In The Name Of The Father

Ellul Mercer, Ġ użè (1897 – 1961)

I can finally take a deep breath and turn out the light.

down and close your eyes and if your tears start to fall just let the wind dry them for you. And if you hear the music, sing along.

Then walk along the bay with the blue sea in your bucket and pick the cockle shells and gather the sand. Throw it all into the bucket. Leave the dead jellyfish behind: you have no use for rubbish. When you’ve gathered all the sand, walk along the road and uproot every tree you find, and shove them all into the bucket, one by one. Walk on. When you reach the other end, stop, sit down and rest.

Man coming up first. It’s a man, Karm

reminds me of that eloquent, wordless look. It reminds me of the emptiness, the unbearable lightness of the being that comes to an end. It reminds me that life is only to be found elsewhere, not here. La vraie est absent. 6

The proletarian who was never an aristocrat because he had the wrong party membership card had to be buried on the day that was once dedicated to him.

The nurse told me that in the state he was in, he could still hear everything and she gave me a warning sign to be careful what I said. I sat there pointlessly, looking at my infant boy. He is so small, so fragile, so vulnerable. I wish I could hold him in my arms and hug him to me. This scene is familiar. Years before, I was sitting next to another bed that resembled this one.

Today, the Republic of Malta recognises you as a political animal and hereby considers you its offspring, a member of the inner circle, and solemnly swears to do its utmost to protect, nurture and sustain you.

Tremens factus sum ego, et timeo …