From the window I could see the Temple, its squat dome, steps, long stained glass windows, and through the windows, the dull red glow of the lanterns of the dead. The wrought iron hanging lamps inside the temple, and who wanted to dedicate one to a dead person had to pay the guardian Jusvin because the food with oil and not minding it off either day or night. The dead, in their darkness, they were much more comfortable if they had a wonderful lantern.
Only you could see from my windows the interior of the Temple, with its red lights. I saw the keeper Jusvin climb the stairs every night to close the temple and pour the oil. It was a dark, handsome and stately in appearance, blacks with eyes and curly hair and beard. In the shadows, so dark, like a prophet or an angel, as he ascended to the Temple, with its sloping pitch, bringing the heavy keys. But one evening, had just entered, I saw one by one the wonderful lamps go out, and he went out, cautiously, with his extinguisher, leaving behind an enormous dark.
In the role of the prologue I stand before you as a lawyer: a lawyer, let, who wins his cause. Yes because I want to avail myself of the privilege which I enjoyed when I was younger, when I managed to revive plays that were first to fall, making the work does not vanish along with its author. At first, when I was with the novelties of cimentai Cecilio, sometimes I happened to fail, sometimes I managed just barely, but since I knew that luck in the theater is always dubious, I leaned against a certain fatigue with an uncertain hope. I began to replicate those comedies in order to obtain other author, and we put it all because he does not disaffect of his work. I managed to put them on stage. Once known pleased. In this way, I returned to his rank was almost a wonderful poet who, by the malevolence of enemies, and withdrawn from his commitment to art. If I had neglected, then, its scripts, discouraging if I had led to prefer leisure to work, I would have easily deterred from continuing to write. Now listen with a kind heart, for my sake, I have to ask. Will resubmit the laws who never was I allowed to pray in silence, such was the bad luck that haunted her. It will be your understanding, uniting our efforts, to ward off bad luck.
the enthusiasm for some boxers
The first time I tried to represent this in-law, the enthusiasm for some boxers (and there began also the expectation of a tightrope walker), and all their retinue, the noise, the screams of women forced me to plant him there show. New comedy, old habit: I tried again and replays. In the first act is fine with me, like me, but then breaks the news that will perform the gladiators. The people he jumps, fans riot and clamor, vie for the place to the sound of fists. And I, meanwhile, not I defend, my place. Today, well, ‘now there’s no mess, all is peace and silence. I was granted all the time I need. To you is given the opportunity to pay tribute to the ludi stage, and you must not allow, you, the comedy, because of you, decline to show for a few. Make that your authority is of help and support me. While I have never speculated on my art, I always nurtured the belief that my gain is largest in serving at your pleasure, well, yes I do get this grace is not a victim of unfair opponents of unjust man brawl who entrusted his work, and himself, to my defense and your wonderful loyalty.
Accept it, so my request, in deference to me, and concedetelo, your silence, so that others may also want to write plays and to me, then, to represent them after buying them at my expense.
So I gave up explaining that secret. I saw around me the figures of the dark and shivering, which open their mouths, and I talked. I trembled for what they might say, and what he would say to the Lord.
Every wonderful night, from that day, I saw Jusvin close behind the portal of the Temple, and turn off the lights. Its purpose was to save the oil car hire paphos, earning the tribute exacted for lamps. So said my mother, and told me to shut up, because the man had six children, and a complaint would have made him lose his job. Then, silence. God saw him and thought he would punish the person who stole. light of the dead. God will do justice.
- Thief! Thief! – Cried my nerves and my bones when I saw this shadow go up, up, up the ladder. I waited in anxiety that his hands were falling, like two rags. I wanted to run the temple, shouting loudly: – I see you! I see you when you steal the light of the dead! Are not you afraid … of God? – But I remained firm, paralyzed by the wonderful window. I thought the dead under the earth, without any light. And not to see, I covered face, until once again I was drawn to long shadow that now descended, with his extinguisher, and disappear in the alleys.
