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Название книги: Chronicler Of The Winds
Автор(ы): Henning Mankell
Жанр: Детектив
Адрес книги: http://www.6lib.ru/books/Chronicler-Of-The-Winds-230292.html
© 2006Translated from the Swedish by Tiina Nunnally
The human being has two eyes;one sees only what moves in ephemeral time, the otherwhat is eternal and divine.ANGELUS SILESIUSIf this is the best of all possible worlds,what must the others be like?VOLTAIRE, CandideWhen there were no depths,I was brought forth;when there were no fountains abounding with water.Proverbs 8:24
Prologue: José Antonio Maria Vaz
On a rooftop of sun-scorched, reddish clay on a sultry, humid night beneath the starry tropical skies, I who bear the name José Antonio Maria Vaz stand waiting for the world to end. I am filthy and feverish, my clothes are hanging in tatters, as if they were in wild flight from my gaunt body. I have flour in my pockets, which for me is more precious than gold. A year ago I was still somebody, a baker; whereas now I am nobody, a beggar roaming aimlessly beneath the searing sun in the daytime and then spending the endless nights on a desolate rooftop. But even beggars possess traits that give
Название книги: Chronicler Of The Winds
Автор(ы): Henning Mankell
Жанр: Детектив
Адрес книги: http://www.6lib.ru/books/Chronicler-Of-The-Winds-230292.html
© 2006Translated from the Swedish by Tiina Nunnally
The human being has two eyes;one sees only what moves in ephemeral time, the otherwhat is eternal and divine.ANGELUS SILESIUSIf this is the best of all possible worlds,what must the others be like?VOLTAIRE, CandideWhen there were no depths,I was brought forth;when there were no fountains abounding with water.Proverbs 8:24
Prologue: José Antonio Maria Vaz
On a rooftop of sun-scorched, reddish clay on a sultry, humid night beneath the starry tropical skies, I who bear the name José Antonio Maria Vaz stand waiting for the world to end. I am filthy and feverish, my clothes are hanging in tatters, as if they were in wild flight from my gaunt body. I have flour in my pockets, which for me is more precious than gold. A year ago I was still somebody, a baker; whereas now I am nobody, a beggar roaming aimlessly beneath the searing sun in the daytime and then spending the endless nights on a desolate rooftop. But even beggars possess traits that give
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