(77) The abracadabrante story of Mooon Child

Every appearance worthy of the name keeps… projects and shares its portion of shadow…

 

  

Félix stops abruptly.

The notebook remains open in his hands, yet his gaze no longer follows the lines. A shadow… a bird… something has just shifted violently inside his mind. An inconsistency. No, more than an inconsistency: a kind of silent torsion within the narrative space itself.

He pulls himself together and begins once more to leaf feverishly through Lucian’s notebooks, then through those of Don Carotte. The dates fluctuate. Certain fragments seem to answer one another across a distance. Others appear to have been written before the events they describe. Even the parrots sometimes mix up the sequences when they recount them.

At last he finds the passage he was searching for.

That is it… Don Carotte’s initiatory journey began in the clearing… always that clearing.