I have my life that I want to live. Not revenge — what
another death could erase from the previous death, when
in fact it’s a violent death? What can it add to life? Time
has passed, I don’t hate anymore; have I forgotten? I
don’t know. Indeed I feel certain sympathy for
the murderess: she has passed over great crevices, wisdom
has dilated her eyes and she can see in darkness, she can
see the imperishable, the unachievable, the irreversible.
She sees me.
I too want to see father’s murder under the soothing
generality of death, to forget of him in the wholeness
of death that awaits us too. This night has taught me
the innocence of all the usurpers. We’re all usurpers
of something — of the people, the throne, of Eros or
even of death. My sister the usurper of my only life
and I of yours.
Manolis Aligizakis 