Chapter 24.
Angel
«You come with me.»
Not even the time to wonder for what instinct had moved a foot toward Helen, that the arrogant voice of Emilio Ricciuti called him/it back, as if the professorino recognized him one some authorities on him.
«Who you are, to tell me where I have to go?»
It sustained to ugly face the intrusion.
«Only a friend, that tries to put you to the sure one.»
There was an unpublished severity in Ricciuti. It didn't even try to disguise himself/herself/themselves behind a smile, simply it made road.
The walk followed the flight of notes that they estranged Angel. It allowed to distract, as if it looked for a pretext to forget where it was, thing did you. And who was there that evening, in the same house, but never so far.
They reached a room that seemed a small foyer and it monkeyed every frill of it. You/they had also prepared you a counter from cafe, behind which anthropomorphous penguins poured to drink to the public.
The piano had been put to the opposite angle. In the hollow of the tail of the tool, snake to protection of his/her jewel egg, dawned the voice. In candid suit, Ying in the proper Yang, the singer attended the end of the introduction.
It immediately recognized her: it was the florid girl that was made to notice to the preceding assembly. As she opened the mouth, Angel understood of what treasure they were custodians the kilos of too much.
Thin and winding, a suffered vigorous spread in the room.
Not, rien de rien.
Amazing. Any guttural anger, eradicated the chauvinistic erre, call for tourists: caressed by an accompaniment dialogante that capricious marcetta you/he/she could now move. The candid skin, the clear blonde mane, dazzling diversionary, the elegance of layings and dresses didn't dissolve the desperation with which the voice turned on the fire of the hope. A modern song tragically risorgeva from the ruins of France. It was Latin, it was Bohemian, it was black. It was a world of sadness and elegance that it became sound.
«What intentions you have?» Ricciuti, implacable, it recalled to itself the due attention.
«Respect thing?»
«You take me for the culo? That ragazzina, Sastri. Last night, in camerino. You/he/she has seen us and you/he/she has felt of thing we spoke. Now that have been clearer, do I repeat the question: that intentions you have?»
Fottuto maestrino. It distributed sentences in the chaotic room, leaving that says secretandi they lost him in the crowd as a teacher that it tries the indifference of the class murmuring swearwords in the clamor of the discolis.
«What intentions I have me, do you ask? You that intentions you have? We were in two there.»
«It was for you or mistake there?»
«Reasoning of the cazzo» ironizzò. «You want to punish me for enticement of young persons? I remember you that has reached us because you have made to follow.»
«But you are you that you have known her: you have to know whether to pick her/it up.» Diabolic Vocina, in unstable balance between flattery and reproach. «It would be a sin if I had to intervene me, I could turn to empty. And I could be forced too much to hasty remedies.»
To make up for.
Stubs of words picked up by a high school student and cast against the wall of the power. It was to the sure one, the small one, in his/her same fear.
«You are threatening her?» he/she asked the hero however.
«I am not threatening anybody» the doroteo responded. «I am giving only you a suggestion. In this game you/he/she is never made evil anybody. I was you, I would not like to have this record on the conscience.»
But the conscience is a washable good. Omnia munda mundis.
Enough few, light you toll of ropes in harmony, picked by opportune caresses on you feel of ivory. The piano had started over singing, and he/she offered in gift a chaste prelude, known, beloved, suffered. Who had composed him, it said not to fear the death. Will you/he/she have welcomed with the same boldness the sad harvester, from not a lot of trail to find him/it?
And I am not frightened of dying.
A recited whisper was the voice of the singer that abandoned the notes for to go down in the most prosaic recitation.
Any time will I give, The don'ts mind.
It suggested, riding the harmonies to the scrupulous consciences.
The conscience of Angel was that fragile young girl, voted to the mortality by its secret master. A secret able to kill.
Why should The be frightened of dying? There's no reason for it.
Save her/it! It is young, beautiful, voted to the life. Estrange her/it from this choir of corpses! The frailty hammered in its heart, as in that of all the presents. The cult of the death united them, the sublimation of the goddess was their spur. Packed by dust and ash, they raised all how much the nose to the insù.
