Roberto
Bolaño
I set off, I
took up the march and never knew
where it
might take me. I went full of fear,
my stomach
dropped, my head was buzzing:
I think it
was the icy wind of the dead.
I don't
know. I set off, I thought it was a shame
to leave so
soon, but at the same time
I heard that
mysterious and convincing call.
You either
listen or you don't, and I listened
and almost
burst out crying: a terrible sound,
born on the
air and in the sea.
A sword and
shield. And then,
despite the
fear, I set off, I put my cheek
against
death's cheek.
And it was
impossible to close my eyes and miss seeing
that strange
spectacle, slow and strange,
though fixed
in such a swift reality:
thousands of
guys like me, baby-faced
or bearded,
but Latin American, all of us,
brushing
cheeks with death.