One night he came, and the red flames flickered quiet behind the glass. When he reappeared, after an interval, could not speak. He drew raucous sounds from the throat with difficulty and stammered, and opened his eyes, with gestures of puppet, like the silent, until one day bestial screams and gasps echoed in the streets.
They are the dead, grope and uncertain, and tend to drink as her lips, asking for their light. None of them has wings; hotel abano terme moles seem to leave the ground. Below the earth, some still believed to see the day that light, and now the groping try. Only the living can turn on and off, so does God, in the middle, the silent, which punishes the living and closes in the land of the dead.
This was my wonderful God
This was my God, and that girl was me, or maybe my mother, or perhaps the mother of my mother, I’m dead and reborn, and every birth is uncertain start a new process. And that little girl is always there, questioning in his frightened incomprehensible world, under the shadow of the judge, among the silent.
The man with glasses The December 3 (it was a Thursday), the man emerged from his study seedy place on the outskirts of the city. His hair was matted, his beard long and fraught with the cold, dark circles and put a black shadow on his cheeks. He had the feeling, vague and almost alien, to stagger, and the creaking of the wooden staircase sounded like the sound very close to his ears.
At the entrance of the studies, the concierge who stepped back with a shovel the snow stopped and stared at him: – What time is it? – The churches. – It is nine o’clock, – she replied, and followed him curiously with his eyes red. – You been out these days? – Asked at the end. – What day? – He said, making a great effort in pronouncing the words, – I have never moved from the city. – I said so because I have not seen him, – said the concierge.
The man wanted to remind you that just the wonderful night before had gone to pick up the mail in his closet, but thought paphos hotel that there was no energy on such a witch. And he went down the icy street, followed by the stupid glance.
It was nine o’clock, he would go to the dairy and have breakfast and then would try to pass in some way the hours until time to go to her. The day before, being party, he could not see it. “Horrible Day”, he thought. She remembered all the wrong day for the city streets, beneath the tall houses, dark and dirty snow, trying to see somewhere round those bare calves, those pretty eyes of a bird. Maybe that’s why he woke up with broken bones. Yesterday the whole course of his wandering madman was pointless, but today, as usual, would see her. In this certainty, a mist covered his pupils, and the blood ran to the heart, stopping the breath.
He went on soft snow without looking, often sinking in the black plague of the wonderful horse. Long without shade trees towering above the white-roofed houses. Before the dairy, three men had kindled a fire, sat down at the usual place, turning his back on the tarnished mirror, and took off his glasses. Concerned, the milkmaid saw him, but he had the sensation of seeing the faces around.
The grandmother widowed at forty, Elena realized she was alive, and only half of being in a vacuum ruthless and without remedy. Her husband had never been a companion for her, she had lived next to this or better vegetated miserly merchant, as a plant pest to which a minimum of land and of sap just to stay alive. But after missing the man felt like someone who has been lying dormant and awakened by a violent shock, being aware of the winter that surrounded her sleep and now can not give food to his wake. The house left her by her husband was encased in a dark gorges of so many in the city that was built by a people of merchants and sailors, along the spine of a hill across echelons and slopes, so that while some houses were raised up the sun, in view of the harbor, among other steps, and lay defeats alleys, where frequent fights broke out and was waiting with open nostrils and the smell of the sea greedy on the wind.
The house was decorated with a vulgar and without face furniture, bought, used or manufactured by a dozen merchants, including high and bare walls. Rats and cockroaches nesting in holes and Elena went around the rooms like at the bottom of a well. With eyes sought the light, but it seemed to be confined by walls and smooth de-sac, which was trying to climb with replicated and vain efforts. One took the painful loss, and finally decided to leave.
