The Unworthy

by Agustina Bazterrica

As Lucía stroked my back, she spoke in her wolf’s voice, her translucent yellow, golden voice that was like touching the heart of the sun. She whispered: The truth is a sphere. We never see it whole, in its entirety. It slips down our throats, through our thoughts. She went on talking, very close to my mouth but without touching it: The truth is changeable, it contracts, implodes, it’s powerful like a bullet. And it can be lethal. I asked her why she was telling me this, but she put a finger to my lips and brought hers even closer, until they were almost touching mine: The truth, a sphere that also contains within it a lie that spins at a different rhythm, like a cog that seems broken, unnecessary, but is vital to the mechanism’s functioning. The challenge is finding the lie within the sphere. After that we were silent.