Slow Man
Enero 28, 2009
The blow catches him from the right, sharp and surprising and painful, like a bolt of electricity, lifting him up off the bicycle. Relax! he tells himself as he flies through the air (flies through the air with the greatest of ease!), and indeed he can feel his limbs go obediently slack. Like a cat he tells himself: roll, then string to you feet, ready for what comes next. The unusual word limber or limbre is on the horizon too.
…
He lies streched out, at peace. It is a glorious morning. The sun’s touch is kind. There are worse things than letting oneself go slack, waiting for one’s strenght to return. In fact there might be worse things than having a quick nap. He closes his eyes; the world beneath him, rotates; he goes absent.
“Slow Man” J.M. Coetzee. Fragmento.