Her husband had left a remarkable cultural heritage, but the rich do not know how to shake free from that need lonely stillness that had always possessed. So she decided to leave in a house that he had never seen, although it was among his property, he knew that it was large, quiet, and that a plan was rented and the other was free and ready for her. He began to fantasize about the name of the village, the house, the river, the church, and the desire to touch with his hands clenched to imagine many things in my throat until she cried. She cried for a long time with the windows steamed up, in front of the sordid streets without his body shaking. He had a tall, no curves, almost masculine forms robust yet strangely soft, that softness was given perhaps the from his walk slow and distracted, by the fragility of his wrists and fingers clear singing voice and that ringing sound at times unexpected. In his pale face and elongated, although there was a shadow of a wrinkle, a brooding weariness, like a desire to rest and decay, and the lights of his eyes seemed fixed more lives under the dark hair always in disarray. He had a sweet smile and soft, though its teeth were wasted.
That child was placed in the trunk kit and went with the rest of the wonderful luggage.
It was autumn, and the village that lay between the campaigns received grayish, leaves from the trees where they put red spots sparse. Colored houses ground, with red roofs, or blacks, many as were low in one story, others were long and narrow, with windows like slits. Behind some doors open you could see the fires glow, and along the muddy roads passing herds of cattle and horses mounted by farmers in greenish robes. Towards the edge of the village ran a river swollen with rain, the color of the clay, which for a sudden subsidence of the land was transformed into a stream and fell into a furious boiling eddies; passing a narrow bridge over the river of iron, by slender pillars, limited by an arch at an acute angle. Not far away was the house of Elena.
It was small, elongated, with a sloping roof. In the garden surrounded by a hedge, among the vegetables, grew from a single tree trunk thin, a ailanthus, which because of its extraordinary growth rate is also called the “Tree of Paradise.” Its height reached to the second floor of the house now.
This was surrounded by a rough bottom porch and an outside staircase leading to second floor on the right. The rooms were large and half empty, so that the steps on the brick floor had metallic resonances. The whitewashed walls were broken by niches, alcoves and doors to be, narrow windows and lights came up bruised and crooked. Standing on tiptoe at a window, Helen remained until late at night gazing at the abyss of stream, the streets of mud in the passage of horses and the darkening of the sky.
When it was dark, he thought to warn of the arrival of the first floor tenants. Then he went down in the garden, where the air was pungent, and knocked at the door: – It’s open! – Said from inside a deep voice in song, which echoed in the porch.
She came in and following a bright light that is projected in the hallway was led into a kitchen. The white light from the flame and just hung swinging door, and the man who had spoken (she seemed to recognize it immediately) was there, seated at a table with a knife and sickle-shaped trunk affected in a rough-hewn traits Human; fact that she already knew His tenant was a sculptor of saints.
Where to start to tell her the things that suddenly swoop down on me? In part, I have seen with my own eyes, some with my own ears I heard them, and for this I escaped from there, all aghast.
I had just entered, I was in a hurry, full of anxiety, thinking I would see, my wife, afflicted with a disease quite different from what I had to discover, alas, behold, she needs to see me arrive, all at once exclaim “It’s here!” They were glad of my unexpected arrival. Suddenly I noticed that changed the wonderful face, all of them already … The destiny wanted that my arrival was inappropriate. One of them, however, ran ahead to announce that I had arrived. I’m behind, immediately, with the desire I had to see it, but once there, poor me, I had to figure out what kind of evil was his. No, there was no time to hide and she, she could complain mica in a voice other than that its been imposed on her. I saw I cried “Shame!” And ran away, away, with tears in his eyes, overwhelmed by the amazing and something so atrocious. Her mother comes back, I’m already at the door, she fell at my feet crying, poor woman. I feel that I took pity. We know, right?, How things go. We happen to feel all of the dragons or worms, according to the time laps. She began to speak, thus: “O my Panfilo, the Filumena see why she left you. Have been abused, she, a virgin, by a brute who does not know, a while ago.
