Some time ago, in an old library leafing Fuorigrotta I found an unusual collection of documents from the content. I sat there, sleepy in the heat of summer when mezzopomeriggio, alongside the usual early medieval legends and deeds of saints apocryphal, it was found (by accident, but as driven by a mysterious force) on account of the first Rendez-Vous between the first man and the first woman, and it was another matter by the press today in vogue. In this version, in fact, there was no trace of forbidden apples, snakes tempting, ribs or incazzature cosmos-planet-millennial. It was a story subdued, almost trivial, breathing very modest: the setting of a Canadian instead of an earthly paradise (although in some notes to read a cave of a studio sixty square meters commercial), and a few small protomammifero intent to feed in the scrub of the late Pliocene. Far away, lost in the distance, echoed the roar of the beasts, and a fiery red sun fading on the horizon line. A sidereal sunset, the kind that our era of ties, cell phones and football fans, can never contemplate.
Actually I added the sunset, though, you will agree, there is no other plausible explanation for the explosion of romance I am about to describe, because music was not there, the graffiti had been unsuccessful in their tribal two-dimensional phase, the poetry had not yet been invented, as well as restaurants on the lookout The candlelight, the first kiss, the trip to Venice, condoms and vibrating equipment for the electronics lust.
When the first lady fell at the feet of the first man, was not in his best form. She had no make-up, no mascara, no drops of Chanel Number Five below the ears. On the contrary: he was skinny, malnourished, cold, exhausted, and his long hair flowed to sit in a single block puffoso.
When he found himself on his knees, the poor had to realize that they have enough physical strength to procure a living alone, it was lost in a world without supermarkets. So, to avoid starvation, filthy with mud and a total mess, he had bent the neck to the side, turning, a sign of submission, another inhabitant of the land to the boundaries of time angry.
And the first man looked at her.
The first man looked strange to be in need of attention for a long time, he studied the soft profile silhouetted at sunset, looked at her with curious eyes, as was the curiosity in her virginal state, of a wonder and amazement that is been lost on us, his unworthy nephews, and then came over and touched her hair, and lingered on the curve of the neck, softly, declined to its smooth back. In a gesture of kindness, knelt in front of her, wandering aimlessly for a few moments in your iris unexplored. Then, with resolute gestures, walked around his hips and wrists tied with a delicate force behind his back, squeezed a rope around her shoulders, (the first series of the story) and then take her in his cozy bar in the basement studio of sixty square meters, warm, safe, away from wild animals and danger.
Now, if the first man had done his cock, my life would be a more comfortable journey. For one thing, I would not be here in this car, this car park in the middle of the misty outskirts of Milan, ruminating on my cyclical setbacks and keep a pot belly, which threatens to twist with every breath. And then I would not have spent the last two years in total confusion, emotional confusion that, if I can not reassemble the fragments of my days, sooner or later will eventually engulf.
not get me wrong, the story I just told you that I'm passionate about, and much, and for two reasons: first, because even I, as the first hominid, I'm an incurable romantic, and secondly, because the oppression of the legend sounds sweet in my nights full moon in a roar of sensuality and forgetfulness; the rush of the senses, in the ancestral vision, back in my loins into fragments of blazing light, and I live in moments of rough and then die out in a fit of total perfect harmony. And so, in the primordial light of that first romantic encounter, I find the beginning and the end, the Thunder and silence, fire and ice, and the order and chaos, fury, peace, triumph and the last performance.
This in theory, but the fact is that life takes us elsewhere.
The fact is that one is at that stage as he begins to think that feelings are valued, that their natural environment are the sonnets of the Renaissance, or, in the most debased, San Remo's songs and melodrama to middle class housewives frustrated whereas, without orchestral music as a backdrop and a shot that fades in the shadows, there is, ultimately, much more to add. So this One thinks that what really counts in life is a job that makes you feel active, the football games, pizza on Saturdays, Sundays on the couch, and some occasional traveling companion with whom to exchange impressions of a general nature.
But then, one night, it happens.
One night, without even understand how you're finished, you find yourself alone. In a parking lot. In the middle of the flat in Milan. To hold off your forehead. And you feel that you are tired of what you hear, can not do that anymore. And do not you give peace. And you think you've been a fool to let you drag up to that point. And would you put in the car and go home in Naples, or rather continue further south, Crotone, Reggio Calabria, Tunis and down, down, to the remote grasslands of Africa, where it exists, must exist, please do that there, a beautiful valley where no other human has ever set foot and no other human being will never happen.