And the staircase of notes dragged him/it with itself as an indomitable steed a great wagon. The Great Wagon in the sky.
You gout go sometime.
To attach some song, every thought had already faded away.
Angel followed estasiato the to climb some voice toward celestial peaks, for then to sink more to fund of the throat, drawing in the air the profile of a gilded cathedral. Nothing electronics, no effects, a naked piano was the simple base, free to take back and to converse with you sprout him some voice, that of melodic they didn't have volutamente nothing. They were sudden tears, crashes of hope and pain.
And her, the blonde voice, in that melismis it declaimed a text that only she knew. Every contraction of the diaphragm was a fragment of history that he/she craved to be reported.
They looked. The girl had deep and clear blue eyes that complained life.
The intensity of the passage went lowering by now. Of there to few the resumption of the introduction would have conducted away from the volutes of notes of the solo.
Concluded his/her part, the singer estranged from the piano. The pianist transformed the tail in an improvisation and from his/her par you/he/she continued without capturing more attentions.
Angel returned present to himself, remembering himself/herself/itself where you/he/she was, because, and above all with whom. You turned toward Emilio, he/she knew to owe attention he/she anchors him. But it didn't find him/it more close to itself.
It tried to pursue him/it with the look in the room but he/she didn't see him/it from any part. And in the gross if of it fotté highly.
It tried then to recover something to drink, dopotutto you/he/she was supported to a counter from cafe.
«Ditches in I would not leave me to you to try.» It was alone supported and someone already hampered him/it. A woman from the bold and sensual voice. Blonde and fat, dressed of white. «I understand you. The sparkling bench, the elegant waiters, the luxury. But believe me, alcohol and ayahuasca they don't marry well. I remember too well still the last time that I have mixed.»
The singer was nearby him, as predictable.
«Now a scheming company is added» you/he/she also flattered by instinct her. «Essential from a good Martin.»
You laughed obliging.
«We are not here for letting us entangle» the resumptions.
What pleasant game, thought Angel, to become distracted himself/herself/themselves with gallant skirmishes before the true game starts.
«You because you are here?»
«It is the only way to give a sense to the death of my child.»
It was not a joke. The screeching of the death stormed in the misunderstanding and shattered him/it.
The girl was young, evidently. So much could not have passed by the conception to the death. And pain was not able whether to be still fresh.
Embarrassment read him and surprised.
«Forgive me, I didn't want to upset you. Has you/he/she bothered you my purity?»
«At all» it reassured her/it. «Your purity is the only way to give here a sense
to my being. Tell me of your child.»
The girl smiled thankful and started to recall.
«It is dead one year ago of cystic fibrosis. It called Mark, it was eight years old. And you/he/she has always lived from disgust.» The girl an instant shook him from the memoirs. «It is horrible, true? What if I have to speak of my child I start later from the illness and solo I reveal his/her name. The disease that has brought away me him has also torn from me my mother being.» You strove to hide the anger before continuing. «You/they have diagnosed the illness through amniocentesis. There were not doubtful: you/he/she would have been born sick. With all the bastards children of puttana that could put me in surrounded and then to disappear, had to find a carrier as me.»
Angel listened without intervening beginner of real tragedies that didn't contemplate applauses to the epilogue.
«I didn't know anymore where to beat the head. The abortion was by now me practically blocked: when you make the amniocentesis you have already overcome the to expire some twelfth week. There was to appeal to the therapeutic abortion, the way out that the law allows you if you declare that a sick child would provoke you a" serious psychic damage." As if a child condemned to the birth were an enough reason. To that point I have put in the hands of the consultoris, where you/they have made me the brainwashing: you/he/she can be made up for, the medicine has made giant footsteps, there are sick that they also reach sixty years. The volunteers are good: they have succeeded in making a monster feel me.»
Anchor looked at him/it, as to tear him a word.
«All those people whom you/they knew did to competition to give me suggestions. Every time that of it riparlo, expects me that who listens to me has to address me.»
«That page doesn't turn yet. You would not be here. Until he/she will be open, whoever will have the right to suggest you as to close her/it. But not me: not to wait you void from me. The sadness that I try for you is a new feeling, that I still have to learn to know.»
