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Howard received a letter one morning in early June. At first just did not notice that envelope folded in an envelope slightly yellowish, retired as the stack of letters from the mailbox and, without even browse, went to lay them on the trum in the entrance. Then he went out, distracted by his thoughts. Not before saying goodbye to his aunts and receiving in return the now habitual silence shady Lilian.
was one of those days that Providence reconciled with the dark, the sun was high, the scented gardens, the people on the street smiling. For some 'time Howy had taken a new turn in his morning walks, directly across the center of town, walking fast on the sidewalk, taking care not to trample on the junction of the concrete tiles. That was the only device that kept him tied to the daily reality for the duration of what would be an hour of pure entertainment, before sitting down to Remington and start writing. Just had left the night before.
In fact they were walking fast, pure exercise, perception of the alien will mix with the microrealtà the town. Someone greeted him, he replied, but if someone else had the idea of \u200b\u200basking him a few steps farther on "who" had exactly greeted Howard certainly would not have been able to tell. And just waved. To courtesy. To be left alone, too.
So sometimes happened that, back in his studio, not even made it on behalf of those who had met and, more importantly, what the words were addressed.
that morning of early June did not go well. Just outside the town hall, while bouncing on the pitch with his strange wiry, who happened to cross the postmaster of the country, which had turned a smiling ... "We have received important mail, Mr. Howard today eh .."
"E? Important ... ? Lovecraft created the essence of that statement, at least a few seconds after he had greeted the man of the post. It was a moment.
racing at breakneck speed toward the house, so as to avoid fatigue of the few passers-by on the opposite sidewalk, he reached the gate of his house, opened it and exclaimed in going into, just as Aunt Lilian is brought to the eyes that strange message.
"Bar Ber .. ..." sketched distracted the elderly, in an attempt to read the postmark.
"It 's my thing, Aunt Lilian" The Howy said, seriously.
The woman put the letter in his hand.
He went into his study, opened it, read it.
was like when the wind turns.
[snip]
"twelve, maybe fourteen kilometers ... But I'll find a way to stop it. All this " .
It was not just the pain, not even the muggy heat, perhaps just the idea of \u200b\u200bwhat he lost. Of what would no longer matter what had happened from then on. That was the most difficult obstacle to bear now that he knew, would live another life.
"What life?" The thought's seething inside, like an overflowing coffee over the flame.
"Twelve or fourteen kilometers ...."
by foot: at each step a little 'blood-less, for each stride a sweat. A blend and blend and mix with the sand on his hands, or what was left. Not asked if she wanted to live, was that his fortune, because it is independent of the soul inherent in the human body that sometimes, those dramatic times, drives people to resist. In spite of everything. So it was not the mind groped to save it. It was his body, disconnected from any intellectual drive, freed from any conscious will. It was what is commonly called the "survival instinct" that held her up, dragging a step to another, the next time ... If this task had been delegated to the reason, there were those ten thousand steps.
"count the steps ..." He said shortly after he urinated on and having heard those terrible wounds, in all their absurd essence and for the first time, those three stumps that they flexed and stiffened in pangs of excruciating pain. Then sragionò: "The piss. This pisses me ... save - repeated aloud that smoking in the train fire was still visible behind her - Everyone knows who has the power to numb .. No, no ... Even better, to heal, to sterilize ... ". Immediately after completing the operation Paco could not help but look at his right hand, for an instant clean the blood and dirt, the three fingers and saw what was left. Pinkie, middle and ring existed only in the root that is joined to the hand. Three cuts, ordered and asymmetric, made him crippled. It was like watching his own coffin before friends if on his shoulders to his funeral and then apostrophes: "I'm still alive! Still alive! "..
"My hand is still" Farnsworth Paco strange smile. Flushed from intoxication unstable.
He felt on the brink of insanity between pain and bewilderment and fear. Then, placing his hand wound to the chest of the jacket khaki, with his left he rolled one of the tissues taken from their dead comrades, squeezed by tightening the teeth, erasing the unknown thick that it struck his hand and arm to the shoulder. Squeezed like to put in that gesture, all that he still had the desire.
