Multiplying Report 5

The sixth day My journey continued toward the south-east; the first inhabited place I met offered me a little fountain where I could wash enough; at the bar they served me a good coffee, I consulted the maps for the umpteenth time, and then off along my road. When you find yourself at the summit of your route everything becomes more beautiful; from there you can try to make out what your future route will be, and however winding it may be, everything will go for the best — after all you will not have to struggle, a descent will accompany you. It will be enough to know how to hold the road. But alas, the gaze, and your memory, lead you to see that beyond, that after, in front of you, an impassable mountain will be your next goal to reach, and however much you may strive to hope that another possible, less tiring way may exist, it will become ever closer and more terrifying.

What life, after all, does not carry with it this real illusion. There at the top you will surely be able to rejoice, but also to reflect; so then why not plunge headlong down the descent? And live the intoxication of your journey? After a few hours of tiring climbing, I found hospitality at a forestry guard post. They invited me to their table, and I think that that was their only occupation, in the hope that some fire might bring them a bit of joy, and then a hell would break loose: off in a rush with their vehicles, sirens blaring, down the slope, attempting a backfire that would surely save hectares of forest.

But instead none of that; their bellies were swollen with local beer and watermelon, and with a bit of mistrust they offered even me a little of their illusion, but my thirst for knowledge surpassed every possible wall; with them I would even have talked about prostitutes, but they did not give me the opportunity; they went on offering me their hospitality, and I was well pleased with it. Better their beer and watermelon than urban desperation. Perhaps only the commander greeted me when I mounted the bicycle; probably the fire to be put out had been very close to him, more than he could see with his binoculars, and who knows whether it still burns inside him. The sun had stopped shining with its utmost imposingness; a small detour to the little village up there on top of the hill could be very useful to me; I could have stocked up on some water and food.

The main street swarmed with elderly people who talked among themselves and scrutinised you from under their caps. The children ran barefoot near the cistern, plunging their run into the puddles, forming splashes ever higher and farther. Walking through the narrow streets I met one of those homely taverns; I had them bring me a coffee and a nice jug of water; the lady apologised for not being able to offer me an espresso, I accepted her apologies by drinking the moka one, then I left. The valley at sunset offered me a marvellous spectacle; I was truly alone; the winding road gave a particular intoxication to my journey; the feeling was of finding myself as in high mountain, where the trees begin to thin out, and the territory becomes almost bare and austere. I looked for a place where I could spend the night and savour its silent noises; down toward the now-dry river I found my bed.

The moon was already high, but my sleep was slow to come; my thought was turned... I do not know to what, perhaps to all that is subjectively thinkable, made of useful ghosts, that all this was useless for an imaginary society; there was no doubt, but how else could one become involved in a real if not through this action charged with symbols. Already what I was accomplishing let me be closer to myself without having to mediate myself continually; nothing was asked of me; only to this earth, to my legs and to the omnipotent God could and did I have to account. To be so close to oneself seemed to me almost impossible; there were no thoughts of desire; I was the fulfilment of desire; in that moment I was there and not in another place. What could my sorrows be worth by then before all this.

There was no revenge; I found myself before another way, that of the courage to exist regardless of.... That night I managed only to rest; sleep was not near me, at least not as near as the mosquitoes were.