‘I didn’t say otherwise, it’s just that a lot of people work hard, grunting and groaning their entire lives, they wear themselves out, do everything possible, but still can’t satisfy their hunger.’
‘You’re speaking strangely, son. No one should despair, often it’s only a question of patience, there’s no such thing as waiting without reward, how many times have I told you the story of the starving man?’
‘I know a story as well, Father, it’s also a story about a starving man, a man who toiled from sunup to sundown without ever placating his hunger, and after writhing for so long, his body finally doubled over until he could bite his own feet; surviving at the cost of so many sores, he could but hate the world.’
‘You’ve always had a roof over your head here, a bed made up, as well as clean, ironed clothes, food on the table and plenty of affection. You’ve lacked for nothing. This is why you should forget about these stories of starving men, none of them are relevant now, which makes everything you say seem very strange. Make an effort, my son, try to make yourself clear, don’t feign, don’t hide anything from your father, it pains my heart to see you lost in so much confusion. For people to understand each other, it’s important to have their ideas in order. Word by word, son.’
‘Inside all order there’s a seed of disorder, inside clarity, a seed of obscurity, that’s the only reason I talk the way I do. I could be very clear and say, for example, that never, until I decided otherwise, had I ever thought of leaving our home; I could be clear and say furthermore that never, not before nor after I left, did I ever think I would find outside of our home what wasn’t given to me inside.’
‘And what wasn’t given to you here?’
‘I wanted my place at the family table.’
‘So, that’s why you abandoned us: because we didn’t give you your place at the family table?’
‘I never abandoned you, Father; all I did, in leaving home, was to spare you the revulsion of watching me survive by eating away at my own insides.’
‘Yet there was always bread on the table, fulfilling equally the needs of each and every mouth, and you were never forbidden to sit down with the family, on the contrary, that’s what we all wanted, that you would never be absent when we broke bread.’
‘I’m not talking about that, in some cases to participate only in the breaking of bread can be simply crueclass="underline" it would merely serve to prolong my hunger; were I to sit at the table for this reason only, I’d prefer to eat bitter bread that would shorten my life.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘It was blasphemy.’
‘No, Father, it wasn’t blasphemy, for the first time in my life, I spoke like a saint.’
‘You’re not well, son, a few days’ work at your brothers’ side will surely break down your proud words, you’ll recover your health, right away.’
‘For the time being, I’m not interested in the health you speak of, sir, there’s always a seed of disease therein, just as there’s a strong seed of health inside my illness.’
‘Confusing our ideas is pointless, forget your whims, son, don’t try to prevent your own father from discussing your problems.’
‘I don’t believe in discussing my problems, I don’t believe in exchanging ideas any more, I’m convinced, Father, that one plant can never distinguish another.’
‘Conversation is very important, son, every word, yes, every word is a seed; among all things human capable of leaving us in awe, the strength of the word comes first; even before the use of the hands, it’s the foundation for all action, it thrives, and expands, and is eternal, as long as it is just.’
‘I realize not everyone agrees, but even if I were to live ten lives, in my opinion, the benefits of dialogue, when reaped, are like overripe fruit.’
‘It’s pure selfishness, the natural result of immaturity, to think only of the fruit when planting, the harvest isn’t the greatest reward for those who sow; in planting, we have enough gratification knowing that our lives are meaningful, the glory is found in the mere enjoyment of the long gestation period, which is already something valuable we hand down to future generations, if, indeed, we hand the waiting down to future generations, for there is intense pleasure to be found in faith itself, just as there is warmth in the stillness of a bird brooding over eggs in its nest. And there can be so much life in a seed, so much faith in the hands of the planter; it’s a sublime miracle that seeds scattered in past millennia, although they have not germinated, have still not died.’
‘Father, no one lives on sowing alone.’
‘Of course not, son, if others are to reap what we’ve sown today, we now reap what’s been sown before us. That’s how life goes on, such is the current of life.’
‘And I’m already disenchanted with it, I now know the capacity of this current; those who sow and don’t reap, nonetheless, reap what they haven’t planted; and I haven’t had my share of that legacy, Father. Why keep pushing the world forward? My hands are already tied, I’m not going to choose to bind my feet as well; that’s why I really couldn’t care less which way the wind blows, I don’t see what difference it makes, it doesn’t matter whether things move forward or backward.’
‘I don’t want to believe in the little I understand of what you’re saying, son.’
‘You can’t expect a prisoner to serve happily in the jailer’s house; by the same token, Father, it would be absurd to demand a loving embrace from someone whose arms we’ve amputated; the only thing that makes less sense is the wretchedness of the maimed person who, lacking hands, applauds his torturer with his feet; or perhaps to be as patient as the proverbial ox that, in addition to the yoke, begs to have the oxbow tightened. The ugly person who cedes to the handsome only becomes uglier …’
‘Go on.’
‘The poor man who applauds the rich man only becomes poorer; the small man, smaller for applauding the great; the short man, shorter, for applauding the tall, and so on. Whether or not I’m immature, I will no longer recognize values that crush me, I consider it a sad game of make-believe to live inside other people’s skin, nor do I understand how there can be nobility in the mimicry of the destitute; the victim crying out in favour of his oppressor makes himself a prisoner twice over, unless of course it’s the cynical enactment of a bold pantomime.’
‘Everything you’re saying is very strange.’
‘It’s a strange world, Father, which only unites by dividing; built up on accidents, there is no self-sustaining order; there’s nothing more spurious than merit, and I wasn’t the one who planted that seed.’
‘I don’t see how these things are related, and even less, why you’re so worried about them. What are you trying to say with all this?’
‘I’m not trying to say anything at all.’
‘My son, you’re terribly disturbed.’
‘No, Father, I’m not disturbed.’
‘Who were you talking about?’
‘No one in particular; I was only thinking of hopeless cases, where there’s no cure, of those who cry out in passion, thirst and solitude, who are moaning with good reason; I was thinking only of them.’
‘I want to understand you, son, but I don’t understand anything any more.’
‘I’m mixing things up as I speak, I’m familiar with these digressions, the words are carrying me, but I’m lucid, Father, I know where I contradict myself, where I might be out of line, or even overstepping myself, and if there’s chaff in all of this, let me reassure you, Father, there are also plenty of whole grains. Even when I’m confusing, I’m not lost; for my own use, I’m able to distinguish the various threads of what I say.’