To live, to try to be something different.
But his mind was not pushing, was her body, her limbs throbbing, independent from the heart and a clouded head, slave of pain, confused by the mutilation. Action, the place.
"One, two, one .. two .. one step after another, one gear, this should be a march. Chihuahua is not far away ... I will get there in three hours, maybe four "
He said, as the high sun, the smell of gunpowder, the smell of the breath of the ponds still Fierro him, such as flour on the baker in the early morning . The stony desert was like a big copper pot, where the life of a red-hot Mexican army captain who had lost himself, or what who chose to be up to that point.
was finding the discipline of the march that had forced the academy to exhaustion that Paco de Los Rios came to cover five, seven, nine kilometers in a few hours. Straight as a blade of grass, thin like a tightrope, vulnerable to one idea: to give in to fatigue, pain. Therefore, its body began to sag low, the sling had dipped his coat in the stomach, dusty boots had only the memory of glittering parades.
He stopped, leaned over, threw his head between his legs to squat again as the last forces. The horizon, until then rippled only rock and gravel dust, finally gave him a picture. It was his own, that of young cadets of that firm, determined, convinced, read aloud the prayer of the official Mexican. The redundant rhyme which required memory for each kid. In any future official. He liked. Like how a guy can like the idea of \u200b\u200bbelonging to something, be somebody. Confusion among the crowd of his peers, joined them. In success, in defeat, in joy, in pain. Gives him the idea of \u200b\u200bnever being alone, being that part of a whole which made it no less clear, but infinitely less vulnerable. Life, his obscenities.
So bitter to the mouth with the sand, his coat soaked, heavy legs and the desire to sleep whispering that an announcement of death, he began to recite it aloud, because the sand, the warm wind in the dunes, the red-hot stones of the mounds could hear him. Because he was not alone. It was part of something Captain Paco de Los Rios. He had lived in that and for that, he was hiding, he was protecting himself rocked.
And he repeated. And he repeated.
"I'm the one who falls. At the bottom row of the right. Not ride more, next to his companion, deaf and unaware that proceeds step. Yes, I'm the one who falls, with his uniform to beat fast-paced, pouches Bullet shaved oiled, the light goes out. Far away from the flag, close to the goal. So man, so women. From the womb that bore me, the lawn that welcomes my face fell. With drum music in the heart that drives us to get up.
of injury does not die, if you have no fear.
I'm the one that falls beyond the bottom of the row of the right. I'm the one raised to continue the march. "
That first evening spent at the home of Captain translator de Los Rios had continued to tell Howard to this story, its history, stroking the goatee again, with a smile for anything dramatic or ironic. Only with the knowledge of those who know her narrow escape, he had a second chance. Perhaps unnecessary, almost certainly undeserved, as not always, but almost never the right is the thrust of the case that says "white" for you and "black" for who's next. Or vice versa.
At one point in his story had then begun, with an ability to draw unexpected frenzy on a sheet of paper.
Howard had heard and had cleared, after the shock for the "gift" that Fierro had done to his friend fifteen years ago and had thought strange that he had devoted his writing all'orrorifico, the monstrous, all ' Ghastly throb and thrill to a story so simple, so real.
The draw of his host had done so more challenging and decisive.
"Tell U.S.: Do not you curious to know how I saved?" I asked him at one point Paco, waking him from his meditation, the sediment from its history.
"Yes, I was coming Paco" Howard snaps back, as you woke with a start.
"Nothing ... I recited this rhyme hundred times, I forget. Just in the distance I saw the first houses of Chihuahua I stopped. I sat down and I succumbed to exhaustion
"But how? Just when the most important, you want to risk on purpose ... "
" Yes - the translator had smiled - indeed not. I wanted to see What awaited me. I was not sure you want to live that way, with the right hand. I was tired, bleeding. I thought to decide the fate and I let myself sleep. It 'happened. It was good no? "
Howard had been as petrified for a moment and then the silence was broken by Paco that he was back on the last question.
