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  • "Who Knows," he said, "how many suffering, crippled, fragmentary forms of life there are, such as artificially created life of chest and tables quicky nailed together, crucified timbers, silent martyrts to cruel human inventiveness. The terrible transpalntion o f incompatible and hostile races of wood, their mergin into one misbegotten personality.
    "How much ancient suffering is there in the varnished grain, in the veins and knots of our old familiar wardrobes? Who would recongnize in them the old features, smiles, and glances, almost planed and polished out of all recognition?"
    My father's face, when he said that, dissolved into a thoughtful net of winkles, began to resemble an old plank full of knots and veins, from which all memories had been planed away.



    "Chissà, diceva - quante forme dolorose, mutile, frammentarie della vita esistono, come quella artificiosamente incollata, frettolosamente inchiodata degli armadi e dei tavoli, legni crocifissi, martiri silenziosi della crudele ingegnosità umana. Orribili trapianti di razze d'alberi estranee e avverse, incatenate le une alle altre in un'unica infelice individualità.
    "Quale antico, sapiente tormento è nelle venature verniciate, nelle screziature, nei nodi dei nostri vecchi e cari armadi! Chi vi riconoscerebbe gli antichi tratti, i sorrisi, gli sguardi piallati, levigati fino a diventare irriconoscibili?"
    Nel pronunciare queste parole l volto di mio padre si ricoprì di una rete pensosa di rughe, divenne simile ai nodi e alle venature di una vecchia asse da cui fossero stati piallati tutti i ricordi


    "Le Botteghe Color Cannella" di Bruno Schulz
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