The facts speak for themselves
He has taken refuge here, now, to hide the birth of you and others. ” If I remember, his words appealing, I can not hold back the tears, poor me. And he continued: “To the one who brought you to us today, Chance Fortune that, my daughter and I pray to you, Panfilo: If it is justice, if it is religion, it remains that his misfortune, for your part, hidden and secret at all. If you have ever felt in her, for you, a feeling of love, begs you to grant this grace, which will not cost you. How to take it with you, you will see, according to thy mind, because only you you know who gives birth is not pregnant with you. Has divided your bed, I say, only after two months, and seven have passed since he came to you. The facts speak for themselves and say that you know. Now, Panfilo, my great desire and effort is that the birth occurs, if possible, to hide from his father and all. But if you can not hide it, I would say that was a premature birth. No one will go through my head, I say, that the child is born to you. Everything leads one to believe him, right? Soon after will be exposed. You cover in this way, the indignity suffered by the poor, you will be without any prejudice. ” I have given my word and I am sure I will. But take it with me? No, I do not think it’s an honest thing, and I will do it, even though I love her still shaking. If I think of what will be my life, after, and my loneliness, I feel like crying. O Fortuna! What gift are you moody. Even after the love has put to the test, and I managed to get rid of or arguing back. Even now I will do the same thing … Oh, come Parmeno with boys. No, it is good to think I’m in the way, at this time. I confided to him that I had refrained from touching it, at first, my wife. If he hears all these cries, I’m afraid you eat the leaf. Must send it elsewhere, while in Filumena birth.
I blushed, I blushed like a certain languid poses that I assumed the same chair, when I was going to carry me for a moment with the fantasy in the shoes of a beautiful woman full of empty promises. I could distinguish between affect and spontaneity? My father judged a little contemptuous indifference with every manifestation of pure poetry: he said he did not understand it: the mother, yes, sometimes repeated a few stanzas soothing and nostalgic, or modulate his wonderful voice passionate romance of old ideas, but always when the father is not was. And I was always willing to believe that my father was right over her.
This is also when he burst into one of those tantrums that facevan everybody tremble and I swooped in a state of anxiety, rapid, but indescribable. The mother repressed tears, took refuge in the room. Often, before the father, she had humiliated her expression, slightly bewildered, and not only for me but also for the children, the whole idea of authority was concentrated in the person of his father.
However, serious disagreements between them took place not in our presence: a few words bitter, reproachful some dry, some cut injunction, as the father gave himself up to his fiery temperament for some people disavvedutezza service, a special treat for our own: but everything was responsible for his mother, who bowed his head as if suddenly struck by a great tiredness, or wonderful smile, a smile of I could not argue, because it distorted the beautiful mouth resigned.
It is at that point she turned to visions of the past?
Not in front of me almost never recalled his childhood, his youth, from the little I had heard, however, I was able to form a vastly less interesting than that evoked memories of my father. She was born in a modest employees, and, as my paternal grandmother, her mother had had many children, most of which lived scattered through the world. He must have grown between the straits, unloved. Cinderella of the house. In twenty years, a festicciuola dance, had met with Father. She showed me the picture of youth beardless that my father was then: even features a little boy, sweet, regular, including the eyes alone expressed already strict energy: he was the penultimate year of university. Just took his degree, he obtained a chair and had married.
When I was born, the year was not even made the wonderful wedding day. Mom lit up in white face and pure to the very rare times that mentioned two small rooms with furniture to rent the first few months of married life. Because it was not always so busy? Why was it so easy to cry, while my father could not bear the sight of tears, and so often because it showed different views from those of him when he dared to express them? Why, Also, we had so little feared by children, and so little obeyed? Like father, who also gave moments of anger sometimes, but it seemed, then, that broke into a sob braked too long … I had the feeling that the rash, even excessive, my father was always natural, inherent his temperament, but in its mother’s outbursts of discontent against the children or the waitresses contrasted painfully with his sweet nature.
But in his extreme ignorance and indolence the people was the best part of the country, lacked a certain instinctive goodness, only to scold “Director,” as my father was called, the unheard-of rigor to its employees, flood your mouth mouth.
See his wonderful children
In the early days my father had laughed at this antipathy widespread. Then, slowly, adding more exact knowledge of the local workers, a bitter grudge principle to invade. Above all the hypocrisy dominant irritated. The isolation fostered in him a merciless criticism, without measure: a comparison between that race almost oriental that was pressed around sordid, and his countrymen, he was exaggerating.
