat in every store, shake hands, and smile openly at everyone who looks my way; I’ll be upright and good, show concern and consideration, I like to help other people, I’m perfectly capable of being friendly, and when I have friends, I won’t let them down, I’m going to stop distilling poison at the onset of my loving impulses; and one of these nights after dinner, when shadows have fallen all over the gardens surrounding our house, and quiet darkness has taken over the veranda, when Father, with his grave manner, has become lost in his thoughts, I’m going to approach him, pull up a chair and sit down right next to him, then I’ll amaze him even more when I start up very naturally the distant conversation we never had; and as soon as I say, “Father,” and before I go on, calmly and firmly, I’ll sense the barely contained joy in his face shining through the light in his damp eyes, and the thrill of his ideas eagerly falling into place so that he can announce that the son for whom the family has feared is no longer cause for anxiety, that there is no further need to worry over him, and, because the son has spoken, there is no longer any reason to be afraid of him; and after he has listened to everything I have to say as I unravel the concerns of the whole family through our conversation, I can already tell you what our coming together will be like: first he’ll take my shoulders in his hands, and have me stand up, as he himself has already done, then he’ll take my head between his palms, and look me firmly in the face to rediscover in my features those of his youth, and before I ask for his long-awaited blessing, looking downward, I will feel his rough lips on my forehead as he kisses me austerely right where my scar used to be; and that’s how it will be, plus all the other wonderful things that will happen afterwards; help me to lose myself in the family’s love with your love, dear sister, I can’t take one step forward in this darkness, I want to escape this endless night, to be free of this torment, we’re always hearing that the sun rises for everyone, so I want my portion of light, my share of this warmth, that’s all I need, and as soon as I get it, I’ll give you my lucid soul, my illuminated body and my eyes, glowing at last; just to think of it, Ana, my cup runneth over, I can already feel my muscles strengthening once again, I’m bursting with joy, I could even lift up the world with one arm; and some day of rest, after lunch on a Sunday, when the wine has begun filling our heads with warm words and the sun is dropping from the sky, you and I will go outside to enjoy an exuberant walk; we will cut through the woods and down the cypress-bordered road and as we near the chapel, we’ll leave the lament of the beefwoods behind to answer the calls of the coconut palms urging us out into the open pastures, insisting we lay down on the soft belly of the fields; and only when, beneath that ancient sky, we’ve dyed our teeth in the blood of the mulberries picked along the way, will we surrender completely to the vast, circumspect silence, inhabited at that time of day by mysterious insects, by birds flying high above and by the distant ringing of cow-bells; give me your hand, dear sister, so much awaits us, just reach out to me, that’s all I ask of you, everything rides on this one act of yours, my outlook, my behaviour, and my virtues: kindness and generosity will be the first, and they’ll always be with me, I promise you this sincerely with all of my heart and I’ll keep this promise with no effort whatsoever, but everything, everything, Ana, begins with your love, it is the nucleus, the seed, your love for me is the beginning of the world,’ I kept talking insistently, obsessively, making myself believable, although exhausted from my own carrying on, I was disturbed to my very bones! ‘You must understand, Ana, that Mother gave birth to more than just children when she filled the house, we were soaked in the most sublime syrups from our orchards, rolled in the transparent honey of the honey bees and along with the many aromas rubbed into our skins, we were made dizzy with the delicate blossom-water from the orange trees; can we be blamed for this plant called childhood, its seduction, its vigour and earnestness? Can we be blamed if we were sorely hit by the fatal virus of excessive caresses? Can we be blamed for the many tender leaves that hid the morbid stem of these boughs? Can we be blamed if we were the ones to be caught in the netting of this trap? Our fingers, kneecaps, our hands and feet, even our elbows are entangled in this birdlime mesh, you must understand that not only our fingernails and feathers, but our entire bodies would be mutilated if we were to separate; so, help me, dear sister, help me so that I can help you, the same help I can offer you, you can bring to me, understand