domingo, 10 de janeiro de 2010

She raises her thin legs and round belly from the floor and pulls the blanket of the sleeping man. An old man is lying there on his back, dead. His gullet has been ripped out, his face hacked in two, and dark blood is clinging to his beard like a clump of lead.
"Pan", the Jewess says, shaking out the eiderdown, "the Poles were hacking him to death and he kept begging them, 'kill me in the backyard so my daughter won't see me die!' But they wouldn't inconvenience themselves. He died in this room thinking of me... And now I want you to tell me," the woman suddenly said with terrible force, "I want you to tell me where one could find another father like my father in this world."

Isaac Babel, "Crossing the River Zbrucz", Red Cavalry, Nathalie Babel (ed.), Peter Constantine (trad.), Norton, 2003

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