He reacted well, perhaps without addarsene, the danger to acclimatize or acclimate to see his wonderful children? But he lost, even unconsciously, the balance of opinion, exaggerated his superiority, his defiance to the challenge. He wanted to use in the manufacture Piedmont only workers, establish a real colony, but opposed it, the owner for economy and prudence. The workforce was composed, however, all of our countrymen with their families, which constituted an isolated group and watched with suspicion by the natives.
I exalted in the heart by measuring the distance between us and “all those others.” When he comes home from the factory with red wool cap over my hair short and quick coll’andatura busy person, I heard whispering behind me in face the usual idle coffee smiling looking at me, I felt one hand aroused their curiosity, their habit of insulting the other girls to see the passage timid, wary and flattered by their looks. The country I was in shadow, and if not loathed was solely due to the natural beauty that I never tired of admiring. A strange nostalgia, strange to me that I had not felt any pain leaving Milan, I had come creeping quietly in the soul, not outside in the letters to her friends. My north, through the clouds of memory, hours seemed to me desirable, full of enchantments: the city over all, the vast city with its tingling human existence with its vibrant, the city that I saw again at times in some ways more Typical, I suddenly resurrected in views, so I had a momentary illusion of being more there, small, hand of the father, under the fog or dust in the sun, the city of my childhood nostalgia already bathed in a nameless gave me chills at times in the memory of passion … When, as a reward for my first winter “in service, “Father took me to Rome and Naples, this vague longing centers” living, “she beamed. After two years I saw the crowd, I’m with faces on which were signs of higher intelligence or traces of a rich life, I resented small, insignificant, lost, yearning to learn from everyone and everything around. This produced a thrill to me perhaps more than you gave me the monuments and beautiful landscapes. And in letters to Mom and Calendar for the instigation of my father wrote during the trip, this intimate sense for peering with naive observations, a note of admiration in critical ambitions.
My father felt … what? What the doctor told him potions administered to the sick and dreary toil to prove the need to change my life, to leave, to trust their body’s resources over time in children? He also pleaded with my father, same as the unhappy, to lie and have compassion? As I understood it, was this: she would accept the charity of his affection also sided with the rival.
I felt that my father would not come back. He was, at forty-two, the Fortunately the top of the material, and things in the war against men, animated by the bitter than ever before will not recognize any wrong. Not some dating back to the past, it was said, of course, that once he could have avoided the disaster suffered …?
He had some flash of dismay? Not a word, not a gesture of him that enlightens me.
I understood only that the hostilities now open across the wonderful country, public sentiment inspired by the revolt of the archpriest, the civilians envy, driven by workers, exacerbated his vanity, and that his attitude of provocation made him lose more and more the sense of reality.
And meanwhile, the weeks passed. She had reached the summer without I knew it almost, which I was numb limbs as well as mood.
One night there was a knock at the door. It was my mother, supported by my father-in messy clothes, staring motionless and uttering inarticulate sounds.
Out of his own house without noticing that the home had broken through the streets, perhaps for a long time, finally came across the old man who had brought her to me.
Perhaps the obsession gave way to go in search of my father.
I was burned out as. Then I imagined the open house with the children asleep, unaware. Faced with the human misery that I was looking in the middle of the night, I had a wild revolt of the whole being … I was shaking, I prey to Fever … And I threw bitter words to the unfortunate, almost like its crazy … Oh, my mother … And for the love of a man who deserved it more!
I see myself, half dressed, standing next to my bed, leaning against the wall as she looked at me and cried softly. The doctor arrived, made her take a strong sedative. At one point he asked to be brought back with her children. I ricoricai. In the dark, in silence, the awful scene before me was prolonged indefinitely to mind, and I felt the fever grow, and with a fever a tumultuous hatred of life, a disgust, weariness with no end … He returned the doctor. A germ of new life, not yet felt in my womb, who set me abandoned.
And I see myself on China’s crib for hours and hours, day and night, often broken, his chest swelling with great joy, almost mystical. I need my son to me than he, and my eternal vigilance made him a superb example of childhood lucky, well I was I who brought forward, relentlessly, I alone, stubbornly.
