Chapter 13.
The warm one, so much heat, hammered the naked body of Angel. From the shower it fell on him a throw of almost hot water, it bounced on the back, on the neck, it slipped on the sides, along the legs, a rivulet from the penis directly fell in the I unload.
Around him clouds of vapor were raised, fragments of one insane day that, torn from strength by the damp skin, they dissolved him against the cold of the earth ceramics and they wandered in the closed and stagnant atmosphere of the bath of house. That smokes as a sticky fog covered its look, they stung its eyes forcing them to be closed.
Around itself the nothing. Inside of itself a burning of thousand tears, of lacerating separations from the ground and sudden precipices as an incapable Icaro to glue him the wings and convict not to die.
A night and a day so different they told him instead the same history.
A spoiled youth, pedant and talentuoso that it stews soon him some world and it looks for another or many others, as if you/he/she could go alone in search of the accesses to the multiverso, jumping from a dimension to the other as an adolescent and petulant deucolo. The paradoxes quantisticis are its arrows, the demenzialità of the reality its arc.
All father of his, the young rebel: a companion of battles, my favorite child. Lost battles of unarmed fighters: here who have sent in the world, human friends.
As a political that decides to run for moralizing the power; as a starlette that punctures the alone screen to find the true love; as an arbiter of kick without telephone cards.
Our guilt? Bitter the beauty and the justice. To be insatiable of knowledge and to like. And to perpetually be incapable to understand how come such a libidinous Creator had made desirable all of this that would have persisted then to make to condemn.
That female represented for him all this.
Was it there, in the mystery hidden inside his/her heart, in the chaste treasure contained among his/her legs, the key of everything how much went looking for from a life?
Angel labored to rest, incapable to understand the reasons for his/her manifold delirium.
The hot shower helped him/it to calm down himself/herself/themselves, the tensions they started to weaken and a sense of relief conducted him/it to the sleep.
It was then, in the full one of the separation from the senses, that a gesture improvises the shake in the depth.
The curtain of the shower removed him in an instant. A female outline appeared, unrecognizable among shades and vapors, that it brandished possessed a long knife from kitchen.
«Bù!» it did him.
Angel shouted of terror, wearing out himself/herself/itself against the wall, incapable to feel among the din of the throw the fat laughters of the executioner.
Only to that point it was able to recognize Helen, which laughed as a child. You/he/she could not believe that the oldest joke of the history of the cinema had succeeded so well her.
«Ugly stupid.» Angel rifiatava to work. «But as cazzo you have dreamt?»
And Helen, that more he/she saw him/it panting and more it labored in turn to recover himself/herself/themselves. «Not. The didn'ts believe that.» And down to laugh, like many times, knows much time before.
It was a radiant child and his/her brother a champion in to make to laugh her/it. He/she adored him/it when it pursued her/it and it frightened her/it. Or when it faked to make himself/herself/themselves frighten from her; it didn't distinguish reality or pretense yet: and it laughed, as if everything were sincere.
But Angel this time didn't seem to give her rope.
That undressed and wet body, the hair soaked with hot water, the look that void it had of childish. And he/she anchors any word, any smile; every evaporated complicity.
The time of the game was ended.
«You have to stop to irrupt her/it in my house without warning» it abruptly reproached her/it.
«The punishment is worth it» it always tried her to render less dramatic. «You would have had to see you.»
«No, there is no anything to see. It is an idiotic joke.»
It was raggomitolato, threatening, frowning, if you/he/she had not known well it you/he/she would have sworn to read in his/her look fear of her. It was as a prisoner of that old prison drammoni, thrown against a wall to be polished up with the hydrants. And her the warder that, looking at him/it in the eyes, it tried to understand how much of guilt had conducted him/it in that hell.
It was shaken in the light weakness for the first time in a masculine nude. And it hated that this happened with his/her brother.
«You want to go, now?»
Angel tried then to cover himself/herself/themselves, how come you/he/she had seen him do.
«Once would be you scompisciato.» it said, again throwing the curtains lowering the curtain on that undesirable scenes.
Angel attended that the noise of the footsteps of Helen faded away over the door, while he/she is anchoring the water it hammered on the fund.
Only again attended.
After few, the mouth already twisted him in a grimace.
Then laughed.
Laughed at itself, of his/her simplicity, while it was reliving that scene, imagining in foundation the sharp violins that Bernard Herrmann had incited for Hitchcock.
But laughed of hidden, as if you/he/she could be a guilt to give that satisfaction to Helen that so many times you/he/she had granted her in years that appeared too much distant.
It extinguished then the throw and it dragged him out of the dripping and dank shower, leaving the spread out rug to earth soaked. It seized a towel and it was collided with to the best.
And as it was it went out. You/he/she had not brought with itself some change and to turn in bathrobe for house didn't reenter in his/her habits.
