What of

"What of? Why are you going away?"
He came a little nearer: he thought—a man may kiss his own daughter,homepage; but she started away from him. "Don't you touch me," she screeched at him in her ancient voice, and giggled. Every child was born with some kind of knowledge of love, he thought; they took it with the milk at the breast: but on parents and friends depended the kind of love they knew—the saving or the damning kind. Lust too was a kind of love. He saw her fixed in her life like a fly in amber—Maria's hand raised to strike: Pedro talking prematurely in the dusk; and the police beating the forest—violence everywhere. He prayed silently: "O God, give me any kind of death—without contrition, in a state of sin—only save this child."
He was a man who was supposed to save souls: it had seemed quite simple once, preaching at Benediction, organizing the guilds, having coffee with elderly ladies behind barred windows,Fake Designer Handbags, blessing new houses with a little incense, wearing [77] black gloves ... it was as easy as saving money: now it was a mystery. He was aware of his own desperate inadequacy.
He went down on his knees and pulled her to him, while she giggled and struggled to be free. He said: "I love you. I am your father and I love you. Try to understand that." He held her tightly by the wrist and suddenly she stayed still, looking up at him. He said: "I would give my life, that's nothing, my soul ... my dear,Moncler outlet online store, my dear, try to understand that you are—so important." That was the difference, he had always known, between his faith and theirs,ugg bailey button triplet 1873 boots, the political leaders of the people who cared only for things like the state, the republic: this child was more important than a whole continent. He said: "You must take care of yourself because you are so—necessary. The President up in the capital goes guarded by men with guns—but, my child, you have all the angels of heaven—" She stared back at him out of dark and unconscious eyes: he had a sense that he had come too late. He said: "Good-bye, my dear," and clumsily kissed her—a silly infatuated ageing man, who as soon as he released her and started padding back to the plaza could feel behind his hunched shoulders the whole vile world coming round the child to ruin her. His mule was there, saddled, by the gaseosa stall. A man said: "Better go north, father," and stood waving his hand. One mustn't have human affections—or rather one must love every soul as if it were one's own child. The passion to protect must extend itself over a world—but he felt it tethered and aching like a hobbled animal to the tree trunk. He turned his mule south.

He was travelling in the actual track of the police: so long as he went slowly and didn't overtake any stragglers it seemed a fairly safe route. What he needed now was wine—and it had to be made with grapes: without it he was useless; he might as well escape north into the mountains and the safe state beyond, where the worst that could happen to him was a fine and a few days in prison because he couldn't pay. But he wasn't ready yet for the final surrender—every small surrender had to be paid for in a further endurance, and now he felt the need of somehow ransoming his child. He could stay another month, another year ... jogging up and down on the mule he tried to bribe God with promises of firmness. ... The mule suddenly [78] dug in its hoofs and stopped dead: a tiny green snake raised itself like an affronted woman on the path and then hissed away into the grass like a match-flame. The mule went on.