miercuri, 17 august 2022

Cormac McCarthy -"Blood Meridian"


O carte lirică. Limbajul e foarte intens și, cumva, elementul structurant; e ca muzica aceea din filme care te pregătește cum să primești o anumită scenă, care potențează suspansul sau susține umorul scenelor comice etc. Cormac McCarthy creează o carte în care te cufunzi complet, chiar și auditiv, datorită limbajului. E genul acela de text hipnotic care te înghite cu totul. Chestie care e cu atât mai dificil de realizat cu cât nu ai un personaj cu care să te identifici, pe care să-l placi, de care să te agăți, care să aibă oarecum rol de ghid în interiorul cărții (poate the Kid, dar și pe el îl pierzi de multe ori).
Totuși, ești prins acolo, fără personaje proeminente, fără poveste. Iar contrastul dintre frumusețea limbajului și violența extremă a conținutului este absolut uimitor și captivant. 

"Glanton sat his horse and looked long out upon this scene. Sparse on the mesa the dry weeds lashed in the wind like the earth’s long echo of lance and spear in the old encounters forever unrecorded. All the sky seemed troubled and night came quickly over the evening land and small Gillis birds flew crying softly after the fled sun. He chucked up the horse. He passed and so passed all into the problematical destruction of darkness."

"Long past dark that night when the moon was already up a party of women that had been upriver drying fish returned to the village and wandered howling through the ruins. A few fires still smoldered on the ground and dogs slank off from among the corpses. An old woman knelt at the blackened stones before her door and poked brush into the coals and blew back a flame from the ashes and began to right the overturned pots. All about her the dead lay with their peeled skulls like polyps bluely wet or luminescent melons cooling on some mesa of the moon. In the days to come the frail black rebuses of blood in those sands would crack and break and drift away so that in the circuit of few suns all trace of the destruction of these people would be erased. The desert wind would salt their ruins and there would be nothing, not ghost not scribe, to tell to any pilgrim in his passing how it was that people had lived in this place and in this place died."

"They fought them again at Encinillas and they fought them in the dry passes going toward El Sauz and beyond in the low foothills from which they could already see the churchspires of the city to the south. On the twenty-first of July in the year eighteen forty-nine they rode into the city of Chihuahua to a hero’s welcome, driving the harlequin horses before them through the dust of the streets in a pandemonium of teeth and whited eyes. Small boys ran among the hooves an the victors in their gory rags smiled through the filth and the dust and the caked blood as they bore on poles the desiccated heads of the enemy through that fantasy of music and flowers."

"They were much reduced by their wounds and their hunger and they made a poor show as they staggered onward. By noon their water was gone and they sat studying the barrenness about. A wind blew down from the north. Their mouths were dry. The desert upon which they were entrained was desert absolute and it was devoid of feature altogether and there was nothing to mark their progress upon it. The earth fell away on every side equally in its arcature and by these limits were they circumscribed and of them were they locus. They rose and went on. The sky was luminous. There was no trace to follow other than the bits of cast-off left by travelers even to the bones of men drifted out of their graves in the scalloped sands. In the afternoon the terrain began to rise before them and at the crest of a shallow esker they stood and looked back to see the judge much as before some two miles distant on the plain. They went on. 
The approach to any watering place in that desert was marked by the carcasses of perished animals in increasing number and so it was now, as if the wells were ringed by some hazard lethal to creatures. The travelers looked back. The judge was out of sight beyond the rise. Before them lay the whitened boards of a wagon and further on the shapes of mule and ox with the hide scoured bald as canvas by the constant abrasion of the sand. 
The kid stood studying this place and then he backtracked some hundred yards and stood looking down at his shallow footprints in the sand. He looked upon the drifted slope of the esker which they had descended and he knelt and held his hand against the ground and he listened to the faint silica hiss of the wind. 
When he drifted his hand there was a thin ridge of sand that had drifted against it and he watched this ridge slowly vanish before him. 
The expriest when he returned to him prevented a grave appearance. The kid knelt and studied him where he sat."

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