Read Online B007P4V3G4 EBOK by Richard Huijing - Free Book Online Page B

warrior: they became searing.

    Besides the fact that the business of war itself is pervaded with
deep suffering, there had moreover been the certain realisation of
fighting against a superior force in this case, of having to experience
the fall of his tribe. To die without issue is already a double death,
but to leave a world behind in which your language is being
annihilated is the most bitter thing of all. And not because of an
inner decline but because of a foreign power.
    What splendid people they were! Full of strength and agility,
rich in ingenuity in making use of nature. And their women: so
elegant and so stubborn at the same time, as good helpmeets in
battle as pleasure grounds of passion in times of peace. No, they
had not been brought low by better opponents but by more
numerous ones.
    And how many tribes such as the one he belonged to had gone
this way and were still going? During the transport here he had
soon not seen a single fellow tribesman any more. They were
being mingled in. As regards those who must die, too, did they
still conduct their policy: the extermination of the foreign tongue.
Gods were preserved but languages were exterminated: thus was
the conqueror's will.
    On one occasion it did occur to him that there was still
something he could do: crawl out of reach of the big stairwell above
him. Stairwell in two senses of the word: the well of all their
empty stares. By touch, he slowly moved himself forwards.
    He could easily have gone upright, stepping over the others;
though he had indeed been weakened by his injuries, he could still
draw on a large quantity of reserves of strength even so. They had
been given food during their transport, extras too, occasionally,
from women along the way. He still had muscles, he still even had
fat. If he preserved his energy as much as possible, he could hold
out a good while yet. But why, really? Merely to let his thoughts
roam for a week, a month longer. Absurd, was what it was.
    When he was out of reach of those to come after
descendants, he thought abandoned himself to his
memories again. To bring each family member and every friend to
mind yourself, and to recall words passed between you, to call up
each human image from the past and be in its company. And
meanwhile he felt how, slowly, his body disappeared. Down to the
bone. To take leave of himself.
    He had been lying like that for days on end now. Days? There weren't any, not any more. Time ran on in a straight line. The
alternation of day and night was something from his previous life,
something of which only now did he realise the splendour.

    The trace of murky light continued to prevail; the adjustment of
the first hours had soon reached its peak. Perhaps, when the senses
themselves were affected in the end, a short period of clarity might
come through a last hyper-sensitivity of his eye.
    The only thing left to him of the world was the stretch of ground he
covered with his body, the one he could feel his way across by touch.
That, in a way, was still his. It was still so kind as to bear him. This was
really his entire fatherland now. Passing his hands over it, he would
sometimes imagine a river valley at each little groove, a mountain at
every rise. He felt like caressing this ground because it still bore him.
    This was the way they were lying there, together, like a pale
fire slowly glowing to extinction. No one any longer knew how
long they had been lying there like that. They couldn't care less
any more, either. An imprisoned criminal continually counts the
days, even though he has got twenty years, scratching long
ladders of numbers into the wall of his cell. Time, in fact, becomes
all-controlling to him. Here, time had been suspended for ever,
nothing was expected from outside any more.
    Was that something approaching in the air? Was his gaze struck by
growing light? Or were his eyes already being affected? Impossible.
That only happened at the