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Audiobook
Published January 1, 2018
And now, gra gra, fire on pity, fire on impotence and its charity, fire on all that postpones the coming of evil, fire twice, and there they are toppling over, falling, and the camels flee toward the horizon, where a geyser of black birds has just risen in the unchanged sky. I laugh, I laugh, the fellow is [59] writhing in his detested habit, he is raising his head a little, he sees me¡ªme his all-powerful shackled master, why does he smile at me, I¡¯ll crush that smile! How pleasant is the sound of a rifle butt on the face of goodness, today, today at last, all is consummated and everywhere in the desert, even hours away from here, jackals sniff the nonexistent wind, then set out in a patient trot toward the feast of carrion awaiting them. Victory!
This long, this long dream, I¡¯m awaking, no, I¡¯m going to die, dawn is breaking, the first light, daylight for the living, and for me the inexorable sun, the flies. Who is speaking, no one, the sky is not opening up, no, no, God doesn¡¯t speak in the desert, yet whence comes that voice saying: ¡®If you consent to die for hate and power, who will forgive us?¡¯ Is it another tongue in me or still that other fellow refusing to die, at my feet, and repeating: ¡®Courage! courage! courage!¡¯? Ah! supposing I were wrong again! Once fraternal men, sole recourse, O solitude, forsake me not! Here, here who are you, torn, with bleeding mouth, is it you, Sorcerer, the soldiers defeated you, the salt is burning over there, it¡¯s you my beloved master! Cast off that hate-ridden face, be good now, we were mistaken, we¡¯ll begin all over again, we¡¯ll rebuild the city of mercy, I want to go back home. Yes, help me, that¡¯s right, give me your hand. . . .¡±
A handful of salt fills the mouth of the garrulous slave.
My confessor couldn¡¯t understand when I used to heap accusations on myself: ¡®No, no, there¡¯s good in you!¡¯ Good! There was nothing but sour wine in me, and that was all for the best...