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SUNLIGHT 143
shoulders or at best with some maxim learned in the
years of childhood, but never from personal reflection.
He is certain of the existence of the body, he delights
in its beauty; the body for him means jubilation. But
the soul he does not understand; however assiduous
his attendance at church, it never becomes a living ele-
ment in his consciousness. Under these circumstances,
Death is an absolute thing. Death destroys the body
and consigns it to dissolution. Death is the end of all
things.
Since the Andalusian is incapable of pursuing his
own destiny beyond the portals of Death, how could he
show greater interest in the destinies of others? The
churchyard does not attract him. The churchyard is
the great refuse-heap of life, on which life stealthily
discards its offal, immediately turning its back on this
heap of garbage. Perhaps the Andalusian did visit
the churchyard once, ten years ago, when he watched
his father’s coffin being shoved into one of the numer-
ous pigeon-holes in the cemetery wall. Perhaps he
stands again in the same spot to-day, watching the
grave-diggers remove the plate and slide his mother’s
coffin into its narrow orifice like a drawer in its frame.
Perhaps his father’s half-consumed remains are
crushed against the interior walls as the new coffin
moves in. There is a grinding sound as the old re-
mains are pounded together, as they emerge from the
coffin through the cracks under both sides of the lid.
All around our Andalusian friend lie the mounds of
graves, desolate and neglected, often devastated by
wild dogs who dig up the remains of those of the de-
ceased, whose poverty prevented their acquiring a sufh-
ciently protected refuge under the ground. What feel-
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