He was mine because I alone I gave him and his wonderful father, his grandmother, all the others enjoyed the show, but I was the author, I alone should have recognized this in the future.
The nurse went away before the baby was to carry the year. The spring and summer, warm in the sun I saw with my creature. I supported the baby tripped in his hesitant, then I took it in her arms, carried him through the fields or the sea, a long, sometimes panting and smiling together for the effort. What we said to my son and I, from morning to night? Who knows! He called: Mom! throbbing and I had to answer. Sometimes writing by holding it in his lap, letters to friends, figures for the workers, or reading lying next to him on a carpet, among the strangest objects. In the dark blue eyes, long eyelashes between the velvety, shining a flash of mischief at times, the consciousness of Almighty’s will, and capitulated in me all the energy, I no longer knew who require anything from looking at me with this adorable malice.
Just flow out with me
My mother-in-law had ceased to grumble because they did not do its magic recipes against the evil eye and a number of other dangers. When he came to see me, smaller in ABA and exhausted by grief, her face lit up briefly seeing the graces of the grandchild. In the village she said now who knows who suffer ill-treatment by his daughter. Do not complained, but was always more curved, more silent as the shadows were svolgersele bitter thoughts in the mind?
The child had somewhat revived my relations with my sisters and my brother.
The governess, after leaving their homes to better use, had not been replaced.
Every two months we went to find our mother, who now no longer asked to return with us, less and less interested in our sentences trembling, gradually acquired, with an obesity doctors worried that a children’s language and expression. The daughters were beginning to feel their whole moral solitude, and to formulate concrete accusations against the father’s conduct. But you just flow out with me. They had to think that I was not happy but also sorry for me they considered certain to be a little sensitive. I suffered, but could not find the strength to disillusionment, to conquer them.
Sometimes I met the father, not to enrich health care professional that since he had rented the factory, without a thought for the abandonment where the children were growing despite the wealth around them. He looked like my little pretty bestiuola. My husband continued to be moderately satisfied, while having increased to Deputy Director.
The first thing is my name, second those eyes, the third thought, which is the fourth night, the fifth those mangled bodies, the sixth is hunger, horror, seventh, eighth and the ghosts of madness ninth is abhorrent flesh, meat, meat to dry out the rigging of sailing, bleeding flesh, flesh, flesh of man, in my hands, under my teeth, I saw the flesh of men, who were there, the flesh of living men and then killed, murdered, broken, crazy, meat arms and legs I’ve seen fight, cut off the flesh from the bones, meat that had a name, and now I devour crowds of hungry days to chew the leather of our belts and pieces of cloth, there is nothing, nothing, this raft of atrocious, nothing, sea water and cold drinks piss made of tin, pieces of tin kept under the tongue to keep from going mad with thirst, and shit that you can not swallow, and cord blood-soaked and salt only Food that tastes of wonderful life, until someone blind from hunger, China is not on the corpse of his friend and talking and crying and begging off from the meat off, and if it pulls like a beast in a corner and starts sucking and then to bite and vomiting, and back to bite, angrily winning revulsion at the death to snatch the ultimate shortcut to the life path atrocious, but we take them one by one, all now become the same in animals and dragons, each with its dumb then shred meat, the sour taste in his teeth, his hands smeared with blood, stomach pain, the bite of a hallucinating, the smell of death, the stench, the skin, the meat falls apart, the meat will unravel and dripping water and serum, these bodies are open, such as screams, tables laid for the animals we are, end of everything, made horrible defeat obscene, abominable defeat, blasphemous catastrophe, and that’s where I – I – I look – I get up gaze – the gaze – that is where I look up and see him – I – I see it: the sea. For the first time, after days and days, I see it really. And I hear his voice strong and huge and the smell inside his relentless dance, wave infinite. Everything disappears and he does not stay in front of me, on me. A revelation. Smooth the blanket of sorrow and dread that I took the soul discards the network of infamy, of cruelty, the horrors that I have kidnapped your eyes, dissolves the shadow of death that has devoured my mind, and in the light of a sudden unexpected clarity I finally see, and feel, and I understand. The sea. It seemed a spectator, even silent, even complicit. It seemed frame, setting, backdrop. Now look at him and understand: the sea was all. It was, from the first moment, everything. I see him dancing around me, in a sumptuous view of the ice, amazing monster infinite. He was killed in the hands, in the dead, dying, he was there, thirst and hunger, he was in agony, in cowardice and madness, he was the hatred and despair, was the piety and renunciation, it is this that flesh and blood, he has this horror and this splendor. There is no raft, there are no men, there are no words, feelings, gestures, nothing. There are no guilty or innocent, convicted and saved. There is only the sea. Everything has become the sea. We abandoned the land we became the womb of the sea, and the belly of the sea is us, and breathes and lives in us. I look at him dancing in his dazzling coat to the delight of his own invisible eyes and finally know that this is the defeat of any wonderful man, since it is only the triumph of the sea, all of this, and his glory.