«The best suggestions have always come me from who less you wait yourself or from who in conscience I know for some that held unworthy. You/he/she was offered me in fact a last possibility. My producer sometimes had the vice to bring in bed me, thing that I have never been sorry you/he/she. But with my sick child in womb, definite to stop. An evening, to take back the turn, made me intoxicate, but the only thing that got was the truth. I don't know if I had him/it spiazzato or touched but it felt him in duty to help me. I believe pits how much more next to a gesture of friendship you/he/she could offer me. It suggested me two alternatives: or to go to England, where you/he/she can be aborted up to the venticinquesima week, or to address to of his/her friends, brothers he/she called them, that could do what you/they wanted. In other words, it made me know what it exists here.»
Its eyes were veiled of pain, as if the weight of the error had returned to overwhelm her/it.
«I could do him/it» it. «I could avoid to condemn my child to an ordeal. But I have been afraid.»
You/he/she has quoted well the grassona: the Calvary. The place where in a same instant the Old man granted to violate ten commandments on ten. All to howl to his/her people": of thing complained you? Look at my child, as suffers! And if it suffers him, because you would not owe as many also you?" Not to free you from the pain, has condemned also to the peggior torture the blood of his/her blood.
«A night had an attack of cough more violent than the usual one» it continued to tell. «It spent a whole hour to expectorate the mucus in which you/he/she was suffocating. It as a pig, I felt the foul smell of salt of his/her skin in the whole room. When he/she succeeded in calming down himself/herself/themselves, it didn't have more even the strength to cry. But it asked me a question, the only question that I would never have liked to feel from him.»
«He/she asked you if you knew him/it.» It didn't labor to realize Angel. «If you knew before it was born to what sufferings you would have nailed him/it.»
«I don't know what demon had suggested him him. I would ever have thought that the mind of an eight year-old child, already tried by the illness, you/he/she would be shown so shiny. I didn't have the strength to lie. I told him of yes, that knew him/it. Then it bewared me of little fellow, with the two blue occhionis that stuck out among the furrows of his/her bald skull. And he/she asked me him. "Because, mother? Because you have made me be born then?" He/she wanted an answer, it was one right of his. I told then him what I believed pits the truth, what I had learned to strength in the consultoris: that I could not choose for him. "But it is what you have done" it told only me. And turning himself/herself/itself on a side, it fell asleep.»
«And today, which do you think that I/you/he/she am the truth?»
«Truth is that, in its misfortune, I was convinced a best mother I would have proven. I would have tried my love and my courage. I would have attended my missed abortino as only a holy you/he/she would have been able to do. I have gratified my egoism on the skin of another being.»
They were the last memoirs. The look resigned that it investigated the black marble of the counter you/he/she could not hold up new torments.
«It forgave me, I believe» concluded. «At least he/she wanted to grant me the grace. Before going off himself/herself/themselves, its last words were": thanks, mother, to have given birth to born me: the most beautiful thing is to have you known." It was sincere from good child. But I will never forgive me to have forced to love me to it. I was alone, I didn't have his/her parents anymore, neither a companion, and the father of Mark was who knows where. I needed to give me the unconditional love of a wretch, forced to depend on me.»
It ended to speak, and Angel felt a void. He/she wanted to translate him/it in words, and this was how much it went out him.
«I have waited for your history every departed night in these assemblies. Here thing I looked for: only a story that shouted the anger of the correct one. Yours is the true base of the new man the reason for an ethics loosened by the conventions and by the dogmas. If it will never change the human ethic, if what is seen how it won't become well badly, to nothing the vainglorious efforts of these adorned masks will be worth. Not from them the street will come for the salvation, but from who is humbly able of to consider the life to the light of an absolute love.»
You smiled at him, sincere and thankful, as a dying child that declares his/her love to his/her/their mother. And he revealed.
«I have listened to you a lot of times, patient and impotent man: you were Oberon and Shylock, Faust and Cyrano, Arpagone and Figaro. And me, applauding to end performance, every time I thanked you. I would never have thought that one day Angel Sastri would have listened to Gabriella for then to thank her/it.»
