Un día estaba sentado en una barbería cubana de Miami. Entro un hombre ya viejo, flaco, macilento y un barbero le preguntó qué tal? cómo estás? El viejo, flaco y macilento respondió Ahí, entero como el picadillo.
Another on The Human Stain
Seventy-one years old Coleman Silk on his thirty-four lover:
“It’s the wisdom of somebody who expects nothing. That’s her wisdom, and that’s her dignity, but it’s negative wisdom, and that’s not the kind that keeps you on course day to day. This is a woman whose life’s been trying to grind her down almost for as long as she’s had life. Whatever she’s learned comes from that.” (The underline is mine: it is being dedicated to a devoted soul.)
It could not be the best written or the most representative, or the deepest piece of American literature displaying what I like to call the secular spirituality of the American people. It is simply the hardest and the most common way to learn from life through suffering and disenchantment how to live hopeless. While reading this passage, I was thinking on what it is said that this the most religious country, but I think it is the most faithless one. Religion as opium? Anyways, Coleman Silk’s lover has been beaten almost to death by life events and circumstances; but a driving force keeps her alive, sex. She makes love as the only possibility to redeem from the mishaps of life, but what really makes this lover the perfect one is the veil of vital pessimism that covers her body and makes her give and feel all pleasures with no restrictions.
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