Gait

 
The abandoned circus then vibrated with a soul.
The ring was covered with a fire without body or flame.
One no longer knew whether the ruin was burning
Or whether some future was rising, suddenly revealed.
For the Apocalypse—listen well to this word—
Is not a cataclysm, an ending, nor a tomb:
It is the moment when night, tearing itself open,
Lets through a forbidden and newborn light.
Thus, in this desert of planks and iron,
The past rose like a bitter sun.
The broken laughter, the dog, the faithful donkey,
The islands shifting their rocks through salt,
The drawings without authors, journals without memory

All returned to gleam in the shadow of History.
But that very light also announced the decline:
For the circus dies when its morning comes again.

Lucian goes to see his supervisor, Félix, to talk about one of his patients, Igniatius, who is causing him difficulties. Up to this point, nothing unusual. Igniatius brings drawings he claims to have found in a gallery. These drawings, at once clear and enigmatic, recount mainly the story and adventures—set in a volcanic, wild and deserted archipelago battered by elemental forces—of a certain Don Carotte (Don Quixote) and Sang Chaud, his companion (Sancho Panza).
In this archipelago, the islands that compose it are ever-changing. They appear and disappear just like the circus that gets set up and taken down each day—except that, according to the drawings, the circus seems to be destroyed (or self-destructs—the nuance matters) rather than dismantled. This circus appears to have been the “home” (in both senses) of Don Carotte when he was a child living there with his donkey.
The drawings are annotated and signed with an illegible handwriting.
The conversations between Lucian and Igniatius proceed normally, until Lucian begins to suspect that the drawings may in fact have been made by Igniatius himself, who brings them under the pretext of having found them.
Lucian says nothing and lets Igniatius speak, as he should, while taking notes in his journals. He also, inspired by the drawings Igniatius brings, occasionally sketches small drawings that “might help him better understand the one who drew them.”
The problem—the one that seems to have led Lucian to show these drawings to his supervisor—is that Igniatius saw the small sketches and read some of Lucian’s notes, “because he had left them lying around on his desk during his absenceand Igniatius’s presence.”
At that very moment Félix raised an eyebrow. A single glance had been enough for Igniatius to recognise—not only Lucian’s handwriting, identical to the illegible signature on the drawings—but the very style of the sketches in Lucian’s notebooks.
As a result, Igniatius began to suspect, not without reason, that Lucian might be the author of the drawings he supposedly found in the gallery. Lucian denies this, claiming he made the sketches so that, “like an actor who has fully absorbed the role he has memorized down to the last gesture, physically entering the same movement even before thought or reason intervenes,” he might better understand them.
— I put myself in your place, Igniatius… “in your skin,” Lucian told him, attempting to justify why he, too, was drawing. But Igniatius remained unconvinced.
Félix, in turn, takes notes and draws in his notebook.
— You see, Lucian, although I have my doubts about your approach… I am trying to do as you did, to understand better what you attempted with Igniatius…

— It is a singular unfolding you are telling me here… You oblige me to speak about this motif we shall now try to untangle, not without some critical vigilance…
— You know, Félix… I feel as though I’ve reached the limit… or rather, the limits…
— The limits of what, Lucian?
— That is the question!
— The limits of what I can say…
— The limits of what you can—or what you want—to say, Lucian?
— I’ve reached the point where I can no longer distinguish between being able and being willing… I no longer know whether I am Don Carotte, or whether it is he who follows me…
— Lucian, my role as supervisor seems it must be suspended… I believe we must reconsider our relationship, and that you will have to realise—that is, to be precise, give account to yourself… and tell me in detail everything you already know…