The writer had time to think of that was not bad at a crossroads, to decide the fate. The "true", that when you are totally at the mercy of events, it becomes very visible in his bizarre obscurity. "Black or White" is repeated Lovecraft, thinking about the last words of his translator. White or black and you can not choose. Or again: do not want. "
"He finished that I was picked up a couple of miles from safety. I rescued a group of poor people fleeing the civil war - had then explained Paco, once the right design and the paper folded -. I thought that only the fact of being a "hated" the military I would be torn to pieces. Not so, thankfully. It was poor people in fear, looking just a bit 'of peace and security. Whatever It Takes.
They could finish me with a stick or even leave me there to bleed to death, no one would ever know.
So I knew at once that the birth is between revolution poor rural people, but not all of them wanted her, and that there is still a lot of people looking at you and sees you only as a man, despite the role that clothing or uniforms. My life began with the two certainties. Even now I think Rodolfo Fierro knew. He knew that I would meet this way and left me in life even to address it. I sometimes feel a bit ashamed 'to think of anything so absurd .. But since we're in the mood for confidences ... "
When Howard took on the last flight of stairs and settled at the door, had in mind two things. The first was to be able to explain quickly and well, without unnecessary words. The second was to succeed to guess at the same time and in the same way, what might be the reactions to his words. There were a few weeks ago when they had met and had made friends, but the Mexican hairy-looking intelligent he was familiar. What's more, thought to represent something he did not know he admitted to himself, so good.
This was the seed of the most sincere? What falls by the wind in a field adjacent rather than distant and blossoms though. Why you would expect, making sprout, then plant, then maybe oak. For Howard, the Barrio of New York declined to rush from his Providence, he seemed really well. He seemed really he can trust those gnarled hands, that every Hispanic in this period of slow and pedantic voice hoarse.
It was said that what he had to say was no small thing, that what I wanted to ask you could ask lightly. But this was his new nature and really did not feel like filtering, detached emotion, of thorns hanging. He wanted to say and wanted to try everything. At the same time. And if the answer was 'no', would have accepted it is accepted as a refusal to regret letting go.
No matter their faces, no matter their risk of face paint in its delusion. So he settled the suit and knocked twice.
"Oh Paco-made, while they drew a smile - my friend ammericano. Another translation? "
Howard smiled and went quiet. Well managed to free himself from the temptation to go beyond the pleasantries, and then sat down and talked in the kitchen, placing on the table the letter he had received only the day before. He spoke
dry and fast, with no big emotion, together seeking to observe the face of his party who heard, however, without betraying obvious emotions. His face in fact, became an impassive mask as if it were wax. That afternoon in early summer, soon became the evening, when Paco de Los Rios, finished listening to the words of his friend, finally decided to tell her.
"Want a coffee Mr. Howard?" He said, smiling mockingly.
"No, thanks. But ... "
" But I listened very carefully, my friend. And I must say that what I ask for is a simple, feasible ... I mean these things, I've done worse - he laughed explicit -. Being half Mexican authorizing the world to come to me for help. Villagers, Mexican, fake Mexican Hispanics everywhere. It seems that the fact of having this origin, speak the language, everyone is allowed to come to me ... "
" Do you mind, right? "
" No, not Mr. Lovecraft. I'll tell you that the only people who do not help are the killers. There are many around you know? ... The advantage of translating everything for everyone at the end you become aware of things that do not even want to know. So you end up in spite of yourself to know everything, maybe in advance of those who come knocking on your door and it feels right to do so, just because he speaks the same language in a foreign country. Well, I do not need all this knowledge, I do not mind the errors of those who ask me for help. Only killers ... The ones I refuse to help them. I've seen too many people die e.. And it's true: the death flattens everything, every difference, every ideal in those who died. Those who kill those who kill the other hand ... could do it again. No matter the reasons that led him first. I've seen too many people die and I have not done anything to prevent it. This is enough, I will no longer be responsible ... Acting and doing nothing is the same thing "
" But here, it is not death, "Howard added, peaceful
" Yes, it is not dead and I'll tell you that the thing to soothe me a lot. It will be easier for you to do, what to do ... "Then she smiled with her green eyes and nerves in his neck that pulled agile, in the light of the oil lamp on the table.
