Lacrimosa dies

I wrote about agony in the previous post and it was genuine agony I felt thinking of all those trapped in front of TV sets. Then, this morning, on our first day in the office, life (or the Lord of Circumstances, really) overtook me in cruel irony.

My office mate, NL, was not in and I remember looking at the neat piles of documents on her desk under a kind of weird, but blurry from the early start, premonition. That’s normal for me in the mornings, when everything feels weird to me; actually, I wake up as an alienated nihilist and go to bed at night as a serene acolyte.

Greetings were exchanged with colleagues in the corridor, by the secretaries’ desks, by the pigeonholes, in the kitchen, in the common room. People knocked on the door looking for NL, as ever. Then, Poet Abu-Jonathan stormed our office, as customary. He was in shock. He told me NL’s daughter, 19, suddenly died yesterday.

It is NL I can’t bear to think of. I picture in horror the countless times she will be waking up from now on. In the precious few initial seconds everything will be fine, then — some days gradually, some days abruptly — the unbearable loss will be establishing its presence, again and again, sharp and irrevocable. Just this has been enough to cause me sorrow and unease today, so I don’t think any (more) eloquence is in order, for the time, at least.

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