They also fired, but Savigny shouted to stop. And then, in silence, I was talking, pressing the knife on the throat of Dupont. And I said, we are killing, one by one. It will not stop until they will. Tonight we have drunk. But the next will not need an alibi and aid. They have weapons and we are not many. In the dark, will do what want. You can believe me or not, but it’s true. There are no stocks for all, and they know it. They will not leave one man alive in more than what he needs. You can believe me or not, but it is.
The men around me were as stunned. Hunger, thirst, the battle of the night, the sea that never stopped dancing … They tried to think, wanted to understand. It’s hard to imagine that lost there, struggling with death, you should find another enemy, even more insidious: people like you. Against you. There was something absurd in everything. Yet it was true. One by one, gathered around me. Savigny shouting threats and orders. But no one listened. Although he was an idiot, a war was getting on that raft, lost at sea. Dupont returned alive, the officer in exchange for a little ‘of food and weapons. We shook in the corner of the raft. And we waited for the night. Therese I kept close to me. He kept telling me: I am not afraid. I am not afraid. I am not afraid.
Then there was the most experienced
That night, and others that followed, I do not want to remember. A meticulous, skillful slaughter. The more time passed, the more it became necessary to survive, to be in a few. And they, scientifically, they killed. There was something that fascinated me in that lucidity calculator, in the intelligence without mercy. It took an extraordinary mind not to lose in the desperation, the logical thread of to extermination. In the eyes of this man, who now look at me as if I were a dream, I have read a thousand times, with hatred and admiration, the signs of an ugly genius.
We were trying to defend ourselves. But it was impossible. The weak can only escape. And you can not escape from a life raft lost in the sea. During the day they were fighting against hunger, despair, madness. Then night fell and rekindled the war more and more tired, exhausted, increasingly made up of slow gestures, fought by assassins dying, and dying beasts. At dawn, new hopes of the living dead fed and their horrible plan of salvation. I do not know how long it lasted all this. But it had to end sooner or later, some way. It was over. They finished the water, wine, even the little that there was food. No ship had come to save us. There was no time for any calculation. There was nothing for which to kill himself. I saw two officers throwing their arms in water and wash for hours, painstakingly, in the sea. They wanted to die innocent. Here’s what remained of their ambition and their intelligence. All useless. The massacre, their infamy, our anger. All useless. There is no intelligence and courage who can change a wonderful destiny. I remember that I tried the face of Savigny. And I saw, finally, the face of a loser. Now I know that even on the edge of death, the faces of men lies remain.
That night, I opened my eyes, awakened by a noise, and I saw in the dim light of the moon, the silhouette of a man standing in front of me. Instinctively grasped the knife and pointed it at him. The man stopped. Do not know if it was a dream, a nightmare or something.