But first things first.
I was in Naples, where, unlike the first hominid, I tried with all my strength to get me to my cock. One day I received a call from my mezzasorella Gustavo.
- "You know what's new? I graduated! I've done it! You will not believe, eh? But I did it with only two years out of course!"
- "Congratulations!"
- " Always lapidary eh? Look, if you do not, I invite you to the graduation party! "
- "I can not come!"
- "O beautiful, and why?"
- "I'm busy!"
- "And you have to do?"
- "Do I have my dicks!"
- "I'll see you here in Milan on the fifteenth. I'll hold you a place here at home. Marianella has a sofa bed ..."
- "I will not come!"
- "The Fifteen: write it down ..."
- "Do not I will! "
-" It brought the lenzulola ... "
-" I will not come! "
-" I greet you, see you soon! "
-" I will not come! "
-" Kiss Me "-Click!
- "I will not come ..."
Now is not that I'm a degenerate mezzofratello. But I felt my self-preservation that began, quietly, stroking his temples. Gustavo's party would see, in all likelihood, also Irene. Irene, with whom I had any relationship ended several months earlier, after a long agony of lies and self-inflicted wounds of emptiness.
When I put the phone down, I came to rethink my party. I had graduated in philosophy with a thesis on irrationality Kierkegaard, Schopenhauer, Friedrich Nietzsche. Nietzsche and his "Eternal Return." Behold, the Eternal Return identity, that was my ball philosophy, the circle that joins, the poem repeats the onset, the year ends and begins again, the universe implodes and goes back to expand: to a new beginning that is dispersed in a multitude of possible conclusions, all different, but all the same, in the end, when the era of financial statements lies about us.
Gustavo (I emphasize for the less discerning among you) is my brother better, and is gay. My father planned to leave her first born to be with my mother. Once conceived me, returned to base to adopt a third child. Like myself, my father was a distinguished gentleman with a strong vocation for hyperkinetic stories cyclical.
I wonder if it was not to follow his example that Gustav turned into a gay, conscious choice on the night of December 31, 1999. Since then he had spent some difficult days. At his party, we both knew, I could not miss. I did not have forgiven. Not this time.
arrived in Milan late afternoon on the fifteenth day of a dull, incomprehensible by nature, white clouds, black clouds, sun flashes, cold wind, rain squalls and waves of sweat mixed with sticky smog. God how I hated that city. I had spent two years I had loved and she had paid a compassionate embrace, and then forget about me as soon as circumstances I had moved away. Now I take back with arrogance and strangers greet me offhand that sounded like an insult. There are different ways to forget things and people. Irene I had forgotten for months, driven by disgust of myself, but comforted by a determination that the granite in the past had always helped me in difficult situations. Diligently, I deleted his phone number, all such emails, all your pictures, forced my thoughts in straight lines. But now I found myself here, in Milan, and I could not believe it. I had sworn never to return? The world is full of sincere and welcoming places, where you do not feel all that unhealthy living with awareness. Naples, for example, did not love me, indeed even knew who I was, but I do not hide, indeed that was the very beautiful: and when I returned I would have re-embraced by the warmth with which I had accepted the first time. Gustavo
arrived at the station twitching in his athletic ethnic wrapped in rags and tattoos of great value.
- "Cazzofiga dungeon You are here! "She hugged me
causing the fracture of a couple of ribs and a possible internal bleeding.
- "Come on!" I screamed in agony, "so kill me!"
was in great shape my mezzasorella, and liked to be crazy to undergo manipulation of gymnastic demonstration.
What's the difference with me. I, three years younger, opposed his exuberance my body indolent, lazy, imbolsito, slightly paunchy, as old before their time.
letting go, Gustavo shook my face in his biceps.
- "Have you noticed how tough they are?"
- "Blessed is he who fucks you!"
smiled, strangely pleased, and I took a nasty slap from his older brother.
- "Have you brought a nice dress," he asked.
- "What wedding ..." He looked at me
to hold back a retch.
- "I have a new shirt new" sentence, "This will get you one!"
The festival would begin from there to a couple of hours in a house in the suburbs, so Gustavo determined to go to him at once. At home we met her roommate Marianella, a misfit girl like few others in this part of Padania, intent in its state of rest or uniform rectilinear motion, ie with the ball and a stereo cannabis cigarette burning in an ashtray.
