The Day I Killed My Father by Mario Sabino Read Free Book Online Page B

called heroes — were capable of perceiving what needed to be done in their era and, consequently, of revealing the Truth that inhabited all human beings, but to which the majority did not aspire. They had often been warned to proceed with caution along the way, but had pushed on regardless. And, thus, these great men had ended up being followed by those who saw them as the incarnation of their own desires and their own souls.
    Of all the quotes, one stuck in Antonym’s head: ‘The courage of truth, faith in the power of Spirit, are the first conditions of philosophy. Man, because he is Spirit, can and must consider himself worthy of everything that is most sublime. He can never overestimate the greatness and power of his Spirit. And if he has this faith, nothing will be so hard and unyielding as not to reveal itself to him.’
    It was already after 9.00 p.m. when Antonym went to meet Hemistich.

VI
    A sculpture of a white steer with golden horns loomed over the entrance of the The Bullseye. Beneath it was a marble plaque with the following inscription:
    I will destroy the wisdom of the wise,
and the intelligence of the intelligent I will reject.
Where is the wise man? Where is the scholar?
    â€˜How many will be dining with you, sir?’
    â€˜Hemistich is waiting for me.’
    â€˜May I have your name?’
    â€˜I’d rather keep it, if you don’t mind.’
    â€˜?’
    â€˜Antonym.’
    â€˜One moment, sir.’
    He’d expected a steakhouse that looked like a refectory — with colonial décor or something of the sort — and had found instead a very peculiar restaurant. The first room was a bar clad in dark wood with panels of bullfighting scenes on the walls. The barmen and waiters moved around silently, and the usual sound of glasses and bottles was almost non-existent.
    â€˜A dry martini, please.’
    As Antonym sipped his martini, he took a closer look at the drawings. Men and bulls clashed with joyous expressions on their faces. In one scene, a bullfighter, about to be gored, had the transfigured look of one on the verge of orgasm.
    Funny , he thought. It reminds me of Bernini’s Ecstasy of Saint Teresa.
    â€˜Do you like it?’ asked Hemistich.
    â€˜It’s strange in this context, like the inscription over the steakhouse door.’
    â€˜Actually, this is more than a steakhouse.’
    â€˜Right, it’s a new concept in steakhouses, as a publicist would say.’
    â€˜Go ahead, joke. I don’t care.’
    â€˜I’m sorry, Hemistich. I shouldn’t be talking like this to the guy who’s going to provide me with a free meal. I’m impressed by your steakhouse, or whatever you want to call it. Seriously. Where’d you come up with the money?’
    â€˜Let’s just say by using some relatively emotional blackmail. Come to the dining room.’
    A three-by-fifteen-metre corridor led from the bar to the dining room. Three wall lamps on each side shed yellow light on the people walking through it. Over the dining room door, an enormous Minotaur grinned down at passers-by.
    When he entered the dining room, Antonym gulped. On every wall there were scenes of satyrs and nymphs indulging in orgies of food and sex. On the floor were mosaics depicting food leftovers: olive pips, fruit peels, chicken bones, fish skeletons, hunks of meat.
    â€˜Surprising? Weird? I know it’s hard to choose the right adjective. But I’d say, “Appropriate.” This place was designed to celebrate the triumph of the senses over reason. See how relaxed everyone is? Let’s sit in that corner. Another dry martini? Risério, two more.’
    â€˜So she came here.’
    â€˜Bernadette? She really liked it. But the décor was different then.’
    â€˜You mentioned relatively emotional blackmail.’
    â€˜That’s how I got the money.’
    â€˜Your intellectual work, of course, wouldn’t have paid for