If the hill overlooking our city has always been known as Adam’s Grave, only at dusk can you see the recumbent giant, his head turned to the west, his right arm resting for ever on Eve’s haunch,<\/p>\n
can you learn, from the way he looks up at the scandalous pair, what a citizen really thinks of his citizenship,<\/p>\n
just as now you can hear in a drunkard’s caterwaul his rebel sorrows crying for a parental discipline, in lustful eyes perceive a disconsolate soul,<\/p>\n
scanning with desperation all passing limbs for some vestige of her faceless angel who in that long ago when wishing was a help mounted her once and vanished:<\/p>\n
For Sun and Moon supply their conforming masks, but in this hour of civil twilight all must wear their own faces.<\/p>\n
And it is now that our two paths cross.<\/p>\n
Both simultaneously recognise his Anti-type: that I am an Arcadian, that he is a Utopian.<\/p>\n
He notes, with contempt, my Aquarian belly: I note, with alarm, his Scorpion’s mouth.<\/p>\n
He would like to see me cleaning latrines: I would like to see him removed to some other planet.<\/p>\n
Neither speaks. What experience could we possibly share?<\/p>\n
Glancing at a lampshade in a store window, I observe it is too hideous for anyone in their senses to buy: He observes it is too expensive for a peasant to buy.<\/p>\n
Passing a slum child with rickets, I look the other way: He looks the other way if he passes a chubby one.<\/p>\n
I hope our senators will behave like saints, provided they don’t reform me: He hopes they will behave like bariton<\/i>i<\/i> cattivi<\/i>, and, when lights bum late in the Citadel, I (who have never seen the inside of a police station) am shocked and think: ‘Were the city as free as they say, after sundown all her bureaus would be huge black stones’:<\/p>\n
He (who has been beaten up several times) is not shocked at all but thinks: ‘One fine night our boys will be working up there.’<\/p>\n
You can see, then, why, between my Eden and his New Jerusalem, no treaty is negotiable.<\/p>\n
In my Eden a person who dislikes Bellini has the good manners not to get born: In his New Jerusalem a person who dislikes work will be very sorry he was born.<\/p>\n
In my Eden we have a few beam-engines, saddle-tank locomotives, overshot waterwheels and other beautiful pieces of obsolete machinery to play with: In his New Jerusalem even chefs will be cucumber-cool machine minders.<\/p>\n
In my Eden our only source of political news is gossip: In his New Jerusalem there will be a special daily in simplified spelling for non-verbal types.<\/p>\n
In my Eden each observes his compulsive rituals and superstitious tabus but we have no morals: In his New Jerusalem the temples will be empty but all will practise the rational virtues.<\/p>\n
One reason for his contempt is that I have only to close my eyes, cross the iron footbridge to the tow-path, take the barge through the short brick tunnel and<\/p>\n
there I stand in Eden again, welcomed back by the krumhorns, doppions, sordumes of jolly miners and a bob major from the Cathedral (romanesque) of St Sophie (Die Kalte<\/i>):<\/p>\n
One reason for my alarm is that, when he closes his eyes, he arrives, not in New Jerusalem, but on some august day of outrage when hellikins cavort through ruined drawing-rooms and fish-wives intervene in the Chamber or<\/p>\n
some autumn night of deletions and noyades when the unrepentant thieves (including me) are sequestered and those he hates shall hate themselves instead.<\/p>\n
So with a passing glance we take the other’s posture; already, our steps recede, heading, incorrigible each, towards his kind of meal and evening.<\/p>\n
Was it (as it must look to any god of cross-roads) simply a fortuitous intersection of life-paths, loyal to different fibs ?<\/p>\n
or also a rendezvous between accomplices who, in spite of themselves, cannot resist meeting<\/p>\n
to remind the other (do both, at bottom, desire truth?) of that half of their secret which he would most like to forget<\/p>\n
forcing us both, for a fraction of a second, to remember our victim (but for him I could forget the blood, but for me he could forget the innocence)<\/p>\n
on whose immolation (call him Abel, Remus, whom you will, it is one Sin Offering) arcadias, utopias, our dear old bag of a democracy, are alike founded:<\/p>\n
For without a cement of blood (it must be human, it must be innocent) no secular wall will safely stand.<\/p>\n
Per b\u00e9 que el tur\u00f3 que domina la ciutat ha estat sempre conegut amb el nom de Tomba d’Adam, \u00e9s nom\u00e9s a hora foscant que es veu el gegant jacent, ambm el cap girat a ponent i a la dreta descansant per sempre m\u00e9s damunt l’anca d’Eva.<\/p>\n
que hom pot descobrir, per la manera en qu\u00e8 contempla la desedificant parella, quin concepte t\u00e9 el ciutad\u00e0 de la ciutadania.<\/p>\n
Talment com ara es pot sentir en el marrameu de l’embriac el dolor rebel que clama disciplina paternal, en l’esguard lasciu apercebre una \u00e0nima inconsolable,<\/p>\n
