29 我该离去了

My child is dead, our child—now I have no one left in the world to love but you. But
who are you to me, who are you who never, never recognizes me, who passes me by
as if I were no more than a stretch of water, stumbling upon me as if I were a stone,
you who always goes away, forever leaving me to wait? Once I thought that, volatile
as you are, I could keep you in the shape of the child. But he was your child too:
overnight he cruelly went away from me on a journey, he has forgotten me and will
never come back. I am alone again, more alone than ever, I have nothing, nothing of
yours—no child now, not a word, not a line, you have no memory of me, and if
someone were to mention my name in front of you, you would hear it as a stranger’s.
Why should I not wish to die since I am dead to you, why not move on as you moved
on from me? No, beloved, I do not blame you, I will not hurl lamentations at you and
your cheerful way of life. Do not fear that I shall pester you any more—forgive me,
just this once I had to cry out what is in my heart, in this hour when my child lies there
dead and abandoned. Just this once I had to speak to you—then I will go back into the
darkness in silence again, as I have always been silent to you.
However, you will not hear my cries while I am still alive—only if I am dead will you
receive this bequest from me, from one who loved you above all else and whom you
never recognized, from one who always waited for you and whom you never
summoned. Perhaps, perhaps you will summon me then, and I will fail to keep faith
with you for the first time, because when I am dead I will not hear you. I leave you no
picture and no sign, as you left me nothing; you will never recognize me, never. It was
my fate in life, let it be my fate in death. I will not call for you in my last hour, I will
leave and you will not know my name or my face. I die with an easy mind, since you
will not feel it from afar. If my death were going to hurt you, I could not die.