- "Hey," he began, "it's little brother safe and sound!"
- "Hello Mary. You seem very well ... "
-" You think so? I feel like shit! "
Marianella nervously straightened his hair and to change the subject, he offered me a cigarette.
The rest of the afternoon slipped away from definitely go down in history: I took a shower, put on a pair of clean jeans and shirt "new new" my brother. It had been almost two hours without Irene had been mentioned, and I began to caress the idea that some efforts had brought out of town. Instead flavor:
"Before we go to pick up Irene. You left without passing through "
There. I would have reviewed. I would see Irene.
to pick who was nearly dark. While Gustav and Marianella came down to greet her with the ritual of kissing couples, I stayed in the car with the absurd excuse that the charge of driving should always be ready to go. Irene jumped up I had no time to watch it.
- "Hello Matt."
- "Hello Irene."
When we arrived, the party had already started without the main invitation. While Gustavo Marianella and Irene and I were heading at the entrance we were confronted for the first time in months.
- "Matt, did you cut your hair?" He asked, "Although there is much that we do not see, then I should not desire it."
- "Yes, I have cut them," smiles, a little 'uncertain whether to accept that relief. I was plagued by doubt and insecurity. Better to remain on the formal? The Studies, etc? Or I could ask you something? It would be prudent to take the road of confidence? And if there's a half hour I had a headache for a simulated run away? If I got drunk and tangled up the annulment? Or if you simply had sabotaged the electrical system of the house party?
That infamous night waiting for me. Once inside
up an excuse and I moved away from the group. The hall was already nearly full, many never before seen faces, some old acquaintance. I recognized a couple of my ex that I am not worthy of a mention. As the entire city, they too had put little to forget my performance.
walked among the scallops with the valiant attempt to break free from my thoughts. Suddenly I was attracted by a very light-skinned girl, who was looking around so ostentatiously aristocrat. Imagined her naked, completely naked, wearing only a monocle by noblewoman as he addressed his audience in perfect aplomb, moving his head with meticulous timing. The idea appealed to me, so I baloccai bit in 'with that image until I was sure that this type of toy could not distract me. The girl in fact had something to himself Irene, perhaps in her arms, her hair or her expression: a history already lived. Over the past two years I had done nothing to find Irene in all the girls I met and so, after the excitement of the first meeting, everything slipped away and phrases of exteriority of circumstance. Pleasantries, only compliments, nothing but compliments. Visceral emotion that never find the path of light. A few minutes later I ran
back to Irene and Marianella. I was convinced that he went straight away from them, they never deviated from my path, yet I had returned to the starting point. The Eternal Return, the anathema of a lesson in philosophy, Irene always had my own version at the beginning and end of my route.
When I finally turned to her I felt weak and my stomach was hesitant. He looked at me curiously.
- "I heard you graduated," he began, "do you think about the specialist?".
looked at her smile. The jersey he wore was embroidered with wide eyes and clung to his shoulders revealing his pale skin. She trembled a little and rubbed occasionally the arms.
- "It's cold here," I said, looking around, "I wonder why they have not turned on the heat a bit 'before."
- "It is not cold, is that this shirt is all bored."
I've always had a weakness for girls and chilled there too, before that he had poisoned my last two years I could not restrain a movement of inner light. Perhaps the first lady of legend, shivering with cold and fatigue had caused in the first hominid those same feelings. Wrapped
of the new sweetness, I began to investigate further my feelings. Since I arrived in Milan, and before that when I received a call from Gustavo, my thoughts had begun to swirl in circular paths. In a moment they had lost the right way to bend the disastrous spiral of the eternal cycle. Was it possible that my health was just the fault of my thoughts? Fault of the narrow nature of the circumstances and not the person who had mentioned? And Irene? It was possible to have purely fraternal feelings for her? It was too late for friendship? There was still hope for that complicity, for a long time before the disaster, there was so much closer?
I heard the story of my hard times could finally come to an end. Perhaps there, right there in the party feared I would be cured of my illness, I recovered once and for all my thoughts clean, I would have gotten rid of feelings that had been obscured for far too long my days. I would return to Naples all new, with a mind free from the past and open to the opportunities of the coming months, many new sunny weather, sea salt and freedom, the freedom that so long I had not heard me.
