top of page


My father had a secret. It was a superhuman secret. He used to think while he was brushing his teeth. He would wake up very early in the morning to see his wife and his children sleeping. He would remove the demons from the house and, silently, go out with his dog. That image of the man with his dog was sad for the neighbors, but what they did not know was that all the spirits were there between the two of them. My father used to live at the edge of the superhuman.


He was like a giant pumpkin―fat, round, full of seeds. He cooked alone and used to give some pieces to his dog; he used to bury what was no good in black earth. He used to traverse the crossroads fearlessly.


My father had a gun. Firearms kill evil spirits. Firearms kill. But he did not need to use it because he knew all the evil spirits from up close. My father knew the evil spirits. He thought of nothing other than protecting his children, his wife and his house. His middle son: laziness personified; his youngest daughter: a living doll; his eldest son: the caring arm; his wife: painful and silent love.


My father did not write his name, was one more of the illiterate. But he did not feel like writing. He felt like not writing. And he did not write.


Nobody touched his children or his wife. “Nothing and no one touches my children or my wife”. No touching. My father was not much of a toucher, he was a huge door. He opened the way through the Dense Jungle, became the Wind in the Desert, threw water on the Pillar of Salt, split the Red Sea. My father moved the Mountain from its position for his children to pass, because he was carrying his wife on his shoulders.


My father was strong, he had muscles, loads of them. He killed the Dragon from on top of his horse and raised a dog, three children and a wife. He kept quiet, he went deaf too. He provoked rotten veins in his legs because he did not want to live so long. He was tired of hanging around here. What he really wanted was to see everything from a distance. He threw himself into the sea to stay there. It was my father who threw himself into the sea and created his own stone. My father had a secret. He was a Siren.


Translated with Kurt Greiner

bottom of page