Translation:The Black Heralds

There are such blows in life, so strong... I don’t know! Blows like God’s hatred; as if before them, the undercurrent of everything suffered were welling up in the soul... I don’t know!

There are few of them; but they’re there... They open dark trenches in the toughest face and in the strongest back. Perhaps they’ll turn out to be the foals of barbarous Attilas; or the black heralds sent us by death.

They’re the deep falls of the Christs of the soul, of some adorable faith blasphemed by Destiny. Those bloody blows are the cracklings of some bread that burns us from the oven door.

And man... poor man... poor man! He turns his eyes, as when someone taps us on the shoulder; he turns his wild eyes, and all he’s lived wells up, like a puddle of guilt, in his face.

There are such blows in life, so strong... I don’t know!