Chapter 21.
Laura he woke up to midday.
Full light over the windows, warm borne only because less oppressive than the monotonous one to talk of a teacher in disarmament. To the dawn of the fifth hour Laura was some so, a great work interrupted on to be born an empty yard of hopes.
It skimmed through distracted that weekly brochure on the Milan that dances, that he/she eats, that alive in the daytime and at night, hoping later per diem to find a stimulus to throw up to.
Then, that thin buttonhole to reawaken her/it from the sleep in which to strength he had been being chased for different time.
What to do if a press tells you" Theater, last resumption de The Game of the Parts?"
To think continuosly about the whole day, not to feel the campanelles follow the flow toward the liberty without realizing of it. To eat few to house, so much, alone as always, nobody would have been able to dissent. His/her father in travel allowance for job. Where? He/she didn't even remember him/it, it ended type for" onia." His/her mother proudly to the succession of the rampant consort. A brother stayed, called however on the front of the universiattività because, if the examinations were still distant, the politics was in full ferment. The study for him was only a stratagem: it didn't study so much to pass, how much for pattare.
It is Laura it replied in the house, a study of façade, not so much to learn, whether to forget. To forget out a computer, for example.
The skimmed through pages reverted one on the other, drops to know on unknown drops, as drops of twilight dyed of red before, of dark then, the all around her.
"Theater, last resumption de The Game of the Parts."
He/she heard to beat the door away from the dreams.
«Laura!»
It removed the eyes from a book that you/he/she had never looked in the whole afternoon. Ettore gets back home to an incomprehensible schedule. And did it complain now, without howling but without admitting replicas, because the supper was up to him, because the whole day to fight, because the holy cause doesn't admit discounts, and today the result is nearby quantomai, is there the consent, do you understand, Laura? The consent, people applaud and share and the carcasses they go out from the clean sewers as from centrifuge. And her, has not the female of house, found the time to throw an envelope in the microwaves? Does he/she want her in the microwaves, our podestà? Here it is. And you open and you close and you reopen and you close again, and it plays, din, and you reopen. And you close again. End of the supper.
Again in room, again alone.
"Theater, last resumption de The Game of the Parts." Again.
With what effort had spent whole days to simulate, to detach himself/herself/themselves from that embrace to which nothing had still escaped her. Not the intrusion of a morbid sister, not the peremptory order, not even the dismissal, that still played again in the ears as the hiss of the loaded wind of snow. The manager had played the last accords: perfect lilt and her to strisciar street, without not even feeling himself/herself/themselves deigned of hostile looks. It crossed the door, tidied up to the best and them they already spoke of other, they spoke of themselves. As if everybody their years had not been enough.
He had sent away her. Just him that you/he/she had tightened her to itself and naked without modesty, whose palpable excitement was for her an oath, the sacrament of confirmation.
Lowered a curtain, thrown a mask.
You go and pick up her/it. You know where.
Laura felt those caresses on the whole body, it felt since then her and it didn't stop dreaming her. It desired those hands, to kiss her devoted, to kiss her obscene, because the mouth, its mouth, guiltily felt him empty.
You know him/it that the cassonetto of the thrown masks exists. You go, it rummages well, you will find that some impassioned lover. It is still warm, damp to like, of your pleasure.
You/he/she was surprised, Laura, to feel the rotten fabric of his/her panties feel the coolness of the dissatisfaction to rub her groin to each footstep that estranged her/it from the apartment.
But hurried, small dear, since the dump is closing. You will close on the that cassonettos, that it is already tabernacle of the disowned mask. Your hands are empty, they were empty then and so they have remained. Will they still remain him/it?
Laura looked at the time. The ten less a quarter. The show ended at ten and half o'clock.
Street Mezz'ora from the theater, not more. Two minutes to get ready himself/herself/themselves, not more.
But how much to overcome the keeper of the hole?
You quickly closed in bath, untied the pantalonis and it lowered him the panties. He/she let the heat of the urine caress her lips and it rinsed away it with the cold water. He/she anchors a shiver it gathered her/it in to accompany his/her suits to place, rubbing himself/herself/itself along the sides and the buttocks. Few second for a light makeup, then out rapids. It picked up his/her things, it assembled her in the bag.