The captain made the tavern on the corner wearing a big pot of mole negro, then the two friends talked about drinking red wine and wiping with your forearms. From time to time Paco blocking its hilarity by instinct, and while the wiry Howard remained purple in the face for laughing, he stopped to look at him silently, as if to study their attitudes. He did it with a light of very sincere pleasure that only a few hours later ended up upsetting Lovecraft.
"What are you staring at me every now and then?" I urged, serious fatigue.
"Ah, I do not know Mr. Lovecraft, I'll have to tell you ..." The midnight hour was over by ten minutes. On the table the remains of a tasty dinner and greasy.
"Why?" He added decelerating laughter.
"Because I do not know if this is your true nature, or have you changed since the last When we met ... All this talk: Pull the plug on this side, disconnect the power ... there're different "
" Different how? Most beautiful? "And in doing so, put a banana peel on his head, simulating a wig, and began again to laugh. The wine had its effect.
"More human than More ... humble Howard
The silence that followed was something that Lovecraft could not decipher. It was as if suddenly change the lights on stage and full lighting, switch to that eye of beef that can make the fortune of any actor, singer or dancer debut. The writer of the Providence felt about himself and then answered. With a question.
"Have you ever been in love, Paco?"
"What matters ..." said the Mexican project, shaking his head sideways. Howard took no notice, had already lost his inhibitions, "I do. Davvero.Tanti many years ago. The good ... The good thing is that I had forgotten the "And he laughed as if he had gone through something to drink.
"Ah .."
"Really, you know? Her name was Charlotte: I had forgotten about her "
" Remember, you gave a shock eh? "He smiled smugly.
"I think so. For all that has come back ... It 's been invoking the chain of a ship. The memories came out ring after ring. But did not you answered "
" What? Ah ... love. Do not see a topic is boring? "
" Yes, that is not. I thought until a few days ago, then ... "
" Then that Carlotta, I redid the blood boil in his veins ... And where is it now eh? "He mischievous man without three fingers, while with the enforceable right stroking the lace.
"It 's dead, many years ago"
"Well, I'm sorry ammericano ... But still can change sorting on you. And that change. I would say that you're better than we said goodbye and not only for the new I guess the letter you received ... "
Howard took another glass of cerveza, knocking him down like a bully would do in the suburbs at the counter of a dive, then looked straight at his friend and it was as if daring. This time was not joking ...
"You wiper, M. de Los Rios. Answer my question please. Have you ever in love? "
" It 's quite a boring topic, my friend "
" I guess. How is it a story about you, Paco "retorted
ironic writer, as he poured a drink. It was not salty mole negro, was the desire to have fewer inhibitions. As a descent into conscious the goal of true sincerity. That coincides with the free deeper than a man can afford. The Mexican
smiled sober. Then he began: "Yo soy un hombre como todos ... I like all Howard. I fell in love too. Sure ... Claro que si. "
never did, or almost. Nested quell'inglese with his tongue that he had learned so well in recent decades. Howard noted that he sometimes, when the sinking of his argument one step. Descended to the depths hidden. Besides the stories of mutilation, blood, dead, to aid ill the barrio. Those were only the emerged part of the former captain of the past. It was obvious that was us much. Much more.
"A woman? A love? More love? "He thought Lovecraft, watching Paco mirror in the bottom of his glass. He thought of the nights spent at home a few weeks before his translator, shouting that he had invested the vital corridor quell'abitazione in the middle of the night. The laughter, the sound of high heels between rooms, between those walls. In the house of Paco who was like a haven where they could all land, where sometimes moor some elegant wooden vessel sails prosperous and swollen. Intended for the master of the docks. What could carry: love? Wild sex? What kind of fulfillment? Howard did not want to know out of curiosity vulgar. No, he needed points of reference. Simply.