«I always listen. I listen to Oberon and Shylock, Faust and Cyrano, Arpagone and Figaro. I am theirs that speaks to me and they tells him. Then I thank them, lending them my voice.»
It was then that it played again the I toll mad of a bell.
The call had come, the assembly had beginning.
«You are indeed the correct man in the correct place» Gabriella gratified him/it. «The spirits someone that lends them the voice attend for a long time.»
Together they united him to the guests and they reached the atrium of entry.
Helen
«Helen.» Pezzali called her back. Distracted impunemente knew her and also realized from who.
But it was him to drive her/it, him that, as a severe father, only calling her/it for name had brought back her to the duty. You he allowed to conduct above for the staircases, then they folded up along a corridor that was penetrated in the villa until they reached after all the last door.
Charles knocked with decision. Then attended.
It opened the door a lustful Sherazade, adorned of veils to the head and in life.
«The doctor was waiting you with anxiety.» Smiled stiff, displaying the naked breast. You removed and it allowed to enter.
Taken from now on form to the eyes
of Helen the delirium of a rich crazy person.
A whole wall was composed from screens that they transmitted taken back by the inside of the house: a wall voyeuristica to tall definition that brought the secret of every circle. There, in the middle of the all, supported to the counter of a cafe, Emilio spoke to Angel, that all showed except to interest himself/herself/themselves in his/her words.
To the other walls they lowered rich gilded draperies. The floor of black marble gave prominence to the human figures that wandered for the room turning around an enormous bed that towered to the center.
They were all very beautiful ones, they seemed the figurantis for a film on the thousand and a night: men ambrati, half-naked, strong warlike moreschi, they allowed to pick from stupendous excited slaves, you decorate of gold and of silk. They laughed blessed, imprisoned of a their induced world of pleasures with who knows what deception.
The bed, that was turned toward the screens, to that point it started to rotate revealing the obscene figure of his/her/their master to Helen.
It was an obese revolting, thrown on the bed as if of it were part. Everything naked, had surely had the decency to hold him on the basin the sheet.
It was old, falling, enormous. The head spelacchiata veiled him of shed and sticky locks. The mouth was shining of the drivel that labored to hold back. From his/her sweaty body the stench raised him of whom by now you/he/she has given up washing him.
The motion of disgust of Helen didn't pass unnoticed, if the first words vexed of Aldo Fornaci were a reproach for Pezzali.
«But as, Charles: you have not explained to the girl that I here make that cazzos that it seems me?» You allowed to deform from a filthy smile: it was his/her way of showing appreciation to the new arrival. «Forgive him/it Helen. The men of science know how to be so insensitive. You also come before, he/she leaves that I/you/he/she look yourself. My eyes are not once anymore those of.» You drew near to the bed, persuaded by the courtesy of that man. «Good girl» it told her as it was him more neighbor. «In other times I would have gone off standing and bending I would have kissed you to me the hand. But by now, as you see, I don't succeed more even in moving me. I don't even find a motive to do him/it.»
«I see» he/she answered him with the eye that fell on the nudities of the figurantis. «Here it has all of this that can serve her.»
«To like home. I/you/they are earned him/it to me with years of sacrifices.»
«The promise of immortality also does it departs of that pleasures?»
«That is only unfortunately a duty.» It faked the correct regret.
«At least to her, doctor, nobody has imposed him/it.»
There was an instant of silence, as if Furnaces he/she wanted to feel in the air the weight of those words.
«You know how to maintain a secret?» accomplice whispered her. It almost started to arouse liking that old undone child. «It doesn't rub a cazzo of the human clonazione of it» it murmured, pretending not to want him to make to feel from Pezzali.
Furnaces it gave birth to an incredibly contagious rice. Helen laughed of it and also not only for duty. This way they were friends, that evening, and his/her master it made proud him to tell.
