Pappo & Friends The Book of Sand, Borges. L to line consists
an infinite number of points, the plane, an infinite number of lines, the volume of an infinite number of planes, the hypervolume of an infinite number of volumes ... No, definitely not this one, more geometric , the best way to start my story. Claim to be true is now a convention of all fantastic story, mine, however, is true. I live alone in a street fourth floor of the Belgrano. Few months will, at dusk, I heard a knock at the door. Opened and in came a stranger. He was a tall, features blurred. Perhaps my myopia and saw them. His whole appearance was decent poverty. He was gray and carrying a gray suitcase in hand. Then I felt I was a foreigner. At first I thought old, then I realized that I had deceived her little blonde hair, almost white, the Scandinavian way. In the course of our conversation, it would not last an hour, I knew it came from the Orkneys. Le
I pointed to a chair. The man took a while to talk. Exuded melancholy, as I am.
-Buy Bibles, "he said.
without pedantry not answered,
"In this house there are some English Bibles, including the first, John Wiclif. I have also Cipriano de Valera, of Luther, which literally is the worst, and a copy of the Latin Vulgate. As you see, are not exactly what I need Bibles.
After a silence he said:
-not only sell bibles. I can show you a sacred book that may be interested. I bought it in the confines of Bikaner.
opened the bag and put it on the table. It was an octavo volume, bound in cloth. Doubtless he had passed through many hands. I examined it, his unusual weight surprised me. In the back said Holy Writ and down Bombay.
-nineteenth-century will be observed.
I do not know. I have not ever known "was the reply.
I opened it at random. The characters were strangers to me. The pages, which were worn and typographically poor, were printed in two columns in the manner of a Bible. The text was tight and was ordained in verses. At the top of the pages were Arabic numbers. I noticed that the lead even page number (say) 40,514 and the odd, the next, 999. The turned, the back was numbered with eight digits. Bore a small illustration, like the kind used in dictionaries: an anchor drawn with the pen, and by the clumsy hand of a child.
was then that the stranger said
-Look at it. I no longer see anymore.
was a threat in the claim, but not in the voice.
I noticed the place and closed the volume. I opened it immediately.
searched in vain figure anchor, page after page. To hide my embarrassment, I said
"It's a version of Scripture in some Indian language, is not it?
"No," I replied.
Then he lowered his voice to confide a secret
"I bought in a village in the plains, in exchange for a few rupees and the Bible. His owner could not read. I suspect that in the Book of Books was a charm. It was the lowest caste, the people could not step on his shadow, no pollution. He said his book was called The Book of Sand, because neither the book nor the sand without beginning or end.
He asked me to look for the first sheet.
I placed my left hand on the cover and opened with the thumb almost glued to the index. All was useless always a number of pages between the cover and hand. It was as if growing from the book.
"Now look for the final.
also failed, barely managed to stammer a voice that was not mine:
"This can not be.
always whispered the Bible salesman told me
"It can be but it is. The number of pages of this book is infinite. None is the first, none the last. I do not know why they're numbered in this arbitrary way. Perhaps to suggest that the terms of an infinite series accept any number.
Then, as if thinking aloud:
-If the space is infinite, we at any point in space. If time is infinite, we at any point in time.
His remarks angered me. I asked:
- Are you religious, no doubt?
"Yes, I'm Presbyterian. My conscience is clear. I'm sure not having cheated the native when I gave the word of God in exchange for his book evil.
I assured him that had nothing to reproach himself, and asked if he was passing through these lands. He replied that in a few days thinking of returning to their homeland. It was then I knew I was Scottish Orkney Islands. I told him to Scotland I wanted personally for the love of Stevenson and Hume.
And Robbie Burns-corrected.
As we talked, I kept exploring the infinite book. I asked with mock indifference:
- You aims to offer this curious specimen to the British Museum?
-No. It will offer you, "I replied, and set a high sum.
I answered, truthfully, that this amount was inaccessible to me and I was thinking. After a few minutes my plan was hatched.
"I propose a trade," he said. You got this book for a few rupees and Holy Scripture, I offer the amount of my retirement, I just collect and Wiclif Bible in Gothic script. I inherited from my parents.
-A black letter Wiclif! "He murmured.
I went to my bedroom and brought him the money and the book. He turned the leaves and studied the face with fervor and fine bindings.
"Deal," he said.
I was amazed that no bargain. Understand that only after she had entered my house with the decision to sell the book. Not counted the bills, and saved.
talked about India, Orkney and the Norwegian jarls ruled. It was night when the man left. I have not seen him or know his name.
I keep the Book of Sand in the gap left by the Wiclif, but finally I chose to hide it behind a volume collapse of The Thousand and One Nights .
I slept and did not sleep. At three or four o'clock I turned on the light. I looked the book impossible, and turned the leaves. In one of them saw a carved mask. Angle had a number, I do not know which, raised to the ninth power.
I did not show anyone my treasure. A joy to own it is added the fear that was stolen, then the fear that is not truly infinite. These two concerns aggravated my old misanthropy.
I had a few friends, I stopped seeing them. Prisoner of the Book, I hardly looked out of the street. Examined with a magnifying glass back spent and caps, and rejected the possibility of some device. I found that small illustrations is two thousand pages of one another. The scoring was on a book alphabetically, I soon filled. Never repeated. At night, in the few intervals gave me insomnia, dreaming of the book.
declined the summer, and realized that the book was monstrous. Nothing helped me considering that I was no less monstrous, he perceived that his eyes and touch it with ten fingers with nails. I felt it was a nightmarish object, an obscene thing that infamous and corrupt reality.
I thought of the fire, but feared that the combustion of an infinite book out evenly smoke infinite and suffocate the planet.
remembered reading that the best place to hide a leaf is a forest. Before retiring he worked at the National Library, which holds nine thousand books, I know that right hand corner of the hall a staircase plunges into the basement, where newspapers and maps. I took a careless employee to lose the Book of Sand on one of the damp shelves. I tried not noticing how high or how far from the door.
feel some relief, but I will not go down the street or Mexico.
