The Third Man
Then the other one came; he carried an old, ravaged valise
in which he hid all the ghosts of his life that they never needed
chase after him; we were in the same stuffy room, and the large
animal, sewn on the carpet, was already biting our knees.
“Mother,” I asked at some time, “where can we find some water
for my horse?” “But I don’t see any horse”, “You too, mother!”
A line of candles was on both sides of the hallway, and at
the far end of the store that sold old music instruments, which hung from the ceiling like the destitute; the antique dealer, old and dirty, was in the middle; he was winding the dead arm on his knees.
“They fooled us,” I cried, “they gave us a different house.”
But no one was around, only one hairpin on the tiles like
a little insect, which flew through the window when
I tried to touch it. And the blacksmiths were heard during
the night as they prepared the nails, as if there was a Christ
amongst the three of us.