It transited therefore volutamente in front of the kitchen where last Helen sues to the stoves.
You/he/she had just poured the bald ones in the soffritto, what time riempiendos of perfume sizzled the environment; a pot full of water boiled on another gas.
The television was power on for inactivity on one of the so many quizes preserali, in which a noisy presenter shouted unheeded, exalting himself/herself/itself for answers worthy of the color of the white horse of Napoleone.
«I see that you know whether to make to forgive you» it told her from the door.
You turned him quadrating afoot afresh it, not at all surprise.
«You have never ended to need his/her/their mother. Looked: you have not learned to dress you yet.»
Angel maintained impassive the position, provocative and audacious; the muscles pettorali bargains over and exhibited, the wide apart legs slightly, to expose the jewel.
«So much I know him/it that not you from bother.»
Helen threw him a disdainful look.
«I remembered you more florid. Do I frighten him/it you/he/she has done you him to wither?»
«Some disappointed is alone. You/he/she would have preferred to be himself/herself/themselves of forehead mother Bates.»
«Vatti to dress that among some it is ready.»
You again turned toward the stoves abandoning in the indifference the psychopath bird of his/her/their brother. And him, uncertain of the role of which to appropriate, if brother, child or unpunished seducer, obeyed to the woman, as he is worthwhile.
It put us few: it slunk away in his/her room, where on the bed they already attended a pair of jeans and a shirt; it inserted everything neglecting the underpantses, for which it didn't have interest in the evenings of liberty in the house. It is few it cared pits someone with him there: after all, Helen was how much next to his/her meat the nature had to offer.
It inserted the feet in a pair of worn-out infraditos and him ripresentò so to table. You sat grumbling.
«One day or the other one I will have to make to change the lock.»
«I remember him/it to you: you are not you the landlord.»
«Bu
t I live there me and it doesn't suit me that someone allows him to enter and to go out when it turns him without warning me. It is a habit that you have to lose.»
«Bla, bla, bla. Stop to complain her/it about you, now The wants to see only you aprir mouth to eat.»
The television quiz had left the place to the rutilante it initials some newscast. The usual sequence of information carefully selected tracimava in the houses of Italians.
And a troubled female voice started the list of the misfortunes of the day.
"New terrorist attack to Kabul, speaks this time than at least seventy corpses."
This litany accompanied Helen in the last remixings. Once ready, it approached to his shoulders and the dish of spaghetti fumanti filled him.
«Served Eccoti, old zitellone.»
But any thanks didn't repay her/it.
«I was convinced that those keys you would have thrown away her, once transferred» it coldly told her.
«Because I would have had to do him/it?» she responded, losing the smile.
". the market was full to that time, particularly from women and children."
So many sounds they crossed at that time in the kitchen. Angel that dipped the fork in the clot of spaghetti, so similar to those women and children of the service; Helen that the dish was filled and he sat in turn. And then bawls, bursts, complaints.
«Mmm. Excellent, as always» it commented him.
«You have not answered me: because I would have had to throw away the keys?»
Angel swallowed.
«It was only a wisecrack.»
«No, it was not a wisecrack. What did you intend to say?»
It abdicated the following forchettata.
«What you have escaped. You also know very well it you. And instead of escaping from the world, as they do all the mystical that respect him, you have escaped in the world. Because this house, above all with me inside, it was a nest that started to be you narrow.»
Nest. He/she anchors that word. It pronounced her without not even realizing of it.
Then it understood only how much real pits inside of him that psychotic universe.
Helen had escaped the nest, he had been bound of it.
«You are convinced that a nest exists able to protect from the horrors of the world» it told him with amazing tenderness. «But nothing in kind it is to watertight estate, everything is contaminabile, because you/he/she is already contaminated by the origin. The world is there, ready to flow himself/herself/themselves anywhere, with its load of death and pain.»
". meanwhile, the government of Teheran announces that you/he/she won't recedes from the program of enrichment of the uranium."
«You feel. Here it is, the world. It is here already, beaten in face without any respect.»
". the Kremlin makes to know to have withdrawn the signature from the essay for the not proliferation of the conventional weapons."
«One day the men will stop hating him. That day, the men there won't be more.»
It played again deep and terrible the voice of Angel, as if the gift of the prophecy had run over him/it.
And the two brothers consumed the supper in silence. Once more in silence.
It is the tragic destiny of my favorite children, unaware of the work to which I have assigned them.
Although to the dark of the human destiny, although ciechi as every deadly commune, on the past and on the future and convicts to exclusively live the present, their look wanders without guide from alpha to omega, moved by an instinct of which you/they even realize the cause.
It is right Angel. The world without hate will be the world without men.
Because it is right Helen. The humanity is contaminated to the origin.
Since it is to image and similarity of the Creator, and never sentence extrapolated by the will of the Old man was so truthful.