How could love a man like that? Who had already died once, and another had begun to live. Disenchanted, yet generous. Simple and yet so willing to gamble everything. Every time.
"I was married - began the translator -. I was married, when I did this Fierro. Ramona, it was called, or calling. Although I do not know what happened to ... "
Howard looked at him as we see a chest, piano, opens. Did not hide his curiosity, not conceal his astonishment. He could no longer do so.
"When I return to the Military Hospital, I was holding only a license that would act as a bridge to leave unrestricted. So tanned it was no longer the Republican army of Mexico, I knew. There I was wrong. What I did not expect was that the changes would come so fast in my life, not to allow me to think, to get ready. To plan too.
Ramona was the daughter of a landowner in the district of Guadalajara. A woman who was able to recognize the authority of a father ... That important, a husband, a uniform. I should have realized that I'd never been anything about these three things for you or the children we wanted. I began to understand it from the only time he came to visit me in hospital during his recovery. That day he asked me to unwrap and show him my ... My new hand. I saw his face impassive and cold. I would have much preferred that you portray horror, instead stared at her without touching. Firm, with her eyes and her hair blacks. I think at that moment ceased to love me. Mumbled a few words empty of compassion, then smiled at me and pretend I finally kissed her forehead before leaving.
I swear that Howard seemed to me that day even more beautiful ... "
The two exchanged a smile now diners late at night. A smile uneven, broken down. On one hand, the peak of Lovecraft's life, and secondly the hilarity of the translator who slid down. From hero defeated.
"I went back to her a few weeks later, I knew I would never be the same. So I continued to live them for next few months, I waited and waited ... The night I heard her slip out of our bed, but did not interest me to know where he went .. "
Howard continued to observe the other end of the table. The alcohol kept him from taking a graceful pose, but it took away an instant lucidity, the ability to analyze. Not even that watered-down feeling that scraped inside. Sharp nails on the wall as a blackboard. From time to time imperceptibly blew into his nostrils and sketched a grim smile at the same time. How to launch an invisible donut rescue a friend from drowning. For years he was drowning, but without drowning. Paco
rolled yet another cigarillo and carried it to his lips. With the usual puffy spicy roteandolo lit the flame.
"Yes, I do not care. Even the smiles of malicious vaccheros like the looks of pity and embarrassment of his father. I waited until the time was right, something which I click inside but I did not know what could be ... That was my new life, but life was short ... What? - Former captain took a deep breath, inhaling all the smoke that still pile up to his lips after another breath, then continued - And then one evening, three months after my return, I waited for my wife go out at night and followed her. I saw her across the courtyard of the mess and slip into the head herdsman. A blond ammericano chatterbox who had arrived in Guadalajara a few weeks ago ... I do not need to see with my eyes, I did not care who he was and what he did not Ramona. Inside of me I had already decided what to do .. ".
Howard felt a chill that iced down and stroked his neck to the buttocks, as a substantial drop of cold water, slip down. From his right, through his vision, until its shocking certainty.
"Paco is a murderess pairs fedigrafe ... A man who knew how to kill, Therefore, and according to his words could do it again, "he said.
How could he judge him so well? Struggled to swallow and waited, listening to his friend.
"I did what seemed most natural. I said nothing, waiting for her to come back out. I waited and saw her, making me see. I did nothing, it was not necessary. We looked at how to recognize the light of a candle in the dark. The beauty is that we succeeded ... "
" You killed it? "He Lovecraft with a whisper, like a child might ask.
Only a few weeks before this question would never revolt. Only a few weeks earlier it would not be stayed there. To listen.
Paco smiled and shook his head.
"I never would have made Mr. Howard. I never would have done ... I did not even think the impulse to be angry and even ashamed of her. Yes, we recognized that evening. I was no longer the captain de Los Rios and her ... She was no longer my wife. There were no words, there was no need. We stared in silence for a few seconds, I wanted to apologize to her and maybe she wanted to do the same with me, I'll read it in your face but ... It was not ashamed of what he had done, for treason. I wanted to apologize for not being able to accept me for what I had become different. A new man, Unlike ... not much better. Only "
The writer drew on the back of the chair, as if to draw breath.
