"A spiteful scar crossed his face: an ash-colored and nearly perfect arc that creased his temples at one tip and his cheek at the other." --- opening line in The Shape of the Sword
I first encountered this Borges tale fifty years ago in the collection of fictions, essays and parables by the Argentinian man of letters entitled Labyrinths. One searing image cut itself into my memory, never to be forgotten, an images driven home in the concluding lines of this unforgettable short yarn.
Irony, a literary device frequently employed to maximal effect in a short story when the irony is contained in the final word, the final sentence or sentences, as is the case with The Shape of the Sword.
Ah, the sword. Think of the many men as well as women who have lost their lives receiving a decisive thrust from a sword. Throughout history, the sword has come to symbolize many things: power, protection, authority, strength, courage - and violence.
One particularly memorable line: "Whatever one man does, it is as if all men did it."
So speaketh the narrator strolling the streets of a northern provincial town in Brazil when his interlocutor is none other than Borges himself. Yes, Jorge Luis Borges has written himself into his own tale here.
The Shape of the Sword, a tale of courage and betrayal, a tale one must read for oneself.
"Perhaps Schopenhauer was right: I am all other men, any man is all men." What think ye of the narrator's statement? After reading The Shape of the Sword, your assessment might change - or be enlarged. Link: http://www.coldbacon.com/writing/borg...
As a bonus for lovers of irony, here's a modern day tale containing a sliver of the Borgesian spirit -
THE LADDER by Greg Boyd
I go next door to borrow a step ladder. No big deal. But deal. It's gone, my neighbor says, stolen or borrowed by my son or my son-in-law or some cheap crook, loaned by me to a neighbor, i don't know, but gone either way. Sorry. Okay, I say. But I still need a ladder. I get on the phone, try the hardware store. All out of stock. Take a raincheck? No thanks. Next the rental place. They've got everything. Extension ladder? How big, 18 or 24 or 30 feet? A step ladder. No steps right now, except for a kitchen two-step for changing light bulbs and reaching the top shelf if you're short. Try tomorrow morning early. Need it now. I think of the swap meet. Drive out there. Pay for parking and admission. Everything's for sale; people's lives are spread out on blankets and card tables: clothes, furniture, car parts, junk, kitchen utensils, framed posters, tools, jewelry, hot dogs, knives, bird cages, bicycles, toys, books, plants and aquariums, everything except a step ladder. On the way back I pass a garage sale. Slam on the brakes. There it is. Old wooden one with paint dripping on the rungs. A little paper sign on it: NOT FOR SALE. How much will you take for the ladder? Not for sale. Give you more than it's worth new. Don't want to sell it. Fifty bucks? Ain't selling. Will you rent it to me for a day? Garage sale not rent, but I'll tell you where I got this one. Paint supply place downtown. Good deals. Below retail. Open Sundays? Don't know. Worth a try. I try. Out of business. But down the street I find another hardware store. And they've got a ladder. New aluminum job with ribbed steps and red warning stickers that say not to stand on the top step. Already sold, says the manager. Last one we got. Customers coming back for it any minute now. I'll give you twice what it cost, I say. Can't do that, says he, an old guy, poking his ear. Gray hair in the ear, and lots of wax. Split the difference with the customer, I offer. Nope. It's already paid for. Bad business, dishonest, poor service, and other similar stuff. How about a quick rental? I flash a fifty. His eyes light up a little. Before he can say anything, though, the ladder's new owner walks up. I talk to him. Big guy wearing blue jeans and a flannel shirt unbuttoned over a sleeveless undershirt. Offer to buy. Need the ladder, he says. For a job. Me too. How about a loan. I mean a rental? I'm in the trades, he says. You rent the ladder, you rent me with it. Also my truck plus mileage. Union wages, of course. Deal, I say. I pay up front and we shake on it. A pleasure to work for you, he says. we get back to my place, he, I, the ladder, the truck. He unloads and carries the ladder inside, and down the stairs to the basement. He climbs up the ladder and unties the rope that is anchored to the high beam that supports the basement roof. The rope falls noose-end to the floor. That it? he asks. I guess so.
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