Juan Lopez and John Ward It was their luck to be born into a strange time. The planet had been parceled out among various countries, Each one provided with loyalties, cherished memories, with a past undoubtedly heroic, with rights, with wrongs, with a particular mythology, with bronze forefathers, with anniversaries, with demagogues and symbols. This arbitrary division was favorable for wars. Lopez was born in the city beside the tawny river; Ward, on the outskirts of the city where Father Brown walked. He had studied Spanish in order to read Quijote. The other one professed a love for Conrad, who had been revealed to him in a classroom on Viamonte Street. They might have been friends, but they saw each other face to face only once, on some overly famous islands, and each one of them was Cain, and each was Abel. They were buried together. Snow and corruption know them. The incident I mention occurred in a time that we cannot understand. by Jorge Luis Borges
Posted on: Wed, 02 Apr 2014 21:04:17 +0000
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