His face described his astonishment, his candor infinite. His face spoke to Paco, his mouth without saying.
"I wanted - continued from Mexico - to apologize for coming here, in front of her alcove, for having interfered .. I wanted to forgive me for all that he was just between us and the fact that he decided to be there, that night.
I knew before arriving at that door, would have represented a cut of everything. In my past, my marriage, my life now that I could not quell'ovatta accept. There were months that I knew. That was just an excuse to have the urge to leave. I was a coward, I gave it to me .. I thought I deserved. For better, for worse. "
Howard looked at him in amazement, Paco did not stop to comment on the attitude of his host. We just tried to be more direct.
"My life, Howard was irrevocably changed on that train. Remove Ramona, have the excuse to do it ... To get away without looking back, I think it was an act of vanity and selfishness on my part. I know that I left with a deep sense of guilt, as it was accustomed to think. But I could not do otherwise.
The next morning I had a suitcase ready, I did accompany the first station and then left for the United States. Ramona I have not heard anything. She was the only woman I really loved, but ... But maybe it would be truer to say that I loved him before this ... "and waved the three stumps of the right, as it boasts an open-hand salute.
Then he added, between the serious and the ridiculous: "My friend, never ask a man without a piece of his body if he ever loved in the past, you might think of doing a simple question, without knowing what you pull on complicated ... "
Lovecraft was an instant fix and a little embarrassed 'with himself. Meanwhile, Paco because he believed capable of killing in cold blood and then because knew what hid the last words of his translator. He felt that there was a warning, a sort of shield wide open in front of the Mexican and represented by words so simple that they knew almost of reproach.
It was as if he had said "Do not think, just for the simple fact that I am a translator, that the complexity does not belong to me, I do not belong to the passions, instincts, will ... The same ones that belong to those who imagine incredible stories of fictional characters. "
Paco de Los Rios could have a love life "normal" to tell? No, he could not.
It was this certainty that he ashamed Howard Phillips Lovecraft: not having made her own. Did not have time to say something that would have the condescending tone of apology. Paco
ran to his aid, stroking the graying goatee.
"I now do not know what to believe Howard. I know what I felt was true love, I know it was something so strong and for many years that I could move mountains for what was beating within. But I also know that, beyond that, there is little that can shake and move deeper. So - smiled briefly - to answer your question, I will tell you that yes, I loved. I know what love is, I know how to change people, I know it might not be recognizable in the moment, but that could get into and survive over time to himself. I loved once and it went like this ... Sometimes I force myself to think that maybe I will love again, but when I think now, with a cool head, I think no, not love you anymore. This new life that I live by then, maybe it has been, or am I simply do not foresee ... Sometimes, then, I think I should try to get back to Ramona. Who knows what you'll find after fifteen years, as I would see. It 's a thought that setback, I think I want to go back to living a previous life and I can afford ... No one can afford it. "
"Passed" He did so long ago that Howard had regained lucidity
"What?"
"You said:" After that, "my friend" Raise the writer.
"So?" He Paco prohibited.
"You said" exceeded ", speaking of love of Ramona. Did you talk as if it were an obstacle, an impediment ... "
" I did not mean that you can imagine "
" I do not suppose you've noticed. I say this because I seem to know this way of thinking ... "Howard smiled this time.
"It was not an obstacle, perhaps just one more link, one of those who did not make sense. I was different now, she was. Compared to my change ... But maybe, maybe yes. It was also an obstacle. Something that would keep me tied to a life that I could no longer live ammericano ... You're good, you know? "
" No, is that now it all seems so clear. For me and sometimes, for those around me "
" Your new life? "
" No, it's my life forever. Only now I live without mutilate
"Maimed? Do you think the right word to use in front of me? "Rise Paco, waving his right hand again.