that when I speak about me, it is the same thing as speaking only about you, understand that our two bodies have forever been inhabited by the same soul; give me your hand, Ana, answer me, say just one word, anything, at least show me a sign in your silence, a slight nod of your head is enough, or a hint with the tips of your shoulders, a gentle motion of your hair, or the soles of your feet, the smallest promise of movement in your arches,’ I begged, but Ana didn’t hear me, the uselessness of everything I was saying was clear, and it was also clear I was using up all my resources for a dubious reason: to keep my soul light, available, how threatening, how dangerous! I advanced three steps forward and stood barefoot before her, leaning against the oratory, my face in the shadows, hers illuminated by candlelight; standing there in the dark, my eyes were very bright and almost clashed with hers looking up at me, but it was unbelievable: Ana was so strong-willed, she didn’t even see me; kneeling there, she worked away at her rosary zealously, only fervour, water and grime coated her cheeks, washed her flesh, cleansed her leprosy, what a purifying bath! ‘Take pity on me, Ana, take pity on me before it’s too late,’ then, with a more profane approach, I mumbled on, ‘but try to understand what I mean when I speak to you like this: I’m not attempting to earn your devotion with my pleas, it’s more of a signal, it’s my warning, I assure you, the clairvoyance of a dark premonition goes along with my appeaclass="underline" if there’s a breach in this passion I won’t be pious, I don’t have your faith, I’m unable to find your saints when all goes wrong,’ I said, already hearing the bleating of a lost ewe running through a red meadow, darting out to the valley, and realizing that somewhere a fire was being lit of resinous logs, that it was neither night nor day, but a time that balanced midway, a time that dissolved somewhere between the dog and the wolf: ‘Ana, we still have time, don’t release me with your refusal, do not leave me with so much choice, I don’t want to be this free, don’t force me to lose myself in the bitter dimensions of this immense space, don’t push me away, don’t drive me away, don’t abandon me at the gateway of this vast trail, I’ve already said it, and I’ll say it once more: I’m tired, I want my place at the family table, urgently! I’m begging you, Ana, and just to remind you, the family can be spared; in this imperfect world, this precarious world, where even the greatest truth can’t get beyond the limits of confusion, we must be satisfied with the spontaneous tools we have to forge our union: our recalcitrant secret, tempered with sly lies and subtle cynicism; after all, the balance Father has always talked about applies to everything, wisdom has never been exceedingly virtuous; and not only that, Ana, but in trying to do their best, when has anyone ever reached the core? We can’t forget that roads, like all routes, are only cleared on the surface, and that every trace, even life underground, is still only movement over the vast face of the earth; reason is generous, dear sister, it cuts through in any direction, will agree to any byway, as long as we handle the blade skilfully; to live our passion, let us clear our eyes of all artifice, of magnifiers, and of other tempestuous-coloured lenses, relying only on their own lucid, transparent water: thus, in our unique love, there can be found no sign of egoism, debasement of custom, nor threat to the species: let us not even worry about such trifles, dear Ana, everything is so fragile, with one superfluous nudge we could push the impertinent curator of the collective virtue aside: and what sort of guardian of the order is he? Standing there haughtily, he’s easily caught winking maliciously, and it’s impossible to tell whether he’s calling our attention to the brazen club in his right hand, or to his lascivious left hand, deep inside his trouser pocket; so let’s ignore this pious fraud’s pompous edict, it would be feeble of us to allow ourselves to be lulled by such anachronous hypocrisy, after all, is there any bed cleaner than our own nest of hay?’ And I braced my muscles forthwith to clear my path, my rod-like arms and iron fists gripping my sabre, which struck away at the inhospitable brush, and as the tips of my spurs scraped the ground, I dispensed with the old tape measure, but, driving in stakes, I sharpened my nerves as if I were sharpening a pencil, doing the arithmetic based on my own figures, little did I care that the grounds from my mind might eventually have had to weigh up against those from another milclass="underline" ‘It’s common knowledge, dear Ana, which we ignore like sleep-walkers, but which is, silently, the greatest and oldest scandal of all times: life itself is only organized through contradiction, what is good for some often means death for others, and only the fools among those that have been cast aside would ever borrow the yardstick used by those on top to measure the world; as victims of the order, I insist we have no choice if we want to escape this flaming conflict: we must forge our masks peacefully, draw a scornful mark into the ruby smear of the mouth, and in answer to the choice sbetween forward and backward, we’ll even resort to debauchery and run a greased finger along the crack in the universe; if flowers thrive in marshes, we too can dispense with the acquiescence of those unable to grasp destiny’s baroque geometry; we can’t afford to exchange a precarious situation for no situation at all in the name of discipline, as do the most self-demanding spirits; for my part, I’d even relinquish the possibility of having children, but I want to relish the pleasure of our clandestine love in the old house that much more —’ I said, ready to scale steep mountains, after all, I knew how to choose the right harness, curry horses, lead them to a trot, a slow pace and a canter, I mounted well, was agile with the lasso, and could gallop if I had to, not to mention that I also knew how to break in new colts, determining their elegance at the outset, the firm line of their tendons, their steel hooves and their blazing manes — ‘as a last resort, dear Ana, I appeal to simplicity, answer me reflexively, not from reflection, I entreat you to acknowledge along with me the atavistic line running through this passion: if Father, with his austere manner, wished to make of our home a temple, Mother, with her lavish affection, only managed to render it the house of our damnation,’ I said, lifting my Sagittarius paws, my hooves kicking up at the beams, suddenly feeling my blood swift and virulent, immediately whetted over this irreverent voluptuousness; there was grease in my eyes, they were coated in a dark paste of black smut blended with thick olive oil, my imagination sent forth a torrent of the most lecherous images, and my hands, overcome with fever, tore away at the violent buttons of my shirt, all the way down to my zip; loftily rediscovering their primitive vocation, they had already become the distant hands of an assassin, confidently reinstating the rules of a filthy game, liberating themselves for sweet crime (such orgies!), sweeping across the oratory in search of flesh and blood, dipping the anaemic host into my wine chalice, trscratching into the softness of the lilies in their vases, leaving my fingerprints on their chaste parchment leaves, combing the alcoves for lascivious saints (such a coy, crimson-faced virgin! Such pecking at my liver!), and losing myself in a fog of incense lit in honour of the devil before me, I said, by then covered with burns, ‘I’m thirsty, Ana, I want to drink —’ I was but a slab of raw meat — ‘this wound, this cancerous fester is not my fault, nor is this thorn, I can’t be blamed for this tumour, this swelling, this purulence, I’m not to be blamed for these turgid bones, nor for the mucus flowing from my pores, nor this cursed, hidden slime, I’m not to be blamed for this florid sun, this crazed flame, I cannot be blamed for this delirium: one bead on your rosary for my passion, two beads for my testicles, all the beads on this string for my eyes, say ten rosaries passionately for the brother gone mad!’ I foamed fervently, my hands running up and down my exasperated skin, violating my adolescent body and, with whimsical, artful flair, causing my superb, resolute phallus to emerge from the warm, tender flowering of my pubic hair, and filling my hands with the rough scrotum balls hanging below in my groin, the protectors of my primordial fountain of torment, I made a religious offering to my sister of their dense nutrition, but Ana remained impassive, her eyes definitively lost in sainthood, she was a cold, plaster image under that candlelight, and having set myself up for this turbulence from the outset, for a second I fell into dull, ashen anger: ‘I’m bathed in spleen, Ana, but I can still face your rejection, my violent storm is already perpetually laden with rage, my resistance is strong, plus I’ve got an alchemist’s talent and wisdom, I know how to transform sulphur using the virtue of snakes, and am able to mix dawn’s chilly mist into the vapours hovering over the boiling cauldron; I’m planning to cultivate my eyes, everything I see will be planted with barren seed, yielding infertile earth, dirt that will even decay, just as the frost will sear the leaves on the trees, the petals on the flowers and the pulp of our fruit; I won’t hide my smile if disease plagues our herds, or our crops, I’ll cross my arms while everyone rushes around, turn my back on those asking for my help, cover my eyes so as to avoid their wounds, turn