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Unruffled and gently, the wind blew over the land. Above it, a few clouds traveled across the withered sky, and below, on top of the earth, the stones were steaming, scorching from the sweltering day, which hadn't put an end to it yet. Earth and sky in deep silence, fashioned by centuries, even muter than silence, declarations of the late day: amiable stillness. God would be covering his eyes soon, the sun and the moon, and would be falling asleep. It was probably the twilight colours that danced on top of the mountain. You could see or sense something indistinguishable through the depth of the smog. Slowly, the eyes exploited the haze and got used to the miasma of the late day; you could now discriminately get a glimpse from up above. On top of the blazing soil, in some places thrown on top of each other, in other places solitary, the scorched houses brewed of bricks, mortar, and wood."We're not going anywhere," we would yell. How many days and nights did we search to rid ourselves of this catastrophe, of this insult on earth? Are you counting? We dropped in on assemblies of powerful politicians; we left and got into the world's cathedrals. They charmed and flattered us, but we were expelled and forced out because they said it was God's will. "You are," we screamed, "you are the ones to save us, why are you hiding?" But they would look at the books we carried with us, they would settle on the idea that we were Reds, and they would kick and scream: "We're not, we're not," they yelled and they would submit themselves to heretical tenders, diverging from their responsibilities. We crossed the threshold of taverns and brothels but found no one standing up against this denial. They're all liars, thieves, murderers. We left. "Brother," he would turn to me and say, "Brother, forgive me, but we ploughed the earth, every assembly, every council, every cathedral; in vain, we chased to find answers. We must go it alone."
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