It crossed so the garrisoned stay.
Ettore was watching the television. It was the time of the politics, also that.
«Oh, but are you out? Where cazzo are you going to this time?»
It was already with the hand on the handle, it almost felt already him to the sure one.
«What history it is this? To go out so, without saying nothing.»
Without saying nothing. Just that the idea: if nothing had told herself, thing would ever have had to tell him? Words scorate and scornate, as true as useless. Dopotutto, Ettore was only a substitute.
It opened the door.
«Laura!» It still felt to his/her shoulders. But she already went down the staircases.
The door was reopened.
«So much I know him/it where you are going.» The voice boomed on the steps, it went down more aloft to rain from two floors. «I know from who bushels going. But you have to tell him him.» Ettore saw only a hand slip along the handrail. Blonds shaken hair seemed to tease him/it. «Tell him him, before I/you/he/she try us to sweep you, that if only I come him/it to know I kill him/it!»
You continued the descent. It escaped him caring.
«Laura!» To work it hid the anger. You were already to the door. «You have become a big sow!»
Struck to the shoulders. When by now it felt him to the sure one.
An alone parolina, cast to height man, as ago a cop incazzato in the truck stop. But it was the first time.
The first time that Laura felt him give some sow. And he/she didn't succeed in understanding what this meant.
Perhaps it was really that the key of everything. A concept so simple yet so incomprehensible. Was it enough to appropriate him of it, correct? To fill the significante of his/her meaning. What for any word to the world had ever been possible, she would not have discovered him/it: you/he/she would have lived him/it. And you/he/she would have been ready for him. You/he/she would not have sent away anymore her.
It tried to see then him sow in other people's looks. Along the road, it crossed volutamente the eyes of the passer-bys.
Curious before, bold then, in the veder as his/her expression more natural, sincere, cleaning up, if thrown in front of a male it transformed him in these in wince. Unexpected seduction, amazing. There is no anything of better becoming convinced himself/herself/themselves to have received attentions from a beautiful stranger. Who knows thing wants, that sow.
In each of that looks it found again that same word. But read and not felt, provoked and not suffered it lost every contempt. It was not a sovereign's outrage disappointed by the slave anymore: the devotion of the subjects now found again you for their queen.
Crazy, petulant little fellow, incapable recidivists to firmly fix the sense of the things. And still crazier those people that go chattering of unchangeable bases in the heart of the men: a race in which a motorist that has just cursed against the pedestrian that you/he/she has forced him/it to slow down passing on the strips, gone down by the car
you/he/she curses the motorist that doesn't nail for making the road cross him when and where he wants him.
Laura crossed of run instead, the distant cars still that could not notice even her. Gone down underground, to the stop of the subway, anxious to take back his/her game.
And it climbed for first on the car, shelling under the braccias it stretched out some attached men to the bar, without asking a permission that instead it imposed with the look.
You sat, being well careful to perfectly stick with the side to the thigh of that black. It is in to rub him with carelessness against the dirty fabric of the pant, only imagining the rough and dark skin to contact of his, it strove him to feel the hasten some passions to bedew the member of the waif, last to the borders of the society, subdued even to the stupid game of an annoyed child. This up to when you/he/she had not met another of it, also the same one, in another place, even more dark, more isolated, in a lost angle of the outskirts.
It also came soon his/her stop. And with surprise, it realized to have gone down only her.
The desert bench vexed her/it: you/he/she had lived on the shoulders of the others until then, but it was again down there alone. Alone a sow is not a sow. The sow lives in the eyes of whom looks.
It climbed the staircases, first one step at a time, then twos twos. It went out, and it didn't find anybody.
The ten and venticinque.Il theater was not distant, still a couple of minutes afoot.
It increased the walk, in that desert, whole sidewalks were to his/her disposition.
Invisible eyes scrutinized her/it. Yes, it was so, they were not able all the desires of the city to be enfeebled. You looked around, looking for the mirrors that had consecrated her. And not to see terrorized her/it to them.
You/he/she could not be this anymore of which had been invested: the hull of that term that had him protected along the walk was broken.
