| Popis: |
I went to the store to buy a newspaper. The shopkeeper was rummaging in vain through disorderly boxes in search of some buttons for a young girl who was waiting there with a milk bottle. In the window, faces of bleeding meat defied the foul and florid metamorphoses of death, and upon this heap, which conjured up no massacres, flies wandered about busily laying their eggs. The child put her bottle down on the table, and as eager flies gathered there for a feast, she tried on one of these boiled scabs, faces of a banal humanity that would make a newborn jump out of its skin: heads of officials, the very death masks of the neighborhood's elders. The cardboard faces did not differ from their models-industrial magnates, butchers, perverts-any more than a paper flower differs from a garden flower, but through antithetical qualities, that is to say, only through smell and a certain tactile sensation, so that taken apart, disinfected, embalmed, and unscrewed from their petrified windpipes, one could at last examine them with bare hands. |