In the confusion of the kinds, of the people and of the languages, He sufficiently set the man to a tall level of the food chain to allow to proliferate him.
It loved the idea to have created a kind able to understand him/it and to revere him/it.
Even if before succeeding you/he/she had had to proceed you as his usual for attempts.
Among the so many cousins created ominidi and extinct, I went crazy for those that you know as Neanderthaliani. Those yes that they had some qualities.
Forced to live under extreme conditions, they sharpened the talent and they inflated the muscles.
They didn't make wars, since you/they had understood, already 250.000 years ago what the inhospitable and cruel planet was in war with all of them and whether to kill him to story would not have certain benefited to the kind. They had an exceptional technological instinct, without which the survival among the ices would have been impossible. They practised even the parity of the sexes.
Not the volume of their brain was greater not at all, of the so-called sapiens.
But they had an enormous defect: they didn't have the religious sense, to develop which, evidently, too many neurons could be an obstacle. In their alcoves, any futile scribble could distract them from the conquests of the most useful knowledge.
Imagine himself/herself/themselves the spite for the Old one! It immediately was urgent to improve the project.
And here is to appear the brutal intruder African, that the methods using to him more congenial made plaza his/her cousin's cleaning up, imbelle and infidel. Deus vult!
The Neanderthal you have to succumb, with sum joy of the Old one, that could finally assist to the evolution of his/her most sophisticated creation.
But we skip for now your ancestors and we directly jump to those that, to the presence of the terrestrial ages, we could define our days.
I believe you know all about the Child of the Head, a brave man been born to Gamala two thousand years ago and dead to Jerusalem about forty years later, an unusual mix of revolution and holiness, politics and spirituality, wisdom and mysticism.
There is no denying it, surely the individual better had been succeeding for the times of the creation.
He/she preached well, very well. So much good that too people drew near to his/her word forgetting himself/herself/itself of the superior forehand. The man had once more outclassed God.
And this, for the Old one, it was the drop that made to overflow the vase.
I had warned you: the countdown starts by now and the first idea of the catastrophe the almighty provident if it did her/it come really in that occasion.
Scornato and disappointed, definite to punish you, to cancel you to finish you.
But, this time, an alibi was created.
Nobody on the Earth would ever have thought about calling him/it on the bench of the accused: the responsibility of your extinction, in the celestial plan, you would entirely be burdened her/it to you you.
To bring back all to the sheepfold of Your idolatry, had to recreate that polytheistical confusion that Your child had tried in vain to recompose, and to do started him/it to stir again the waters.
The first one tags after it was an epileptic Hebrew, already informer of the followers of his/her/their Child, converted to the cause with few, limited special effects. To him it submitted the assignment to reconstruct the cult for the divinity, cancelling of a stroke the humanity of Yeshoua Have Nozri.
Six hundred years later he instigated.
It appeared to an Arabic merchant, also him of sickly health, inclinable to the visions, but from the deep moral authoritativeness. And footstep footstep dictated him the most confused images of of the, angels and demons, laws demenziali, love and hate, war and mercy.
Confusion, contradiction they disguised him in the musical and sea-roving Arabic language, the recitation became away some salvation, the subjugation guarantee of the eternal prize.
And away dividing, and street confusing.
It submitted the message of his/her/their Child, opportunely distorted, to a faction verticistica a
nd tyrannical, the last present absolute satrapia still in the western world. This will pushed wherever it breaks bona fide to detach himself/herself/themselves and to go from itself, increasing the pretexts to fight and to massacre him.
Until the human intelligence a new was not given, catastrophic potential, an arsenal able to destroy the planet in very less than the six days employed by the Head to create him/it.
You arm atomic bombs and chemical they are already to disposition of everybody, ready to bounce from a head to the other of the Earth, to radiate their perfidy, to destroy the living ones to darken even the sun.
Nothing would survive to a nuclear winter and the Creator he/she knows him/it.
It attends in front of the celestial screen as a frustrated housewife, the end of the film, although knows already of it, since, even if it refuses to accept him/it, the director is him however.
But, as all the plans, also that of the Old man has a weak point.
Me.
Any kind from him anticipated it would survive to the atomic catastrophe.
But a new kind on purpose created yes.
The sapiens already has the tools to do him/it. But it is also afraid to use them.
Curious. You/he/she has not been afraid to persevere against the poor atom to get the necessary tool to his/her own downfall and it has in to build him a road toward the salvation instead of it.
It is afraid even to call her/it with his/her name: eugenics.
The Neanderthal would perhaps have acted otherwise. But the Neanderthal as an uncomfortable witness, have been cancelled since the first pages of the book.
We will perhaps leave again from something than very similar to ours muscular, solid cousins scimmieschi. Or perhaps it will be something of completely new.
One day the men will stop hating him. That day, the men there won't be anymore.