That night Irene and I danced together for hours, joked, laughed, recalling, critiquing the dancers moves awkwardly, we fucked each other. It was enough of a gentle moment to turn pure and fraternal feelings in me. It was so easy, so natural, exit from the tumult of my thoughts and I explained how I had found my way first.
The festive evening had peaked and I felt as light as ever, when I saw Irene dance wearing goggles that glow Gustavo had lent me.
I remember them very well those sunglasses: blue phosphorescent, unaided, a pair of huge fake glasses, caricature, the kind of pragmatism in the graduation parties. While we danced
Irene asked me
"Now when we meet again?"
replied: "Not anytime soon. Do not plan to return here in Milan, I hate this city, and the country will come back before Christmas. "
marked these simple words on a note of satisfaction, happy the new freedom that I thought that I caused.
But freedom for me was freedom from her. From the thought of his body, his skin.
Of Irene must have realized this.
not answered. Perhaps he had caught my satisfaction in finally feel free, or had experienced in my words a hostile distance. He was silent for a while ', with downcast eyes, and when he turned to me and a light corner had risen in his eyes.
Irene continued to dance. It seemed to me that he had increased the movement of the hips, shoulders and followed an undulating path, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Suddenly approached me and pulled the glasses glow with a slow movement, almost pensive, accompanied by a reverence by odalisque. They approached him and, still dancing, I studied the form. She wrapped her fingers together and uniting the toes with some effort slid his hand inside one of the openings of the glasses. Verify that the plastic adhered to his wrist. He looked at me. Slowly bend the neck sideways to the beat, hands clasped behind his back. She moved her shoulders up and down alternately, slightly quivering lips to the plastic rubbed on the wrists, and even a few moments the other hand was trapped in the second opening of the glasses. With gestures just mentioned, continued to dance, head down, neck slightly bent, his prisoners wrists in a vise.
I felt my will dissolve.
Here, the first woman.
cold. The wrists locked behind his back. All
corresponded.
Suddenly the music and strobe lights disappeared altogether bent to my eyes. The crowd around me melted into a shapeless magma bubbling of colors and smells.
Without my being aware of my right hand was separated from the body. Irene was heading; el'avrebbe taken there, amid the chaos of light and syncopated silence, her hand had stroked his back, his hand would have inspected the holes in his tight shirt, then tear it away in a gesture, the rebels would have raised my hand bra, close nipples, kissed her neck, shoulders, breasts, he felt his abdomen and back arms, breasts, and then a run into nothing, down, down, under her skirt, he would have kissed her under her skirt with the ' rush of nostalgia, grief, ecstasy, despair, hurt, escape and return, and think, imagine her skin, her taste, and what was its expression in the night, as he closed his eyes, overcome by the senses , his wrists still close behind him, lost his eyes, his lips barely raised his breath mild, soft and loud in the warmth of my kiss.
When Irene noticed my hand, I was now only inches from her. He roused himself. With a series of alternating movements of the wrist and freed himself, without ceasing to dance, put on his goggles in the lapel of my shirt.
Everything that had not lasted a few seconds. One moment, the time of a few stanzas of music. A moment that had upset all my soul light, my freedom: everything had been swept away.
I knew that the image of the first woman in history, now with the face of Irene, would torment my nights in the months to come. I knew it, but now I could not help it. The peace of moments before I had left, never to return.
Without waiting for the end of the song and without explanation, Irene planted in the middle of the dance floor and walked out in the parking lot. I got into my car and laughed, then cried, then laughed again and I finally picked up on his knees. To find the rhythm of my breath I held on to my rational thoughts. Bad luck, I thought, it's just a damn bad luck. Under normal circumstances, this scene would be out of place. In a normal situation, without too many worries, go back inside and talk.
But mine is not a normal situation.
Why is there a reason, a reason no possibility of compromise.
The reason is Gustavo, and I and her.
Because what is true is true for me and Gustavo for her.
And if my name is Gustavo mezzasorella should do the same with Irene. Irene, the adopted daughter the family of my father.
The nature of our relationship I thought long and hard. Brooded until exasperation. Basically we are not tied. Basically we do not have the same blood. After all, his true roots are lost in the plains of Eastern Europe. After all who cares.
But at the end of everything, the last stop of my righteous thoughts and reversed, what I can not shake is that I and Irene as "daddy" the same guy. And I see with my own, and his eyes.
