Ramón came quickly to him, placed one of his hands over Cipriano’s eyes, closing them. Ramón stood behind Cipriano, who remained motionless in the warm dark, his consciousness reeling in strange concentric waves, towards a centre where it suddenly plunges into the bottomless deeps, like sleep.
“Cipriano?”—the voice sounded so far off.
“Yes.”
“Is it dark?”
“It is dark.”
“Is it alive? Is the darkness alive?”
“Surely it is alive.”
“Who lives?”
“I.”
“Where?”