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In this disturbing short story by Machado de Assis, a nurse hired to care for a sick man recounts his experience with a mixture of coldness and confession. As he describes his intimate and tense relationship with the patient, the narrator reveals the limits of morality, patience, and conscience itself. A scathing portrait of the human soul, marked by irony, ambiguity, and growing discomfort.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025
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In this disturbing short story by Machado de Assis, a nurse hired to care for a sick man recounts his experience with a mixture of coldness and confession. As he describes his intimate and tense relationship with the patient, the narrator reveals the limits of morality, patience, and conscience itself. A scathing portrait of the human soul, marked by irony, ambiguity, and growing discomfort.
Guilt, Morality, Confession
This text is a work in the public domain and reflects the norms, values and perspectives of its time. Some readers may find parts of this content offensive or disturbing, given the evolution in social norms and in our collective understanding of issues of equality, human rights and mutual respect. We ask readers to approach this material with an understanding of the historical era in which it was written, recognizing that it may contain language, ideas or descriptions that are incompatible with today's ethical and moral standards.
Names from foreign languages will be preserved in their original form, with no translation.
So you think that what happened to me in 1860 could be included in a book? Very well, on the sole condition that you do not publish anything before my death. You will not have to wait long, perhaps eight days, if not less; I am disillusioned.
Look, I could tell you my whole life story, in which there are other interesting things, but that would take time, energy, and paper, and I only have paper; my energy is weak, and time is like the dawn lamp. The sun of the next day will soon rise, a devilish sun, impenetrable like life itself. Farewell, my dear sir, read this and wish me well; forgive me for what you think is bad, and don't mistreat the rue too much if it doesn't smell right to you. You asked me for a human document, here it is. Do not ask me for the empire of the Great Mogul, nor for a photograph of the Maccabees; ask, however, for my dead man's shoes, and I will give them to no one else.
