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Liberato continued to look to the gull which gave a quick turn around of lightning and then lost to the north , applied on a flight with no trouble, is it as wrong could be a sense of ubiquity? Never would have thought of writing a scene where a gull appeared in the middle of the ocean, where land would be unthinkable. Surely a cow was more than justified, he had witnesses who transport the passengers Fioravanti fortune, but a seagull ... An absurdity in its element and a reality in the absurd: the sea gulls were proper and yet there now should be impossible, the cows were in the ground but there was across the sea, real, but to never have seen. It was easier to believe in invisible cows in the gull had just seen ... somehow knew that this paradox was the essence and the wood of your being, she would write on cows on a boat or on gulls in the middle of the ocean, where the proximity of the land was unexpected, unlikely ... The ubiquity ... The corner of my eye spied Giovanni, seemed asleep. Beyond saw the English approached the opposite sector and even these presence was fantastic, both as a bird, never as cows, invisible and real.
"Good morning.
"Good morning, Julian.
"Looks like we got up early.
"It seems, just as well, is the perfect time of the sun.
- Do your friends? "Said Francisco.
"Out there, saving lives, I think.
- Saving lives?
-Don Guido, the thirty-five, had a problem and the boys went to his aid.
- Need Help?
Liberato said impassively, without intending to be suspicious or rude.
"No, we would not be here in the sun.
"Anyway I'll see, maybe ... Are you coming, Julian?
Julian decided to stay on deck, sunbathing by Liberato and with Giovanni, and at that let flow by separate paths, he felt a fullness that is only now beginning to recognize. Francisco greeted and drove off, attracted by the roaring sound incomprehensible that the cabin doors thirty-five. He walked slowly, almost in an attitude spy, but that was not his intention, the drowsiness of their steps was due to the obedience of inertial momentum, because in reality the whole will of Francis was embedded in their thoughts, their questions, their planning and reformulations, his voice echoing in that vast silent expanding empire that shaped their ideas. While with them, almost all the time, really well-liked to believe them, imperial and expansive, but he knew that none of these attributes were clearing them and corrupt, nothing of pride, emperors, or owners, no expansion since the limits do not exist, and there was the world itself, the very existence ... Francis was aware of the contradiction, and the many other contradictions that locked their ideas and their evangelizing mission. He wore a truth that brooked no obedience, yet he was willing to kill or die for everybody fell for it. He knew that his good news was not new, or so he was told, because he knew little of the doctrines of the Greeks, or closer to a certain Bacon, only what I had heard from his guide. Francisco, aware that carrying a majestic truth, she felt inflate his chest and cursed by it, because the vanity was not allowed in the new order without order, the vanity was precisely the cancer that would kill, vanity, lust for power, angurria, selfishness, all had to be banished from the mind of man so that man could live in its sole discretion, without giving it accounts to no one but his conscience and his conscience must be clean if I could live without a sword threatened him and keep him at bay in moderation. Francisco knew and denied the contradictions, that his doctrine was as perfect as that of the Jew sacrificed on a cross, and in an abstract world of ideas would great solution, that man, the essence of man, was selfishness, angurria, lust for power, there would always be a prestigious and one willing to lick the boot of the prestigious, there would always be others willing to betray million look good with few, for their selfishness, ambition, by his angurria, for his vanity, all cancer cells had to be eradicated from the company denied. He knew and refused to admit the contradiction of the possibility of organizing to fight the cancer, the same excuse used to cover the big hole left by the unassailable human condition was the same as that served to sustain the status quo, all knew and what refused, preferring to feel, slightly, that their truth was the only imperial, imperious, expanding on the absolute limit, he knew and refused and only allowed to ask how many of those who traveled with him on the Maria Fioravanti, could integrated into the first stage, how many would second in Buenos Aires, Rosario, where a worker had, how many of them could have reached the moment, because Francis knew and denied that although many were ready to kill, not all are willing to die for the cause. There were many pests, many of confusion, because everyone wanted to own the same causes to justify their consequences, and Francisco thought (knowing what I knew and refused to deny what) in its truth, as all had to fight Fe ... how many of those who traveled with him on the Maria Fioravanti, and begged the Jewish boy and his mother cross inmaculizada could convince them that what they were just lies, and that the only truth, the only religion, was his, leaving man free to decide its own truth and their own religion, in an ideal world where religions were inadmissible and truths ... the truth was only one, and it was material.
to many.
Francisco lit his pipe, and stood at thirty-five of the cabin; no spyware, no hiding, just waiting for the opportune moment, he would not come out shouting their truth as missionaries with the Bible as Bakunin in one hand and the stick in the other, the truth would come disguised, hinted, just in right place at the second chance and would be obscured by other more innocent words, but no less offensive, no, do not be deceived, they only talk to the only possible language for believers unbelievers, he did not scream, but meditate, whisper, and everyone would hear him recite his truth, not just those who want to hear: all. All. And the club just to show the words, another overlapping forms, and would not be against them but against the others, the Umberto I that forced exile hungry Italians, Canovas del Castillo to cast out his own ... against them was the stick, the whisper, the insidious idea getting hammered.
to many.
