We awake early on the second day of the journey. I contemplate the sun rising, and through the dusty haze, it’s like a piece of the earth that has become separated and is emerging in levitation. Africa is the most sensuous of the continents. I hate having to admit this cliche. I get out of the car and sit on the back of the truck. This silence isn’t like any period of quiet I have ever experienced before. This isn’t some absence that we hasten to fill out of fear of emptiness. It’s an awakening in our depths. This is what I feel: that I am possessed by silence. Nothing precedes me, I think to myself. And Marcelo is still to be born. I have come to witness his birth.
- I am the first living creature - I proclaim out loud, as I reopen my eyes, to the astonishment of Aproximado.
The lights, the shadows, the whole landscape all seem to have been created recently. And even the words: I was the one dressing them, as if they were children who fill the main squares of small towns on Sundays.
[The Tuner of Silences, Couto, M.]
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