Volume 3: The Eloquence of Hunger – Part 4

— Forgive me, Render... it's difficult to debate this with me. Freedom and hunger...

Even if I use hunger as an argument, freedom must understand that without responsibility, there is no food on the table.

I know that sometimes people roll their eyes. Or give that crooked little smile... How can I discuss freedom with the empty stomachs of millions of people?

It's easy to roll your eyes on a full stomach. It becomes commonplace for those who have always had plenty of food on their tables.

I hunger to end hunger.

I fast whenever I have speeches or interviews, so that I may possess the eloquence of hunger.

Mother Ceres began with the first rumble of her child's stomach.

A noble act of penance.

I give my children the food from my own mouth. I am the last to eat in Ceres.

Endure, Render... endurance is real. More tangible than faith.

I have more hunger than faith.

Mother Ceres does not need faith.

She needs children.

Children who endure Ceres.

These are the children of Ceres.

The sound of the air circulating gradually fades, as though the entire city were praying.

The main camera silently weeps at the answer.

— Water, my son... are you all right?

Render remains silent.

They were the most sincere words he had ever heard.

At that moment, freedom seemed to be taking revenge on those who did not deserve it.

Full stomachs and empty minds seemed to be receiving a software update.

The silence of a concrete understanding of hunger.

What hunger is.

And what abstract freedom is.

Render continues.

— Mother Ceres... do you consider yourself a good mother?

At that moment, the room is acoustically perfect once again.

A single sound.

A growl.

A sound more horrifying than an atomic bomb falling.

An ordinary sound, one we all experience.

A sound freedom will never have.

It was Mother Ceres's stomach.

The fasting.

The camera shakes slightly.

That sound, captured by the microphones, makes the cameraman weep silently and rock his body, trying to hold back his tears.

— Don't worry, Render.

A soft laugh.

— I'm fine... I'll continue.

Everyone in the room is stunned by Mother Ceres. For a moment, they thought she was about to collapse.

— Every day, I ask myself that question... I'm as human as any other mother.

Being a mother means having the first biological social contract with a child. We feed one another, protect one another, and give one another purpose.

I look at the city at night. I see everything working.

And yet, every day, I wonder whether I'm a good mother.

I always want more.

— Don't worry. I do eat. I eat, I rest... but only after everyone else is satisfied.

My children first.

Then me.

Render continues to look at her.

— And why, Mother, do you doubt yourself?

Ceres remains silent for a few seconds.

— There was a man who was born in a distant land. He was hunted from the moment he was born, even while he lay in a manger. His family fled so they would not kill him. Even so, his family continued to speak the truth before those who wanted to destroy him.

She takes a breath.

— He was denied even a room. He stayed in a stable. And they were immigrants, too.

The room remains silent.

— He grew up and taught people to love their neighbors. He had no possessions. No riches. No home. He walked among thieves, lepers, and prostitutes.

Ceres lowers her eyes for a moment.

— In the end, he was crucified.

A pause.

— And in the midst of his suffering, he wondered whether his God had forsaken him... but he never stopped believing in Him.

She looks directly at Render.

— Render, my son... do you think I never have doubts?

Silence.

— Gods and prophets teach us something no human being can ever fully comprehend. Not that I understand it... but I have doubts.

A brief pause.

— Every single day.

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