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336 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1960
“Man, my sons, is like a river, which has banks to keep it to its course, which is fed by other rivers, and which in turn feeds them. Men, like rivers, must serve some purpose. It is a bad river which ends up in a bog...”
Round the side of the cow’s hide she could see the sky, clear or cloudy, changing colour with the light. Sometimes she imagined that the four of them were dead and that the rolling cart was their coffin.
Our perceptions are becoming vague, and our minds dull. The landscape seems to dissolve and change its shape. We float and are buried in the whirling glare of the foul, opaque light. Suffering alone does not change. Suffering has exceptional vitality.
Stagnant water is poisonous. It breeds malignant fevers which cause madness. Then, to cure the invalid or to quieten him, you have to kill him. This country is already overpopulated with graves. “Harvests don’t grow from corpses!”
En todo caso, el cerrito del Cristo leproso se hubiera debido llamar Kuimbaé-Rapé.
Así lo llamaba él: Camino del hombre.
-Porque el hombre, mis hijos -decía repitiendo casi las mismas palabras de Gaspar-, tiene dos nacimientos. Uno al nacer, otro al morir...Muere pero queda vivo en los otros, si ha sido cabal con el prójimo. Y si sabe olvidarse en vida de sí mismo, la tierra come su cuerpo pero no su recuerdo...
Para el hijo de uno de los esclavos libertos de El Supremo, ésta era acaso, la única eternidad a que podía aspirar el hombre. Redimirse y sobrevivir en los demás. Puesto que estaban unidos por el infortunio, la esperanza de la redención también debía unirlos hombro con hombro.