Here is the epilogue of the story of the first hominid: I can not fall in the cottage, I can not speak, because I have a right to feel what I feel.
The following months were spent in doubt. I doubted me same social conventions, the nature of our mind of hominids lost, lost in a world planned by others, and I doubted you, Irene. I thought that, after all, she knew and understood all of what was happening in me. So why had intended to poison my nights? Hated me? Or maybe I wanted, as I wanted her? Maybe he just wanted my desire to appenderselo chest like a medal. Or I was being punished for a wrong forgotten.
These questions crept in me for so long I finally lost all interest in the answers. What did it matter? If only Irene had no ulterior motives when he turned his dance on me was a random act, because, simply, Our history did not emerge from the bottom of an old library as one of the first hominid. And, as far as I know, outside of the libraries no events are coordinated. Everything is resolved into chaos. And the ruling of our daily damnations come without faults and without merit. Simply arriving full of misfortune.
looked at the car sinking ever deeper into the mists of Milan. Without realizing it got in the car. In Naples, I thought, to return to Naples, I have to go back to Naples. Immediately. The wheels crunched on the asphalt.
After a few kilometers I stopped on the side of the road. A logical thought had popped into the magma of my feelings I could not escape. I could not go to Naples. I was trapped. And the reason it was so stupid as to cover a laughing my guts knotted. The bags and walking Irene Marianella were in the trunk. She had been placed there before entering the house of the party. If I had left on foot, did not even have the money or a cell phone to call a taxi. And no documents. No, I could not abandon it in the middle of nowhere. I had to go back inside, back bags, explain. Words, questions, looks apprehensive. Discussions, doubts, worries and tensions. I explained that I had to leave. Immediately. Without wasting a second. In Naples. In Crotone. In Reggio Calabria. In Africa. Gustavo would understand. Would understand? You would understand, but I would have ruined his moment, the her party. Its hours of fresh air among many other indignities. My brother had his nights without hope.
No, I could not.
"I have to go back and hide everything," set at loud. Hide everything. Back at the party, dancing, joking, pretending that all is well, hide everything. I wiped my eyes and looked in front of me. The fog had lifted and a moon smezzata appeared in a burst of awareness.
When I returned I found Irene in the house waiting for me leaning against a door jamb. He asked me what I had ever taken and where I had been all this time. Even his eyes betrayed some awareness. I replied:
"I went to get some fresh air"
Everything went as I had resolved and ended.
At the end of the evening as my nerves were liquefied. But I had it done. I had hidden. I landed my shadow in the end I was restless and strangled in the stomach.
When it came time to say good bye I was exhausted, and my memories are mixed with dreamy visions of the following nights. What I do know is that dissimulai very well. I pretended nothing. Pleasantries. Only pleasantries. No gut feelings. A perfect actor. Only when I said hello to Gustavo
a failure.
- "I love Matt," she whispered, "do not know what was important to me that you were here at my party."
- "Even I love you, brother. " I replied, imploding in his arms.
I never called 'brother'. Gustavo
was there that he understood.
- "You are able to lose yourself in thoughts without end," he revealed, "I promise that you will not miss. Promise you'll be fine. Promise. It's important. It is important to me. "
You know, I thought that all this history of hominids and parking has befallen me because in my life have often been cynical about my feelings. Why do I have dressed in zany humor even when I screamed inside, probing the truest part of me. Why, in my underworld of emotions denied, individuals are miserable and vile, worthy only to be abandoned, forgotten, buried in a life of squalor routine and rituals of the weekend. I thought that my instincts were lowly deserved everything that had happened to me. I am a miserable and I expect the fate of the wretched. Gustavo
But that night, begged me not to miss.
And now I know a few things about me.
I know that night in Milan was a good brother.
And I know someday I'll be fine.
I just have to have patience.
And keep breathing.
One breath after another. A second after the other. A heartbeat after the other. One thought after another. A dream after another. One face after another. One night after another.
sunrise, sunset and sunrise and a sunset again after another.
long, dawn like any other but the other immensely brighter, the hominid dissolve the legend of the woman's wrists and tears in the early human history, as the soul torn away, leave it go. _______________________________________________________________________________________
Actually I added the sunset, though, you will agree, there is no other plausible explanation for the explosion of romance I am about to describe, because music was not there, the graffiti had been unsuccessful in their tribal two-dimensional phase, the poetry had not yet been invented, as well as restaurants on the lookout The candlelight, the first kiss, the trip to Venice, condoms and vibrating equipment for the electronics lust.
