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426 pages, Unknown Binding
First published January 1, 1975
The whole place was full of folk walking, talking, coming, going, appearing, disappearing, bound on their various errands: men, women, angels, robots, orphans, beasts – the righteous, the victims, the executioners. The noise of the siren and the sight of this parade were enough to drive anyone crazy.
“Look,” I said, trying to keep the excitement out of my voice, “this is the same road the Roman legions took when they advanced on Emona from the south and the Asian nomads rode this way when they invaded Italy…”
“Mariana, let’s say good-bye now. And leave me without a backward glance. Just turn away and go. So as not to give anyone any ideas. Let’s just pretend I’m off on a trip to the primeval forests. Exploring the rapids on the River of No Return.”
Every movement fights to increase its membership and must therefore spread its propaganda, ignore the facts, exaggerate, conceal, lie; must have its own high-sounding phraseology – must not concede even a mite of human feeling to the enemy. The enemy is a monster, a criminal, the scum of the earth; our own soldier is a hero, a saint, a gallant and self-sacrificing champion of a just cause, a Man with a capital letter.
Taking careful aim, I let him have it in the chest. Immediately, my ears were deafened by the din, as the machine gun rattled, the automatics chattered, and the rifles cracked. Down below, there began a strange dance of death. There was no doubt I had hit my target; he clutched his chest and lurched forward to fall on his face. The others were flailing, leaping, diving down the hillside, at the same time returning our fire. In the crackle of rifle fire, bullets were flying past, whistling about our ears.
God stands at the crossroads, and his image is a man nailed to a cross.