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Stellar IV: The Agents of Zierlux

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T.W. Alexander

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“The local news kicked in just as I was crooning an omertà ballad. “Hey, for all you school kids…” Da’s friend Teddy announced, “The Derra City’s militia’s having a bake sale to raise currency for more bombers!” “Again?” I clapped off the feed and patted Junior. “More breakfast?” Your son kicked in my belly, Sam. Like he understood. Know yourself: That was what the therapy program kept telling me, before I disconnected it and threw the module away. You know, Sam, recently I’ve gotten to know myself in ways that most folks can’t even fathom. And let me tell you, knowing yourself? It’s a stinking crock. You think you do, but when it comes down to it, you’re just as stupid and soft as everyone—and just as ill-equipped to deal with the end of the world. Think about other things, Ma kept saying. Ma was always more polite than you, and your: if-you-don’t-stop-talking-about-Starfire-I-want-a-divorce, but her words amounted to the same thing. Think about other things? Why should I? No one else was. I’m not gonna lie, Sam. I know you’ve had to forgive a lot, but it’s still hard for me to forgive you. Because I was right, wasn’t I?”

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“Um dia Adelmino chega em casa, já na cidade, e deita na rede. Waldir devia ter uns quatro anos. Depois do cochilo, Adelmino levanta e não encontra a fivela de boiadeiro do seu cinto. Olha para Waldir acocorado do lado de fora. Grita pelo cinturão. O menino gagueja sem resposta. Cadê minha fivela? Waldir não diz nada e é levantado pelo pescoço e arremessado no chão. Depois é um chicote assobiando nas costas do moleque. Ele só chora e geme. Adelmino se cansa e volta pra rede, onde encontra a fivela. Tinha caído do cinto enquanto ele dormia. Ele olha para o menino, pensa em falar algo, mas não diz nada. Volta a dormir. E eu, onde estava? Cinco goles.”

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“Receive this cross of ash upon your brow Brought from the burning of Palm Sunday's cross; The forests of the world are burning now And you make late repentance for the loss. But all the trees of God would clap their hands, The very stones themselves would shout and sing, If you could covenant to love these lands And recognize in Christ their lord and king. He sees the slow destruction of those trees, He weeps to see the ancient places burn, And still you make what purchases you please And still to dust and ashes you return. But Hope could rise from ashes even now Beginning with this sign upon your brow.”

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