Before the Inferno, my life could be summed up in a single word: lightheartdness. As a child I liked to stare at the Polish sky, the same sky that later I saw from the camp stained with black stripes, the smoke of my relatives. Yet that macabre vision did not prevent me from enjoying the beauty of the sky. Another monstruos thought, like all the toughts people in the inferno had.
Before the Inferno, there was home. That first furtive kiss in the backyard at the age of thirteen. The smell and stink of home, the black clouds, the thrill of the approaching thunder, the child’s refuge in the corner near the window, the blanket over me when I was sick with fever… Blissful boredom and shivers of joy. It was, in short, a mental intimacy. The camp decrees the loss of mental intimacy, thus establisshing a new kind of death, a breathing death. There are many ways to dying, the worst of them is to continue living
When during the Inferno, we too from the other side of the barbed wire… We too looked at snow… And at Good. That’s how God is… An infant in a stupefying form. Beautiful, lazy, and still with no desire to do anything, like certain women who, when we were boys, we only dared dream about