In memory of my fiancée's dad, a righteous man, the only father I ever had in this life. The Hands of my Father Mario Quintana Your hands have thick veins like blue cords On a background of earth-coloured spots — how beautiful your hands are for the way they handled, caressed or quivered in the nobel wrath of the righteous! Because in your hands, my old father, there is that unique beauty called life. At twilight, as they rest on the arms of your favourite chair, a light seems to flicker from within them... Does it spring from the flame you have been faithfully feeding in this merciless, desolate world like a man who gathers some small sticks and tries to kindle them despite the wind? Ah, how they burnt and blazed at the touch of your miracle hands! And life still transfigures their nodes, The same life-transcending flame Which angels shall finally call soul. In: WEISSBORT, Dani...
