Nobody wants to talk about war
The wind was changing direction. It was my father who had taught me to do that: to read the mountain skies in summer. I still do it, out of habit, and sometimes people wonder why I suddenly stop and say nothing. I stare intensely at the sky as if I were talking to it, but in reality, I’m listening.
The shape of the clouds, their colour, the speed at which they move: you just need to know how to read the signs. It’s all there. And it seemed clear to me that a storm was approaching.
They set fire to three cars last night. Just round the corner. And the van belonging to the glazier who’s lived downstairs for… as long as I can remember was burnt to the ground. Up on Independència Street too, apparently.
But just this morning, we were laughing with Ella; the sun was shining brightly and she had a rainbow on her cheek, reflected by the glass in the window; we were looking at dresses for her brother-in-law’s wedding, saying ‘Tuscany, Tuscany’ with a snobbish air… But ‘Tuscany’—can you hear how that word sounds…?
Then the sky clouded over, though not for long. But as I was coming home, I saw a pile of boxes by the bins, and on the ground, right in front of them, a plastic sub-machine gun, which I was going to take a picture of because I found the coincidence of the scene rather odd. The burnt-out cars, the sub-machine gun. But when I came back from the supermarket, someone had put it back in its place amongst the boxes, barely visible. Don’t you find that strange? I might not be the only one who noticed it.
I’m reading a book about the Spanish Civil War, and right at the start there are some propaganda posters from 1936 that read: “Against fascism, join the UGT militias”. 1936. When I bought the newspaper the other day, I got caught by the front page: the May Day campaign. “Against wars and fascism, vote UGT”. 2026.
I was riding my bike when I felt the first raindrops fall. One on my hand, one on my forehead. Two blokes were arguing at the traffic lights. And then I had that vision again: of the old man who, at dawn, as he took out the rubbish, was kicking a cardboard box savagely.
On my knees in the deserted church, I am about to begin my shift. Everything is spinning. The images are flashing by too quickly.
The sun, the sea — it was only yesterday, but the birds were already flying low; I should have seen it coming.
And I, too, am angry, but there’s no one I can talk to about it.
The power’s gone out. Every time I see the face of Christ, my sweet Jesus, it’s because the purple flashes of lightning suddenly light him up, and I can’t help it, it sends a shiver down my spine.
Are dreams memories of another life?
I close my eyes even tighter and I see them down below, tiny things: I take aim. I shake my head. One mustn’t think about that sort of nonsense.
The walls are shaking; this time, the lightning has struck the hill directly.
I stand up. This Christ is massive, and I ask His Father for a sign. I open the book into which, without my noticing, my fingernails have dug in. I take a breath, and randomly, I read:
“All nations are as nothing before him,
They are but meaningless and vanity to him.” ¹
Suddenly, there is a great silence. And I know it won’t last, but I gather my wits. The storm isn’t quite so close after all, but we can hear it rumbling in the distance — that familiar sound: a hundred-year-old thunderclap approaching. —
¹ : Isaiah, 40:17
² : Watch The Mission, a 1986 masterpiece starring Jeremy Irons and Robert De Niro. The plot: “Eighteenth-century Spanish Jesuits try to protect a remote South American tribe in danger of falling under the rule of pro-slavery Portugal.” The two protagonists are servants of God and build a community. At the end of the film, a battle breaks out and a choice must be made: take up arms, defend everything they have built, and protect the tribe they have served? Or remain on the side of God, the pacifist God who is nothing but love and who scoffs at the flags invented by men…
³ : Read also: You know well it will be me, Diary (Volume IV), by Julien Green.
The PDF version here — Print it, save it, share it.