que escodrinya desesperadament els gambirots que passen i hi cerca vestigis del seu \u00c0ngel sense cara que molt de temps ha quan desitjar servia d’alguna cosa la va cavalcar una vegada i desaparegu\u00e9:<\/p>\n
Car el sol i la lluna forneixen llurs m\u00e0scares igualadores, per\u00f2 en aquesta hora de crepuscle civil tots han de dur posades llurs pr\u00f2pies cares.<\/p>\n
I \u00e9s ara que els nostres dos camins s’encreuen.<\/p>\n
Tots dos reconeixem alhora l’antitipus de l’altre: que jo s\u00f3c un arc\u00e0dic, que ell \u00e9s un utopista.<\/p>\n
El s’adona amb menyspreu del meu ventre d’Aquari; i jo, alarmat, de la seva boca d’Escorpi\u00f3.<\/p>\n
Li agradaria veure’n netejant latrines; i a mi veure’l traslladat a un altre planeta.<\/p>\n
Cap dels dos no parla. Quina experi\u00e8ncia podr\u00edem compartir?<\/p>\n
Mirant una pantalla que hi ha en un aparador, faig notar que \u00e9s massa horrible perqu\u00e8 ning\u00fa en bon seny la compri; ell fa notar que \u00e9s massa cara per que la pugui comprar un pag\u00e8s.<\/p>\n
Passant prop d’un vailet de suburbi malalt de raquitisme, jo miro cap a l’altre costat; ell hi mira, si en passa un de galtapl\u00e8.<\/p>\n
Jo espero que els nostres senadors es captindran com sants, posat que no em vulguin reformar; ell espera que es captindran com baritoni cattivi<\/i>, i, quan els llums cremen a la Ciutadella a gran hora de la nit,<\/p>\n
a mi (que no he estat mai en una comissaria de policia) em xoca i penso: “Si la ciutat fos lliure com diuen, a sol colgat totes les oficines serien grans blocs de pedra negra”;<\/p>\n
ell (que ha estat atonyinat diverses vegades) no se n’estranya gens ni mica, ans pensa: “un gran vespre la nostra gent hi treballar\u00e0”.<\/p>\n
Ja veieu, doncs, per qu\u00e8 entre el meu Ed\u00e8n i la seva Nova Jerusalem cap tracte no es pot negociar.<\/p>\n
Al meu Ed\u00e8n qui avorreix Bellini t\u00e9 la bona educaci\u00f3 de no haver nascut; a la seva Nova Jerusalem qui avorreix el treball, li sabr\u00e0 for\u00e7a greu haver nascut.<\/p>\n
A meu Ed\u00e8n tenim unes quantes m\u00e0quines de balanc\u00ed, locomotores amb t\u00e8nder, rodes hidr\u00e0uliques i alres ginys antiquats amb els quals jugar; a la seva Nova Jerusalem \u00e0dhuc els xefs seran com qui, amb la sang m\u00e9s fresa que un peix, vigila una m\u00e0quina.<\/p>\n
Al meu Ed\u00e8n l’\u00fanica font d’informaci\u00f3 pol\u00edtica que tenim \u00e9s el xafardeig; a la seva Nova Jerusalem, hi haur\u00e0 un diari especial en ortografia simplificada per a gent no gaire enlletrada.<\/p>\n
Al meu Ed\u00e8n tothom observa rituals compulsius i tab\u00fas supersticiosos, per\u00f2 ens manca sentit moral; a la seva Nova Jerusalem els temples seran buits per\u00f2 tothom practicar\u00e0 les virtuts racionals.<\/p>\n
Una de les raons del seu menspreu \u00e9s que no haig de fer sin\u00f3 tancar els ulls, travessar el pont de ferro fins al cam\u00ed de sirga, passar amb la gavarra pel curt t\u00fanel de maons, i ve-te’m aqu\u00ed de nou a l’Ed\u00e8n, on em tornen a acollir els corns, doppioni i fagots de xalestos minaires, i el tritlleig de la catedral (rom\u00e0nica) de Santa Sofia (Die Kalte<\/i>):<\/p>\n
Una de els raons del meu esverament \u00e9s que quan ell tanca els ulls entra, no a la Nova Jerusalem, ans en un dia august d’atrocitats en qu\u00e8 diablons guimben per sales atrotinades i peixateres intervenen a la Cambra o<\/p>\n
en una nit tardorenca de delacions i rivals ofegats, en qu\u00e8 lladres impenitents (jo mateix incl\u00f2s) s\u00f3n arrestats i aquells que ell odia s’han d’odiar ells mateixos.<\/p>\n
Aix\u00ed, doncs, amb un r\u00e0pid cop d’ull determinem l’actitud de l’altre; les nostres passes reculen, i ens aviem, inesmenables, cadasc\u00fa al seu \u00e0pat i la seva vetllada.<\/p>\n
Fou simplement (com deu semblar a qualsevol d\u00e9u de cru\u00eflla) un encreuament fortu\u00eft de camins de vida, lleials a diferents faules?<\/p>\n
O b\u00e9 una cita entre c\u00f2mplices que, malgrat ells, no se saben estar de trobar-se.<\/p>\n
Per fer mem\u00f2ria a l’altre (delegem tots dos, en el fons, la veritat?) d’aquella meitat de llur secret que ell m\u00e9s voldria oblidar, obligant-nos als dos, per una fracci\u00f3 de segon, a recordar la nostra v\u00edctima (si no fos per ell, jo oblidaria la sang; si no fos per mi, ell oblidaria la innoc\u00e8ncia).<\/p>\n
Damunt la immolaci\u00f3 de la qual (diguem-li Abel, Remus o qui vulgueu, \u00e9s el mateix Sacrifici pels Pecats) arc\u00e0dies, utopies, el nostre vell sarr\u00f3 de la democr\u00e0cia, es fonamenten semblantment:<\/p>\n
Car sense ciment de sang (cal que sigui humana, cal que sigui innocent) cap mur secular no pot sostenir-se amb seguretat.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
If the hill overlooking our city has always been known as Adam’s Grave, only at dusk can you see the recumbent giant, his head turned to the west, his right arm resting for ever on Eve’s haunch, can you learn, from the way he looks up at the scandalous pair, what a citizen really thinks … <\/p>\n