Comentario 2/14

A friend who’s recently dead, someone who’s known also dead in just a month; and the dead who walked along part of my life are forming a sort of cohort; and every time that I need them, I am going to read their books, or watch their movies, or look at their paintings, or listen to their music, or, simply, remember them with the affection only dead people provoke. I was just reading Auster-Coetzee’s epistolarium on friendship and some feelings of disapproval arouses because true friendship begins after all is done and said –death offers a unique opportunity of purification; there is no selfishness, no envy, no possibility of offense. In the meantime, friendship is an aspiration, a ritual of good manners and fidelities always threatens by our anger, our dreadful behavior. Friendship requires doses of patience and generosity that we are not always ready to give. You remember the day when you were thirteen and abandoned a friend when he was attacked by a gang and you run cowardly; you remember the lies, the violations of privacy, the manipulation, the indiscretions, the times you have taken advantage of the innocence and the good faith of others, the infidelities –you remember all of these misdeeds, and you know you have screwed it up.