THE UMBRELLA OF WITTGENSTEIN
1. As people know or do not know ever, but sometimes falls total, suppose that the rain will meet with a woman under an umbrella. You say: I? and she was hesitant and surprised, weighing the pros and cons you says no, that umbrella is yours and you go. Suppose you obey and walk away and jumping puddles after a street, two blocks, three blocks to find a little roof guarecerte and there, precisely there, hiding the murderer was written would have to kill you and you come to meet with that of the money or your life, and you respond to life, because you feel wet and cold and wanted to die or to order a cup of hot coffee, but as in this hall there is a cafeteria, for you with huge knife through and from the ground towards your murderer lost your watch and your wallet behind the curtain of rain that leaves the girl who loved you no harbor under its umbrella, and when it happens: you die.
1.1 Suppose that heaven exists and that you come to die at six in the evening or, better, that your murderer will have killed at that time or, if you will, that time everything has synchronized coordinates with great precision timepieces for you to die for your country at six in the evening without you nor your murderer walked concerned about punctuality. If heaven exists, a quarter past six doors would towed by the smoke of a chimney next to where your body would have been. The doors are wide open, you walk, walk, looking for either side, but there is nothing anyone can not find: The sky is an infinite hangar, you think and enters the consciousness the image of women in the middle of the rain refused you dry shade of her umbrella.
1.1.1 Suppose that in addition to heaven, no God, your ascent and arrival are the same, only now are a counter and behind the counter, a green coat Butler beckons with benzine torch you approach. Das few steps and immediately discover the bright green of the coat that the sky is not the place for you, you're entitled to other hobbies: Death decoding the reasons why that woman refused to share with you his umbrella , and other matters of that sort. 1.1.1.1
Suppose there is a God and you're waiting, you cross the eternity and infinity that are not nothing but an endless stream of waiting room, waiting rooms and lobbies, and in the end, or you consider the end, you find some furniture like a coffee shop with comfortable chairs, blue plastic, imitation leather, and you take seat convinced that if God waits for you: you must get together Palpate him there with blue lining of the chair and your old habits do you want a milkshake, but God, even if you are waiting, fails and instead, associated with the shake and desire, what comes to you is the memory of the woman in the rain I said: No.
1.1.1.2 Suppose that God comes: travel advance may be identical except, of course, the color of the coat of the butler, because if God comes coat color must be bishop. You're sitting in blue plastic chair looking a milkshake and then God comes disguised as a waiter brings a tray of just such a shake that you want, comes with tie toilet bow and a bonnet on her head. You get up respectful and invites you to be, God will grant and invited him a sip of your milk, but he declines and tells you just eat, but thanks you have no appetite. You step back sorry: that was improper understand how confianzuda with which you offered the sip and, afraid of having committed an imprudence, questions whether you can smoke. I answered yes and even you accept a cigarette. Your hand trembles lighting matches to be human in the face of God. However, God wants and says: They are good cigars, snuff "blonde? No, you answer without realizing that fixes no less than God, are dark snuff. Is less processed, Is not it, says he, you answer yes, it is cheap cigars. As they are gorgeous, sure you breathe the smoke him and think they are not as good, but you dare not speak. God looks around and makes a commentary on blue plastic seats, something about that seems to leather. You give the reason, God finishes his cigarette and says: Well I, you know, I have to go, has been a pleasure. You could not manage to say anything and when God moves away from between the chairs that lined blue leather look, remember the way your murderer walked down the street in the rain and the face of the woman who refused to accept you under its umbrella.
1.2 Suppose also that there is nothing that you die at six in the afternoon as rain forces you to find where the hospitable roof to protect you and you seemed harmless hid the criminal who would kill a result of that there was a woman who declined to share her umbrella with you. The chimney would loose their breath dirty air, the rain cut through the smoke and soot would fall to the floor again, very fine powder that water wet drag with your last breath into the sewer. The next day your body washed by rain would be found: One dead, scream, but you would not hear anything, not even the sound of rain, or the footsteps of your murderer, nor the women not excluded you his umbrella, would not hear or you would see or would know nothing: no milkshakes, or conversations with God, and stewards of coat, or chairs that look like leather. There would be nothing.
2. Now suppose that down the umbrella she will answer: Yes, of course, come with me. And you, hesitant and surprised to have reviewed some of their earlier negative consequences, you begin to tell you that the "no" you said in another story throws you into the hands of a murderer and a chat with God and a number of assumptions that she celebrates laughing, just as they pass in front of the door where the murderer who expects you to get streaming to kill; long pass, and as the evening is for dogs and are just six, she proposes to enter the cafeteria is on the next street, which, of course, has the blue chairs. Enter, they shake the rain clothes pearl, and she asks you a milk shake and a coffee.
Story taken from my book God does play dice .
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