Free The Flying Creatures of Fra Angelico by Antonio Tabucchi

the Total Suicide, people are still dying, a fact I consider worthy of reflection. And dying not just in the traditional and ancient fashions, but also and to a great extent as a result of factors connected with those same diabolical traps which foreshadow the Total Suicide. Such little inventions, for the solemn reason, amongst many others, that the cathode tubes of our houses must be on and that we must thus supply them with energy, are daily distributing their doses of poison which, being indiscriminate, are, if we wish to cavil, democratic; in short, while insinuating the idea of the inevitable Total Suicide, these things are all the time carrying out a systematic, constant and, I would even say, progressive form of homicide. Thus the potential suicide who does not kill himself because he might just as well wait for the Total Suicide, does not reflect, poor sucker, that in the meantime he is absorbing radioactive strontium, cesium and other delights of that ilk, and that while postponing his departure he is quite possibly already nursing in liver, lungs or spleen, one of the innumerable forms ofcancer that the above-mentioned elements so prodigally produce.
    In indicating a place where one might still kill oneself with dignity, in complete liberty and in ways esteemed by our ancestors and now apparently lost, one does not pretend to offer a public service (though it could be that), but to promote reflection, from a purely theoretical point of view, on a liberty: a hypothetical initiative practised upon ourselves which might be carried out without sinking to the more disheartening and vulgar stratagems to which the would-be suicide inevitably seems to be constrained in those countries defined as industrially advanced. (Obviously I am not referring to countries where problems of political, mental or physical survival exist and where suicide presents itself as a form of desperation and thus outside the realm of the kind of suicide here discussed, which is based on freedom of choice.)
    From this point of view Lisbon would seem to be a city of considerable resources.
    The first confirmation comes upon consultation of the telephone directory, where the undertakers fill a goodsixteen pages. Sixteen pages in the Yellow Pages are a lot, you will have to agree, especially if one considers that Lisbon is not an enormous city; it is a first and very telling indication of the number of companies operating in the area, the only problem being that one is spoilt for choice. A second consideration is that death, in Portugal, does not appear to belong, as it does in other countries, to that ambiguous area of reticence and ‘shame.’ There is nothing shameful about dying, and death is justly considered a necessary fact of life; hence the arrangements which have to do with death get the same attention as other useful services to the citizen, such as Águas, Restaurantes, Transportes, Teatros (I mention a few at random), all services of public utility which can be contacted by phone. In line with this reasoning, the undertakers of Lisbon do not shun advertising: and in the telephone directory they advertise most forthrightly, with show, with pomp, and undeniable charm. Sober or ornate, and using extremely pertinent slogans, they will often take out a whole page to illustrate their services.
    Some of them appeal to tradition: ‘Há mais de meio século serve meis Lisboa’ (has served half of Lisbon for more than half a century), boasts the advertisement of an undertaker based in Avenida Almirante Reis, and while the adjective meio referred to time seems to offer a purely historical piece of information, the meia Lisboa suggests something less statistically quantifiable, something warmer and more familiar; ‘half of Lisbon,’ in this case, means a majority, almost all, with slight connotations of classlessness. The dead of every social class and level, the announcement implies, are looked after by this traditional