I am not a sow, I am not a holy. I am colei that thinks me. It was naked, nothing to protect her/it from the cold. And for myself anybody.
The time of the games was ended: it was had to deliver to him, now. And only he would have ordered her who to be.
It got excited toward the room as a bug that it pursues the survival, and only the sight of the entry of the theater, illuminated by the insignias, it seemed to reassure her/it. It, at least of this convinced him, and shortly after it started to see the people go out.
The people, all the satisfied bourgeois that from far they seemed her small small, it formed as a lake on the before square. It hated the idea to intrude himself/herself/themselves in that marshy promiscuity, but it touched her, if you/he/she had wanted to reach Angel.
Of a line, in the middle of all that static beaus, it was not able whether to jump to her eyes a manikin that stirred rapid, as dragged by a submerged tide.
It immediately recognized him/it: it was the boyfriend arrapato of Angel. It proceeded nervous, splitting the slimy crowd with evident bother. It had hurry, the teacher as devil it called. It had to do with the curls, Ricchioni came her, more for association of perverse ideas that for other. The man exactly knew where to go. Crowd attended the superstar and Laura you/he/she would have attended with it: he climbed over her/it instead.
And while he/she was thinking, you/he/she had not even realized that its feet had started to follow him/it.
The man avoided so the mass, abandoning the light of the entry to slip himself/herself/themselves in the path that coasted along the theater. It is Laura it was behind him.
Away from the noises, away from the lights. Away from the men, it shelled close to the few parked cars, in an alley without windows, without eyes.
He/she saw him/it to approach toward the wall and to throw to itself of it a part. Only observing well, Laura could notice the metallic grayness of a door, over which the man faded away.
Few instants and herself approached to that entry.
The door was not closed again entirely; from the small opening, a glint of cold light marked her the street. It was there, simply approached, to invite her/it. On one side, the devil custodian held back her/it in the dark bugigattolo abandoned by god and various humanity. From the other, the tempting angel called her/it to the light.
The door opened and she crossed him. It was in a corridor of service, illuminated by transparent plasticacce filled with luminescent gas. It crossed him/it, following the noise of the footsteps of his/her messenger, until it found again him in a small room, with an only other exit.
And from that exit, they were two bawls to drive her/it now.
One was trembling, amateurish, sopperiva to his/her own insufficiency with a river of words.
«. good job.» it felt Him say. Arid imagination, also in the compliments. «. satisfied.» it Continued the peana.
The other one was a voice that only the study could forge so much sure. It was a seductive artifice that was calling her/it to itself.
Few missed to lean out on the camerino.
«There will be also Helen, therefore.»
But there he arrested: the voice of Angel had pronounced the name of that woman. Brother alone, sister sóla.
«You/he/she is bound to the secret as all us» it announced Emilio Ricciuti.
Was of thing speaking? What did it tie Angel, his/her sister, that man? Who am" all of us?"
An explanation, perhaps, among those stolen words: what had not gotten with the tears and the questions, you/he/she would have extorted with the silence and the discretion.
«You will finally be satisfied» it distractedly escaped to Angel.
«Also you are him/it» it affirmed the other bold.
«It is a good for all of us that Helen is convinced: his/her contribution.»
«We go, but who want to take around?» Impudent. «He/she leaves that I/you/he/she am Pezzali to praise his/her refined brain. That female is able to multiply the sexual energies of all the followers. It is meat ready to conduct to the ecstasy who draws near her. It will be the vertex of our rite.»
Sex, followers, rite. All the keywords of the contemporary vulgata. But where was you/he/she ended?
«And not to make that indignant little brother face, the defensor fighei: I know very well that it is your sister. You are you that that forgets at times.»
«You are only a pig.»
Laura heard then a strident and hysterical laughter. How much disgust would have tried if had succeeded in seeing him/it in face?
«You should understand» taken back, among the squeaking that delayed to calm down himself/herself/themselves. «You are not you the" alchemist?" It is to you to gather the symbols to unite the past to the present and this to the future. We perhaps are not to the search of the Stone? Here: we have found the Philosophers' Donna, the prostitute and the holy one.»
Who calls me? he/she thought Laura reawakening himself/herself/itself of hit,
«It is difficult to understand the holiness for the one who cooks in the prostitution.»
