Saturday, July 15, 2017

the last book I ever read (The Tunnel by Ernesto Sábato, excerpt six)

from The Tunnel by Ernesto Sábato:

My brain was in pandemonium: swarming ideas, emotions of love and loathing, questions, resentment, and memories all blended together or flashed by in rapid succession.

What, for example, could she have had in mind by having me come to her house to pick up a letter and then have her husband deliver it to me? And why hadn’t she warned me she was married? And what the hell was she doing at the estancia with that bastard Hunter? And why hadn’t she waited until I called? And that blind man, what kind of character was he? I have already said that I have a miserable opinion of human beings. Now I must confess that I do not like blind people at all, and in their presence I have the same feeling I get when I see certain cold, clammy, voiceless creatures like snakes. If you add to that the effect of reading in front of him a letter from his wife that said ‘I think of you, too,’ it will not be difficult to imagine the revulsion I felt at that moment.

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