استخراج جثة رئيس تشيلي أليندي !!!!!!!!!

What Do We Know About Swans? On Lake Budi some years ago, they were hunting down the swans without mercy. The procedure was to approach them stealthily in little boats and then rapidly—very rapidly—row into their midst. Swans have difficulty in flying; they must skim the surface of the water at a run. In the first phase of their flight, they raise their big wings with great effort. It is then that they can be seized; a few blows with a bludgeon finish them off. Someone made me a present of a swan: more dead than alive. It was of a marvelous species I have never seen anywhere in the world: a black-throated swan—a snow boat with a neck packed, as it were, into a tight stocking of black silk. Orange—beaked, red—eyed. They brought it to me half-dead. I bathed its wounds and pressed little pellets of bread and fish into its throat: but nothing stayed down. Nevertheless, the wounds slowly healed, and the swan came to regard me as a friend. At the same time, it was apparent to me that the bird was wasting away with nostalgia. So, cradling the heavy burden in my arms through the streets, I carried it to the river. It paddled a few strokes, very close to me. I had hoped it might learn to fish for itself, and pointed to some pebbles far below, where they flashed in the sand like silvery fish. The swan looked at them remotely, sad—eyed. For the next 20 days, I carried the bird to the river and toiled with it to my house. One afternoon, it seemed more abstracted than usual, swimming very close and ignoring the lure of insects with which I tried vainly to tempt it to fish again. It became very quiet: so I lifted it into my arms to carry it home again. It was breast high, when I suddenly felt a great ribbon unfurl, like a black arm encircling my face: it was the big coil of the neck dropping down. It was then I learned that swans do not sing at their death, if they die of grief.
--Pablo Neruda