Read Online Emmaus by Alessandro Baricco - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Alessandro Baricco
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didnât help. A wind rose from the east and then rain. The cold was bitter. The Saint walked at an even pace, taking short, regular breaksâhe never turned. From behind, at a certain point, Bobby shouted something. The Saint turned. Bobby yelled that he was fed up, he was going back. The Saint shook his head and nodded at him, to tell him to cut it out and keep walking, but Bobby didnât want to hear about it, he was yelling, in the voice of one near tears. Then the Saint descended a few meters, slowly, looking carefully where he put his feet. The rain was falling obliquely, and cold. He got within a few large rocks of Bobby, and asked him in a loud voice what the hell was happening.
Nothing, Bobby answered, itâs just that Iâm turning back.
The Saint came a little closer, but kept a few meters away. You canât do that, he said. Of course I can do it. In fact, you should, too, letâs get out of here, itâs a shitty hike.
But it wasnât a hike for the Saint; they arenât hikes for us who believeâthere is nothing worse than to call them hikes. They are our liturgical rites. So the Saint felt that something had broken irremediably, and he wasnât wrong. He said to Bobby that he felt sorry for him.
Look at you, you shit fanatic, Bobby answered.
They werenât really shouting, but the wind forced them to talk in loud voices. They stood for a while unmoving, not knowing. Then the Saint turned and started to climb again, without a word. Bobby let him go and then began to yell at him that he was crazy, he thought he was a saint, eh?, but he wasnât, everyone knew very well that he wasnât, he and his whores!
The Saint kept climbing, it seemed he wasnât even listening, but at a certain point he stopped. He took off the backpack, set it on the ground, opened it, leaned over to get something, and then stood up with the gun clutched in his right hand. Bobby! he shouted. They were far apart, and there was the wind, so he had to shout. Take it, he cried. And he threw him the gun, so that he would take it.
Bobby let it fall among the rocks. Guns scared him. He watched it ricochet on the hard ground and then roll into a hole. When Bobby turned toward the Saint, he saw himfrom behind, slowly climbing. For a while he didnât understand, but then it occurred to him that the Saint didnât want to be alone with his gun. And he felt a great tenderness for the Saint, as he watched him growing smaller on the stony ground. But he didnât change his mind; he didnât start climbing again, and knew that it would be like that forever.
He went to get the gun. Although he loathed it, he put it in his backpack, so that it would disappear from there and from every solitary place where the Saint might pass. Then he set off on the return trip.
I know this story because Bobby told it to me, with all the details. He wanted to explain to me that probably everything had already happened before, at the slow pace of geological movement, but in the end it was among the rocks that he understood, suddenly, that it was all over. He referred to something we know wellâthe imprecise expression we use is losing oneâs faith. Itâs our nightmare. At every moment along our path we know that something might happen, similar to a total eclipseâlosing our faith.
However much the priests can teach us about this possibility, itâs comprehensible only if you go back to the experience of the first apostles. They were only a few, the ones closest to Christ, and the day after Calvary, when their Master was taken down from the cross, they gathered together, distraught. It should be remembered that they felt the mosthuman sorrow for the loss of something dear: but no more. None of them, at that moment, were aware that it was not a friend or a prophet or a teacher who had diedâbut God. It was something they didnât understand. Evidently it wasnât within their
Nothing, Bobby answered, itâs just that Iâm turning back.
The Saint came a little closer, but kept a few meters away. You canât do that, he said. Of course I can do it. In fact, you should, too, letâs get out of here, itâs a shitty hike.
But it wasnât a hike for the Saint; they arenât hikes for us who believeâthere is nothing worse than to call them hikes. They are our liturgical rites. So the Saint felt that something had broken irremediably, and he wasnât wrong. He said to Bobby that he felt sorry for him.
Look at you, you shit fanatic, Bobby answered.
They werenât really shouting, but the wind forced them to talk in loud voices. They stood for a while unmoving, not knowing. Then the Saint turned and started to climb again, without a word. Bobby let him go and then began to yell at him that he was crazy, he thought he was a saint, eh?, but he wasnât, everyone knew very well that he wasnât, he and his whores!
The Saint kept climbing, it seemed he wasnât even listening, but at a certain point he stopped. He took off the backpack, set it on the ground, opened it, leaned over to get something, and then stood up with the gun clutched in his right hand. Bobby! he shouted. They were far apart, and there was the wind, so he had to shout. Take it, he cried. And he threw him the gun, so that he would take it.
Bobby let it fall among the rocks. Guns scared him. He watched it ricochet on the hard ground and then roll into a hole. When Bobby turned toward the Saint, he saw himfrom behind, slowly climbing. For a while he didnât understand, but then it occurred to him that the Saint didnât want to be alone with his gun. And he felt a great tenderness for the Saint, as he watched him growing smaller on the stony ground. But he didnât change his mind; he didnât start climbing again, and knew that it would be like that forever.
He went to get the gun. Although he loathed it, he put it in his backpack, so that it would disappear from there and from every solitary place where the Saint might pass. Then he set off on the return trip.
I know this story because Bobby told it to me, with all the details. He wanted to explain to me that probably everything had already happened before, at the slow pace of geological movement, but in the end it was among the rocks that he understood, suddenly, that it was all over. He referred to something we know wellâthe imprecise expression we use is losing oneâs faith. Itâs our nightmare. At every moment along our path we know that something might happen, similar to a total eclipseâlosing our faith.
However much the priests can teach us about this possibility, itâs comprehensible only if you go back to the experience of the first apostles. They were only a few, the ones closest to Christ, and the day after Calvary, when their Master was taken down from the cross, they gathered together, distraught. It should be remembered that they felt the mosthuman sorrow for the loss of something dear: but no more. None of them, at that moment, were aware that it was not a friend or a prophet or a teacher who had diedâbut God. It was something they didnât understand. Evidently it wasnât within their
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