THE MAKING OF ASPER
I understand. "You're going to die?"
"Yes."
415
"But, look, life
is
worth more than Asper, think of that, my
friend."
"I have a special attitude towards life: I consider it an art;
art demands sacrifices; furthermore, a death of this kind attracts
me. In dying, I shall merge with Asper, knowing, unlike authors
who are unsure of the significance of their works, that Asper
shall live on a long time and serve as material for other creators,
founders of legends about magnanimous robbers.
So
now fare–
well, .and pray for me to whomever can grant absolution."
He arose and we shook hands. I knew that sleep would not
find me this night and walked along slowly. Asper, as a robber,
continued to exist for me, despite Gakker's tale. I looked toward
the mountains and sensed quite clearly that the bandit was there;
hiding, he was lying in wait along the highway and cocking his
weapons; my invincible certainty in this was stronger than reason.
"About 11: 00 p.m. at the Vul cliffs, in the abyss, the
legendary Asper was killed. Holding up a mail stage, the robber,
while cocking his carbine, slipped and fell; the postman took
ad–
vantage of this and shot him in the head. The wounded Asper,
rushing through the undergrowth, came to the precipice but
could not remain on his feet and hurtled downwards onto sharp
rocks scattered at the bottom of the 400-foot void. The disfigured
corpse was identified by a tattoo on the left arm and a stiletto
with the robber's name on the blade. Details in a special issue."
That's what I read in yesterday's paper, bundles of which
were being passed out by hoarse-voiced newsboys. "Death of
Asper!" they shouted. I have put this newspaper into a special
box of curiosities and sad memories. Anyone can see it if he
wants to.
(Translated by Christopher Bird)