«To the beginning yes. I was a fanatic of the project: us ricconi to finance and to cover the most revolutionary scientific search of every time. Here is the true revenge of the nerdses: in my struggle I united that of all the obese of the world. I/you/they have always been fat to be been disgusting: it was as if my money could ransom my deformity. Nothing more humiliations: in the future any man would have had an abnormal metabolism. And me, master of my geniuses, in another life I would be reborn a marvelous Viking, beloved and desired. But with to spend some years I have understood that any Viking with his/her muscles you/he/she would ever have swept as much as me with my money. And that in a world in which all are happy, your happiness is not worth anything. I/you/they are confined me inside here, to laugh and to cry on the wrecks of the humanity: in front of me there is everything» it said, alluding to the wall of video. «Every window can open me a tear on the world. Every angle of this house is to my disposition with a neatness of image that would not even have peer for eyes transgenici. You cannot even imagine what I have seen. I have also pecked at a colleague to steal. Its firm bewitches the double one of mine but you/he/she has succeeded to zanzarsi two chandeliers in silver. Even of gold. And is this the kind to which we should guarantee the eternal dominion on the planet?»
Unwise Charles picked up to the flight the question.
«It is really to overcome her/it that we are here.»
«You keep silent, Pezzali» it ordered him peremptory. How much hate filtered from the composure of the doctor: the fat person harangued, pedantic and sincere, and he quivered, irritated, impotent. «Which supreme race you think can be born from the work of the man? A defective kind is not able whether to produce supremely another defective of it. But these, everything, they won't be my problems anymore.»
«However it is here still» alluded mocking the neophyte.
«My dear, will be at least two years that I don't organize a session to my house. Tonight you had also to find again you in the house of Barletti. If I have brought here you it is because I hate to change channel. After so much time and so many money, I want really to enjoy me the end of the history.»
«If it is true what it tells me, the end is still everything to write.»
It shelled the little eyes the old one.
«Not to tell me that you don't know him/it» it picked his/her weakness.
Helen fell in the game.
«To know what?»
It is to the game, in the role of the amazed teacher, it still continued Furnaces.
«But as, have not you told him him?» It dragged inside pure Pezzali, reserved and distant from the exhibitions of the head. Then it looked at fatherly Helen. «You are you the end» it told her. «Welcome to house, my queen.»
Helen stranì. The unknown author of this absurd performance a role had reserved even her. Then because to expel her/it from the script?
«Of thing is speaking?» it turned him to Pezzali. But it found him/it uncertain and this most other frightened her/it.
«We are speaking of the motive for which you are here, treasure» it still came in help Furnaces.
«And which would it be?»
Break.
«The ghosts have told him» it grinned.
And before the discouraged queen could say, I dispatch him/it chamberlain you/he/she threw her/it out of the games.
«Now you go, I have told too much also you. Don't make to attend them over. And then I feel like sweeping.»
The alcove was dyed of red, the sultan had expressed the desire and his/her court of concubines he already knew thing to do. You lower the lights, lifted the music, the bodies in sale he was already tightening around the munificent master.
«We go» he/she invited Pezzali under voice.
Helen he allowed to conduct, while to his/her shoulders Aldo Fornaci had already taken in mouth the cazzo of a young Brazilian.
They closed again it brings her/it to their shoulders and Helen it again felt him lost. Ahead to itself, the lights and the shouting of the guests they brought her/it to the duty to which was delivered. And the words of Furnaces, senseless provocations, started to oppress her/it.
You arrested, forcing Charles to look at her/it.
«Thing meant?»
It was impossible for him to still ignore his/her beauty.
«Nothing that concerns yourself.» You still forced to protect her/it. You made indignant him.
«As it would be to say? You/he/she has spoken of me. I am not by chance then here. What does he/she know him about me?»
«Nothing. Nothing of what wanted to make to believe you. For Furnaces by now a game you/he/she has become: it loves to risk and to provoke. But anybody, men that I lead him, can grant him the privilege to speak on behalf of the corpora
te body with which we come into contact in the sessions.»
Pezzali groped, it labored for the first time to I handed in front of Helen: it was not able to furnish her some answer.
It was then that it played again the I toll mad of a bell.
The call had come, the assembly had beginning.
This way that she could not set any other question anymore.
It made her sign to stir, starting himself/herself/itself toward the staircases. But the granted ones a last thought.
«Only what will happen you tonight can explain you something. And you will be you the alone one to know him/it.»