«You speak well, brother: I would be able to never find the illumination, the Great Work for me could stop to the" white", in all the senses» alluded, with the air accomplice of the comradeship more beceros. «But I can reach the ecstasy. Darkened by the substances, focused on the pleasure, bewitched by the charm of your sister, that I have dared only to graze in every day when I had nearby her. Tomorrow I could go over, with her. Inside of her.» You excited, the hog, and of his/her excitement the color of its voice. «I know him/it that you understand me Angel. You know what he/she means to desire Helen.»
«Now it is enough» it admitted in those words the hidden desire and fought. Too effortless for Laura to recognize him/it.
«Not to worry you.» Brother. Didn't it tell him/it? But it was so, evidently. Or of that word the sense was lost by now? «At the end of our job there will be neither more brother nor sister father neither daughter. Neither enslaved neither free. We will be loose from every tie. You will see, Angel: tomorrow evening will
be performed a decisive footstep toward the birth of the new humanity.»
He/she didn't know if it were toward a new humanity but of sure a footstep felt him/it move toward Angel. Ricciuti was moved: now Laura from where it was found you/he/she could perceive the sleeve of a blue shirt.
«This is the envelope for Helen?» it felt the question of Angel.
«This is yours» the other responded, catching again it.
«I believed that you/he/she was performed some initiator to deliver her/it to the initiate.»
Impudently laughed again, the mouse. How disgusting of sounds went out of that room.
«You the initiator? You are not anything, dear my. You for Helen are an interrupted coition. Wanted us Pezzali so that his/her latent desires riaffiorassero. You worried only that don't have to be me to satiate well others his/her appetites.»
Bitterness was the silence that followed. Possible that Angel had ended his/her script?
Emilio stirred anchor, went out of the view of Laura. In that instants without words, the envelope of which you/they spoke had to have passed of hand.
«Big party, will see: tomorrow's king will finally have satisfied, since he will meet his/her queen.»
«Of who bushels speaking?»
«Laws» he/she invited him/it.
What sublime lasciviousness starts an invitation to participate in a secret. So much sweet not to be able whether to be turned to all the presents. Those clear and those fugitives.
Laura stuck out then him, because the open envelope could not be denies her.
It was there that he/she saw him/it. He/she saw to stir his/her lips to give voice to what you/he/she was reading.
«The villa of Aldo Fornaci.»
It found him/it splendid. The makeup of scene still marked its face and those dirts distributed disequamente they exalted the mystery of its nature. It had of forehead a divinity proteiforme, a wise man prince of the ambiguity. If you/he/she had not reacted to the provocations, it owed to have hidden well under the wax every hysteria.
Absorbed on the ticket, it attended. And she craved to have attended.
«You won't know him/it of sure, perhaps anybody of he/she will see him/it to us. Is that pig of Furnaces so fat that doesn't succeed even. And that who is?»
Angel lifted the look. An instant on Emilio, then, following this last, he turned. Toward of her.
For that instant, the time arrested him. It is alone later it understood what this it behaved. Because that beloved face was the mask of the fear. It was certain of it: Angel trembled but you/he/she trembled for her.
It looked on the other side.
Emilio was by now near. He/she saw her, it stared at her/it, and in that grim eyes there was no trace of gratification. Was its guilt serious so much therefore?
One, two footsteps back. It bumped a clothes-stand, and that slipped to earth. The noise the shake.
He/she succeeded in turning himself/herself/themselves and it departed of run toward the exit, really an instant before the hand of Emilio grazed her/it.
And away to perdifiato, in the dark corridors, over the doors, until again in the alley.
And then anchor, a footstep after the other, the young heart to pump, the bellows to purify, until a crumb of strength you/he/she could sustain his/her fear.
When it stopped racing, it was again in the middle of the people, already to the sure one on the subway.
He/she didn't take care of him of other people's looks, you/he/she could not be acknowledged the annoyed curiosity in the late evening with which the elderly transfughis of the theater noticed that congested ragazzina.
That selfish looks didn't return her nothing. They attended only to extinguish the light and to put on the mind in peace among the covers.
Could you/he/she perhaps interest them the loneliness of a young sow?