“O Calafrio Permanente” (The Enduring Chill) parece o título de um conto de Edgar Allan Poe. Mas as semelhanças não se ficam por aí. O catolicismo de Flannery O’Connor é tremendo e prolonga-se para além do fim — como nas histórias de terror de Poe. O Espírito Santo que assusta Asbury no último parágrafo é tão terrível como a figura humana enorme e branca como a neve que encerra as “Aventuras de Arthur Gordon Pym”.
Flannery O’Connor obriga a palavra “salvação” a fazer triplos mortais consecutivos.
(...) It was then that he felt the beginning of a chill, a chill so peculiar, so light, that it was like a warm ripple across a deeper sea of cold. His breath came short. The fierce bird which through the years of his childhood and the days of his illness had been poised over his head, waiting mysteriously, appeared all at once to be in motion. Asbury blanched and the last film of illusion was torn as if by a whirlwind from his eyes. He saw that for the rest of his days, frail, racked, but enduring, he would live in the face of a purifying terror. A feeble cry, a last impossible protest escaped him. But the Holy Ghost, emblazoned in ice instead of fire, continued, implacable, to descend.
Flannery O’Connor obriga a palavra “salvação” a fazer triplos mortais consecutivos.
(...) It was then that he felt the beginning of a chill, a chill so peculiar, so light, that it was like a warm ripple across a deeper sea of cold. His breath came short. The fierce bird which through the years of his childhood and the days of his illness had been poised over his head, waiting mysteriously, appeared all at once to be in motion. Asbury blanched and the last film of illusion was torn as if by a whirlwind from his eyes. He saw that for the rest of his days, frail, racked, but enduring, he would live in the face of a purifying terror. A feeble cry, a last impossible protest escaped him. But the Holy Ghost, emblazoned in ice instead of fire, continued, implacable, to descend.
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