Kozma must take it out of the house and quickly hide it in the old cellar in the garden, where it is also cold, and Father would return, and the cocoon would be safe; he gropes for it in the cellar and holds it in his arms, it's like an infant, he crawls out of the cellar with it, and everything around is burning, everything has caught fire so fast, everything is in flames, it's so hot, so bright, he heads for the door carrying the cocoon, but suddenly it cracks, he keeps going, but it cracks, and a dark-blue, unbelievably beautiful butterfly begins to burst out of the cocoon, bursts out of the membrane, bursts out of his hands, it is so lovely, so smooth, silky, incredibly beautiful, so beautiful that he forgets about his father, it's pretty, like an angel, it has a beautiful, light-blue shining skull on its back, but it isn't really a skull, it's an angelic face, a sublime angelic visage, shining in every tint of blue and violet, it sings in a delicate, quivering voice, and it tears away, tears out of his hands, its huge wings flap, it tears away so forcefully, so charmingly, that Kozma's heart begins to quiver like its wings, he can't let it go, he mustn't let it go, he'll do anything to hold on to it, he grabs it by its thick, silky legs, it sings, flaps its wings, and flies through the burning window, it carries Kozma through the fiery window, and Kozma's arms join with the butterfly's legs, his bones fuse with its bones, his bones sing along with the butterfly, a song of new life, a song of ultimate happiness, a song of great joy; they sing, and the butterfly carries him into the infinite fiery window, into the narrow fiery window, into the swift window of fire, into the long window of fire, into the window of fire, into the window of fire, into the window of fire.
Sayfa 175 - Penguin Modern ClassicsKitabı okudu
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