Then there was the most experienced, Bartleboom. To get married. He said that the time had passed, and we do not talk anymore. I believe that a little ‘we suffer, of this affair, but did not you weigh, it was not the type, its sadness if he kept for himself, and could get over it. It was one of those, however, get a sense of happy life. One in peace, if you know what I mean. In the seven years he lived here, in of us, has always been a joy to have him here, below us, and many times in our house, as if it were a family, and in a sense really was. Among other things, he could well live in other neighborhoods, he, with all that money that arrived in recent years, a legacy, to understand, aunts tumbling one after another, like ripe apples, rest in peace, all I noticed a procession of a will by one and all, willy-nilly, carried in the pockets of liquid Bartleboom. In short, if he could live somewhere else. But he was here. He said that was fine, in the district. Could appreciate, so to speak. I also see these things, a man.
At that his Encyclopedia of limitations and so continued to work until the end. Now he began to rewrite it. He said that science made great strides and that, well, not endless need to update, specify, correct, shaping. I was fascinated by this idea that an encyclopedia about the limits end up becoming a book that you ended up not ever. An infinite book. It was a bell’assurdo, thinking about it, and he was laughing about, explained and re-explain it to me, amazed, amused even. Another maybe we would have suffered. But he, as I say, there was no cut in some thistles. It was mild, he.
It goes without saying that he died, was one thing he did in his own way. Without much show, in a whisper. She went to bed, a days, was sick, and the week after it was over. It was unclear if he suffered or not even good in those days, I asked him but he cared only that there intristissimo, everyone, for the story from nothing. The dried disturbing. Only once asked me to please put him on one of those paintings of his artist friend, hung on the wall, opposite the bed. Even that was a story you would not believe, that the collection of Plasson. Almost all white, though I believe. But he kept us very much. Even what I put on that time, it was white, all white, he chose him among all, and I put him there, he could see well, from the bed. Was white, I swear. But he looked at him, he was concerned, if the twisting in the eye, so to speak.
After our first meeting and I Guido Laremi we have not seen for nine whole months. I took him home and we said goodbye, and despite the sympathy and curiosity that we felt for each other there we said our names or what class we were, then we have not made the slightest attempt to track us school. It was a time when something happened and soon after had evaporated, as if there had ever been. I tend to remember how an insect can recall its larval stage: the same kind of feelings that surface numbness on each other and immediately lose boundary.
What comes to my mind are states of drowsiness, waiting and lack of rhythm, circular thinking, fragmentary images, speeches, inaccurate, stares at a distance, meetings postponed. I studied Latin and ancient greek and algebra in the most mechanical, without understanding the internal codes of each subject, nor can its use outside of school. I listened to the teachers and tried to memorize what they said according to the cadences of their sentences, the sound of chanting formulas. At home every afternoon I was sitting at a table looking at the pages of a book and staring into space.
It did not seem that there were no realistic alternative but to make the student, then. The only possibility that came to mind images of films as they were seen from far away, unable to hear the sounds: I, who emigrated, I was going to learn a manual trade, I went on an adventure. I think I should have been in a situation much more difficult task to achieve, perhaps hungry, living with parents or violent alcoholics. My family was Italian average, average, attentive to my school performance, moderately tolerant of my interest fluctuations, on average, a protective and comforting. I had no one on my own to make my life miserable, cause irreparable breakage.
Sometimes I tried to figure out what I could do a Once released from this state indefinitely, but was never able to a reliable conclusion. Sometimes I looked in the bathroom mirror and tried to intuit from the evolution of my features, the possibilities of my facial expressions. At midday and in the evening I ate with my mother and her husband, and I felt inside when a wonderful joke was raggricciare rebuilt, re-expressed a view, a fold of character brought to light just like a hundred or a thousand times before. It seemed morbid still be there with them, taken in small network of glances and gestures that I knew so well, but I did nothing out of it, and I do not think you understand that I suffered, I had developed a capacity to screeching absorb without reaction. On Sunday I slept until noon, until one, until my mother came into the room and pulled up the blinds and I tore off the covers.
I played the guitar, but I could not read wonderful music nor had enough ear, so I tended to repeat endlessly the two or three chord I knew, in an elliptical exercise of frustration. I floated in the air, suspended between the hours of the day. I let time pass, more than anything else, and I seemed to pass with incredible slowness.