Читать книгу Resistance - Julián Fuks - Страница 19

13.

My father never wanted me, he never wanted any of his children. I say this and I expect one reader to be moved, another to think they now understand something about me or about these alleged confessions, and a third who knows us to laugh at their folly. The fact my father never wanted children was something we learned with no surprise when we were already grown-up, with no melodrama, with some mocking laughter at his having lost the battle with destiny. Nothing about this resistance of his amazes me: if I myself, so compelled by those around me, by our implacable attachment to infinite propagation, if even I still resist carrying in my arms a child who is apparently mine, I can’t help but consider my father’s denial of fatherhood reasonable, this refusal at which he so conveniently failed. But my understanding comes through contrast, not resemblance. How could you want to engender a life if your own time is under threat from terror, if you doubt the very prospect of a new day, of any future, if every night you feel, foretold in shivers, the fragility of your body, the likely fleetingness of life?