Selected Cronicas

TERROR

The light was too strong for his eyes. Then he felt a violent tug; he was being settled in his cot but how was he to know? All he was aware of was the terror of those faces bending over him. He knew about nothing. And he could not move freely. The voices sounded like thunder, apart from one melodious voice: how comforting. But he was soon tucked in and started feeling terrified. He screamed between the cot-railings and saw colours which he later recognized as blue. A disquieting blue which made him cry. And his fear of that dreadful colic. They would open his mouth and pour down his throat some nasty liquid which he would be forced to swallow. It was somehow easier to bear when the melodious voice gave him his medicine. On those occasions, he did not scream. The one positive thing was that he had just been born. He was five days old.

When he became a little older, he could hear without understanding: ‘He’s no longer any trouble but when he was born he cried and screamed such a lot. Thank goodness, he’s getting easier to handle.’ No, no, it was not easy. It never would be easy. Birth was the death of one being dividing into two solitary beings. It only seemed easy now that he had learned to cope with his secret terror which would last until death. The terror of being on earth yet longing for heaven.