Garden of the Hungry

The Colossus of Salbi

In a dark shed that exposed fragmented walls, thirty-six people huddled. A few hugged, seeking comfort, others seemed asleep, but the vast majority had a look of utter desolation.

The dust sparkled within the beam of two lamps positioned on a pile of debris. A funeral stillness hung in the room, rivaled only by sudden coughs or whispers.

"What happened, my God?" Muttered a dirty lady to an old man by her side.

"Earthquake," he replied in a voice as worn as his appearance.

Sitting on the floor with his hands around the knee, there was Dave: jaded and covered by a thick layer of dirt on the face. Next to him rested men, women and children in a similar situation.

"Atonement!" A middle-aged man in a grimy jacket shouted, rising to his feet with difficulty. "We are obviously being punished by Him, for we failed," he passed his eyes over the little that was lit and could be seen. "Even though as creatures coming from His perfect singularity, we have shown ourselves unworthy to inherit what we were given! Our immorality tarnished the world! It is our demise and we deserve such fate!"

"Hmmm," Dave moaned and arched an eyebrow in disbelief.

"Is there something funny about what I said, young man?" It irritated the man who had discoursed earlier. "Are you mocking His purposes?"

"I find it laughably incoherent a perfect being err so badly in its creations."

"What are you implying with those words?"

"That you are wasting the little oxygen we have," Dave gave him a contemptuous look.

While they reasoned, a knock sounded above their heads and immediately a climate of fear took possession of the site. People hid up in the corners and some desperate prayers began.

There was definitely something heavy moving above the ceiling, because besides the sound of gritting rocks, stone fragments kept falling.

Repeatedly, the blows returned cyclically – they started with something like a neigh and ended with a punch that rattled the entire structure –, amid the dreadful cries of those crowding.

After a last roar, a block of concrete the size of a large animal plummeted from above, opening a cavity through which the sun came in like a burst of life.

Dave, curious, was the first to emerge from the gloom where everyone was sheltering and walked bathing in the light, groping the walls and wrapped in a curtain of dust. Such sudden light revealed, at his side, a wagon rolled over rails and concrete columns. Better visibility made the others approach the illuminated area cautiously, with their eyes on the ceiling.

"Survivors, sir!" Shouted a figure that moved on the edge of the hole with a voice soaked in joy.

Inevitable smiles sprang up among the victims, but they were all so exhausted that no exalted cry had been issued, except for the individual in a suit who exclaimed:

"Do you see?" He roared with his finger up and showed satisfaction. "That is His mercy! We are saved!"

"First, He sends us the destruction, and then He sends us salvation," Dave quipped. "Funny incoherence again."

The priest passed his hands on the clay covering his jacket and took a deep breath, avoiding a reply to the mockery, but suddenly the words leaped out of his mouth like an animal advancing on its prey:

"Young man," he gritted his teeth, "there is a place where the wicked like you go! A place of suffering, agony and purge. Your cries will not be heard and your prayers will be worth nothing!"