"You know what I mean"
"I understand, yes ... But let's put it this way: with no emotional bond, they are now free. I live as I want, help who I want to help. Including you. "
[snip]
"You ammericano strange ..." He then Paco, after some minutes of silence, after he had turned yet another cigarillo and that Howard had gone to the bathroom to wash her face.
".. Come here and talk to me about love. It seems so strange a subject to be addressed now. I think that love is not for everyone. I think it's something that helps people to grow, to form but then ... At one point, abandons them. When no longer needed. Come on then ... Do you think a man of success has the instinct to love? Coolidge, for example? He loves his wife? And Villa? The great Pancho Villa, I think he had room to love someone? And how that Italian ... his name? The one with the big head. Now that is one of the most powerful men in the world, believe he has time to experience certain feelings? "
He gave a sly little break, while Lovecraft was listening carefully.
"I do not think - continued -. I do not think that loving a woman, an activity can be reconciled with the exercise of power, which can live with the success, or a mission, if you have one and it is so important for you ... I'm thinking now: you write stories of incredible. Writing is your mission. When did you love as you loved your Charlie? "
Howard thought his wife and was crossed by the tremor, with an instinct of remorse. Like a languid sense of guilt, the result of the inevitable.
"My story is different, Paco"
'It's always a different story, my friend. It is for those who choose a different life, not common
"I'm not a man of success," the writer sincere smile.
"No matter what you it is for others. Do you have a passion not? You live for that. "
Lovecraft bowed his head, he thought the last words of his Ukrainian wife, spoken with Cleveland. How
playing now?
"... Your writing, Howard is a great thing, I am too small for you. This is my talent, my emotion is so different from your ... "He told her
Sonia and she was right.
watching Paco then react." And then you? what you live for, what brings you so far away now? Are you a man of success or do you have that mission ?
"I live Howard. My mission is, and there is a bigger than this. In the mean survival. And if I can help someone, I do. not in the spirit of charity - he smiled, almost snorted with contempt - Of that I do not care. Helping people gives me the feeling that something survived. It makes me think that my presence here has a meaning. Actually I'm not helping them, but exactly the opposite "
" Then I asked with what I'm doing you a favor? "
" Well, we say that we are exchanging favors them there, "smiled the Mexican acute. The next morning
Lovecraft and Paco de Los Rios greeted with affection, but without pleasantries. They looked, shook hands with restraint, they smiled. They knew that they would soon be revised and had assured that they were already involved in something important. Besides the writing, translating, living the lives of others. Had it been the imaginary monsters and Lovecraftian heroes dry, or that in many cases miserable, restless, of "Latinos" who rely on translations of Paco. That time was also their story, their commitment, their mission. A chance to finally give a concrete form, material, to their lives. Everyone recognized her in the life of the other, not thinking of his own. Paco
Then he did something that thrilled the writer of Providence: with his hands, touched the right of Howard and placed it in the palm open a sheet of paper, then looked at him and whispered: "There is a drawing that I did last time, nothing that ... "
Howard raised his head in greeting. Paco waved his right hand with three stumps.
the trumpeting of New York was sunny that day. The pointed chin Lovecraft crossed it as a cut through the air, with a firm step. His lanky figure and thin, as seen through the windows of the house of Paco, it seemed almost like a piston that flickers in their regular cylinder. Howard opened around the corner from that piece of paper, he saw the drawing and read: "Man of the plugs ready to go" Behind
finally, there was an inscription. A Lovecraft seemed like a secular prayer:
".. Blessed are the men who they can identify with flags and chanting in the night, with each other. When you do not see anything, the noise is deafening, but you know you belong to something. Blessed is he who can make his companion when he is afraid, happy is he who can get confused in a hundred others like him and peaceful rest. Under the usual flag Usually listening to the song .. "sound
Howard laughed, throwing his eyes to heaven, while his hands still held open that page:" ... Under the usual flag, usually listening to the song "She whispered to herself, without fear that someone will listen.
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