With how many.
just had to wait, smoking, thinking and waiting, and that would be they who would listen.
roared
The thirty-five, the rest of the third began to awaken. The smell was the same, here and there, in poverty and wealth, all reeking of vanity. Francisco, satisfied with his conclusion, he smiled.
Fifteen
Julian offered snuff, Giovanni did not answer: he seemed asleep.
-... The sun is going to hurt the skin, "said Julian.
"No more than us," said Liberato, and took a puff of smoke.
was still early, much to the idle routine trip, only the odd passenger encouraged the tropical sun, the rest sleep trying to shorten as much as we could on the eve of heat, boredom and hunger, because, of course, and hunger were also insufficient to mitigate rations. Then it was better to sleep and beg mercy to Heaven, which gave no mana, to shorten the day. However, the days of the tropics were long, heavy and hot, and the shirts were adhered to the skin, the stench of stale sweat stank every corner of Fioravanti, the stench of poverty that chased on land or at sea and blended into the kitchen and came to surpass, the water also owned property, even for travelers, mostly for travelers at sea. When Julian watched and dissected similar situations, he wondered if his uncle Francisco would have no reason, was it possible for a God to whom all men were equal, accept such inequality? Was it also possible that the laws contemplate? For one and for another, the word was equal, yet nothing more true, in every place on earth where a man made up, that inequality. Julian hated the rudeness he suspected of God, accused of uncivil rules allowing poverty and deportation, however, in the center of his heart, he knew different from the rest, that Giovanni was sleeping with his face reddened by the sun, It was not like him, Liberato, who smoked and watched the sea as if it were a proscenium timeless, nor was, even his uncle Francis who spoke constantly about the need to abolish the hierarchy, while dragging him around the world according to his will was not like him, Julian was not like the rest of humanity, he was different because they knew a peer, an equal really know (is not this the same argument was Uncle Francisco, one who was embarrassed by her pet vanity and the vanity?), God should reward with paradise to those who recognize the mystery as clearly as he, the law should allow exceptions for those who intentionally acts as humanistic and egalitarian as him.
What would a Time in America?
The idea of \u200b\u200bfollowing in the footsteps of Uncle Frank, the only one with substance and handles to hold them, she found unacceptable, the only think she could imagine the pain that would follow him to death, but there was no alternative, not as real, or realistic, like this one from his uncle, but instead dreamed of making it themselves and get lost in the crowd to go where wanted without feel he was betraying his blood, not so much by Francisco, who would care little disappointing, but for his father, his old, back in Spain, waiting to hear news of her son who became a journalist, as he had promised Francisco . It was clever, Francisco. He told the father of Julian, as the boy could read and write and was well educated (having completed primary school) would be of useful in arming the press that his friends there in Rosario, in America, he said they needed people who knew the words to write what he thought on these lands, and Spain, and who told him that in a few months would not be drafted in the most famous newspapers, because Uncle Frank told to the writer there is no better argument that life and travel to America was a great way to live. The father agreed and asked Julian to follow the advice (steps) of Uncle Frank, and Julian would not, could not, did not have the courage to disappoint his father and did not know if it would (I was sure that no I would) once who had come to America. And got carried away, let himself off from the land she loved him and he loved the land was left away from the eyes of Incarnation, Julian let everything happen without that he could help it, without having the will to resist. But at the end, all that had happened in her short life had not been more than a fortuitous sequence of events that had been settling into its existence, and when I looked it all, and now looking at the sea and cover of Mary Fioravanti, wondered where, in what place had been his decision, in what circumstances was he, Julian, who had given such a thing occurs or such other not. And the answer was sometimes never, but others were always special, it was said, "probably all I wanted but failed to see, surely my soul wanted all this happened because, otherwise, how could it happen" . And that thought was some consolation, but after great anguish, because if everything worked well, if things happened or did it might occur, obeying an inner desire but unnoticed, is that Julian was not known. Who was Julian? Who am I, asked Julian, and the anguish was repeated for various reasons which basically remained the same, to recognize that their words and ideas had been and were also of Francis, suspecting that their goals were similar to those of Liberato "I wanted to be a writer, a decision only he and Julian by submission-the lucid glimpse of originality actions and feelings (from pride to panic) were a matter of attitude and posture, because no one was safe from the same and much less if it was aware of the repetition, the archetype of monads that form motor thinking.
The sun had hardly moved from heaven could not have been more than a few minutes: Julian was surprised at how much someone can think in such a short time, the number of words that populate the mind in a few seconds, the size of images and memories that are repeated in an instant and then disappear, leaving the subject immersed in the weather outside, where there is nothing more to say: "lack so much, so much."
-Just and begins and wish it were night.
- What do you say? "Said Liberato, such as returning from a dream.
"The day has just begun," he repeated only Julian.
"Yes, and there is still much, right?
much, much, much, much ...
Chapters sixteen and seventeen
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