The mother beside him, stooped over, decreased by her own mourning. Her closeness is a black hole which consumes his energy.
I find appropriate this image,
in a real mourning there is nothing else. The one in mourning, suffers inwards
and decreases himself, as we are told in the text, and all in the surround end
up being absorbed by the mourning. It doesn´t let escape anything, as if it
were a black hole.
One of the most fascinating conversations I´ve ever heard in my life was in a bus in Seville. It was between two gipsy girls, quite young both of them. One of them was explaining to the other how to cook when you are in mourning and she was telling her how inappropriate was to add peppers, red or green, to the lentils. I would have felt like listening much more, but I arrived to my bus stop and I had to get off
