Читать книгу Smithereens - Steve Aylett - Страница 5

When I get bored I go up to a stranger and spin them to face away from me so I can count the disks in their spinal column. ‘Do not fear me,’ I whisper, ‘I am counting.’ Some strangers weep into their hands, some run - some cannot run fast enough to escape me. ‘Do not run from me,’ I whisper directly into their ears, ‘I am counting on you not to run. Do not fear me. I am counting.’ Some punch my face and stand over me, breathing hard. When I track them down and appear upon their doorstep I whisper, ‘Do not punch me, I will fall. Do not run from me, I am counting on you not to run. Do not fear me, I am counting.’ Some call the police and have me arrested and placed in to a prison. When I find them years later and stand at the foot of their bed, I whisper, ‘Do not call the police, they will arrest me. Do not punch me, I will fall. Do not run from me, I am counting on you not to run. Do not fear me, I am counting.’ Some club me to the floor, bind me with steel cable, set fire to me and roll me into garbage. When I return in their old age, a barely human remnant, I whisper, ‘Do not club me to the floor, bind me with steel cable, set fire to me and roll me into garbage, I will be harmed. Do not call the police, they will arrest me. Do not punch me, I will fall. Do not run from me, I am counting on you not to run. Do not fear me, I am counting.’ To understand, surely, is to forgive?