Near to the Wild Heart Read Online Free PDF

it quickly, quickly, went on absorbing it as if it had never experienced a trickle of water. She wet her face, passed her tongue over the empty, salty palm of her hand. The salt and the sun were like tiny, shining arrows which appeared here and there, stinging, stretching the skin of her wet face. Her happiness increased, gathered in her throat like a sack of air. But it was now a solemn happiness, with no desire for laughter. It was a happiness close to tears, dear God. Gradually, the thought occurred to her. Without fear, no longer grey and tearful, but naked and silent beneath the sun like the white sand. Daddy is dead. Daddy is dead. She breathed slowly. Now she really knew that Daddy had died. Now, beside the sea where the sparkling light was a shower of fishes made out of water. Her father had died just as the sea was deep. Suddenly she understood. She felt that her father had died just as one cannot see the bottom of the sea. She had not been defeated by her grief. She understood that her father had died. Nothing more. And her sadness was exhausting, heavy, without hatred. She carried that exhaustion with her as she walked along that endless beach. She looked at her dark, slender feet like twigs gathered from the quiescent whiteness where they sank and lifted rhythmically, as if breathing. She walked and walked and there was nothing to be done: her father had died.
    She lay prostrate on the sand, her hands protecting her face, leaving only a tiny gap for air. It was starting to get dark, so dark, and little by little there emerged circles and red stains, round, quivering bubbles, growing and diminishing. The grains of sand pricked her skin, became embedded. Even with her eyes shut, she could sense that on the beach the waves were being sucked in rapidly, so rapidly, by the sea, the waves, too, with lowered eyelids. Then they gently returned, to the palms of her open hands, her body completely relaxed. It was consoling to hear that sound. I am a person. And many things were about to follow. What? Whatever might happen would depend on her. Even if no one should understand: she would think of something and then find herself unable to describe it accurately. Especially when it came to thinking, everything was impossible. For example, sometimes an idea occurred to her and, surprised, she would reflect: why didn't I think of this before? It wasn't the same thing as suddenly seeing a tiny gash in the table and saying: Now then, I didn't notice that before! It wasn't... A thing thought did not exist before being thought. Like this, for instance: Gustavo's fingerprints... What was being thought became something thought. Furthermore: not all things thought came into existence from that moment onwards... For if I say: Auntie is having lunch with Uncle, I don't bring anything to life. Or even if I decide I'm going for a stroll; that's fine, I go for a stroll... and nothing exists. But if I say, for example: flowers on the grave, there you have something which did not exist before I thought of flowers on a grave. It's the same with music. Why didn't she play on her own all the pieces of music that existed? — She looked at the open piano — all the pieces of music were stored inside there.. .Her eyes widened, grown dark and mysterious. 'Everything, everything.' That was when she began to tell lies. For she was a person who had already begun. All of this was impossible to explain, like that word 'never', neither masculine nor feminine. But even so, didn't she know when to say 'yes'? She knew. Oh, she knew more and more. For example, the sea. The sea was immense. Just to think of the sea made her want to sink into the sand, or to open her eyes wide, to stay there watching, but then she found there was nothing to watch. At her aunt's home, they would almost certainly spoil her with sweets during the first few days. She would bathe in the blue and white bathtub, once she was living in the house. And each night, when it turned dark,