MEETING THE ENEMY

By: Jorge Luis Borges
Translated by: Bajram Karabolli

So many years of avoiding and hoping... when finally, the enemy appeared at my house. I watched him from the window struggling up the arduous hill road. He walked leaning on a cane, a bundle of canes, which in his aged hands could never be a weapon but a stick. It wasn't easy to hear what I expected: the light knock on the door. Without nostalgia, I took a look at my manuscripts, sketches with half-finished projects and the study "Artemidori on dreams", a book that is a bit vague, because I don't know Greek. "One more time", I said to myself, as if confused, and I wanted to close the door again, but I was afraid that he might fall outside, because he took some complicated steps. He dropped his cane, which I never saw again, and, crushed, fell on my bed. I had imagined him many times, but, to my dismay, only in those moments did I see that he resembled the last portrait of Lincoln, as if they were brothers. It must have been four in the afternoon.

I leaned over him so he could hear me.

- Someone thinks that the years pass only for the other person - I told him - but they pass for everyone. Here we met, finally, and what happened before has no meaning.

As I spoke, I noticed that he had unbuttoned his coat. His right hand was in his jacket pocket. He made some sign to me and then I saw that there was a revolver there.

And in a sharp voice he said to me:

- I entered your house with all regret. Although I am not merciful, I am now filled with compassion.

I struggled to find some words. I am not a strong person and I thought that only words could save me. Finally, I could tell him:

- It's true that it's been some time since I mistreated a child, but you are no longer that child and I'm no longer that fool. Besides, revenge is no less arrogant and ridiculous than forgiveness.

- Precisely because I am no longer that child - he returned - I have to kill you. It is not about any revenge, but about an act of justice. Your arguments, Borhes, are just war tricks of your own horror, because I will kill you. You can't do anything now.

- I can do one thing, - I answered.

- What? - he asked me.

- To wake up.

And so I did.

Note: The author in this story deals with the theme of old age and death, and it is not difficult to understand that both characters here are, at the same time, one man, that is, the author himself, even though we have an intense dialogue between two people, the author and the enemy of his, that is, old age, death.