When the first lady fell at the feet of the first man, was not in his best form. She had no make-up, no mascara, no drops of Chanel Number Five below the ears. On the contrary: he was skinny, malnourished, cold, exhausted, and his long hair flowed to sit in a single block puffoso.
When he found himself on his knees, the poor had to realize that they have enough physical strength to procure a living alone, it was lost in a world without supermarkets. So, to avoid starvation, filthy with mud and a total mess, he had bent the neck to the side, turning, a sign of submission, another inhabitant of the land to the boundaries of time angry.
And the first man looked at her.
The first man looked strange to be in need of attention for a long time, he studied the soft profile silhouetted at sunset, looked at her with curious eyes, as was the curiosity in her virginal state, of a wonder and amazement that is been lost on us, his unworthy nephews, and then came over and touched her hair, and lingered on the curve of the neck, softly, declined to its smooth back. In a gesture of kindness, knelt in front of her, wandering aimlessly for a few moments in your iris unexplored. Then, with resolute gestures, walked around his hips and wrists tied with a delicate force behind his back, squeezed a rope around her shoulders, (the first series of the story) and then take her in his cozy bar in the basement studio of sixty square meters, warm, safe, away from wild animals and danger.
Now, if the first man had done his cock, my life would be a more comfortable journey. For one thing, I would not be here in this car, this car park in the middle of the misty outskirts of Milan, ruminating on my cyclical setbacks and keep a pot belly, which threatens to twist with every breath. And then I would not have spent the last two years in total confusion, emotional confusion that, if I can not reassemble the fragments of my days, sooner or later will eventually engulf.
not get me wrong, the story I just told you that I'm passionate about, and much, and for two reasons: first, because even I, as the first hominid, I'm an incurable romantic, and secondly, because the oppression of the legend sounds sweet in my nights full moon in a roar of sensuality and forgetfulness; the rush of the senses, in the ancestral vision, back in my loins into fragments of blazing light, and I live in moments of rough and then die out in a fit of total perfect harmony. And so, in the primordial light of that first romantic encounter, I find the beginning and the end, the Thunder and silence, fire and ice, and the order and chaos, fury, peace, triumph and the last performance.
This in theory, but the fact is that life takes us elsewhere.
The fact is that one is at that stage as he begins to think that feelings are valued, that their natural environment are the sonnets of the Renaissance, or, in the most debased, San Remo's songs and melodrama to middle class housewives frustrated whereas, without orchestral music as a backdrop and a shot that fades in the shadows, there is, ultimately, much more to add. So this One thinks that what really counts in life is a job that makes you feel active, the football games, pizza on Saturdays, Sundays on the couch, and some occasional traveling companion with whom to exchange impressions of a general nature.
But then, one night, it happens.
One night, without even understand how you're finished, you find yourself alone. In a parking lot. In the middle of the flat in Milan. To hold off your forehead. And you feel that you are tired of what you hear, can not do that anymore. And do not you give peace. And you think you've been a fool to let you drag up to that point. And would you put in the car and go home in Naples, or rather continue further south, Crotone, Reggio Calabria, Tunis and down, down, to the remote grasslands of Africa, where it exists, must exist, please do that there, a beautiful valley where no other human has ever set foot and no other human being will never happen.
But first things first.
I was in Naples, where, unlike the first hominid, I tried with all my strength to get me to my cock. One day I received a call from my mezzasorella Gustavo.
- "You know what's new? I graduated! I've done it! You will not believe, eh? But I did it with only two years out of course!"
- "Congratulations!"
- " Always lapidary eh? Look, if you do not, I invite you to the graduation party! "
- "I can not come!"
- "O beautiful, and why?"
- "I'm busy!"
- "And you have to do?"
- "Do I have my dicks!"
- "I'll see you here in Milan on the fifteenth. I'll hold you a place here at home. Marianella has a sofa bed ..."
- "I will not come!"
- "The Fifteen: write it down ..."
- "Do not I will! "
-" It brought the lenzulola ... "
-" I will not come! "
-" I greet you, see you soon! "
-" I will not come! "
-" Kiss Me "-Click!
- "I will not come ..."
Now is not that I'm a degenerate mezzofratello. But I felt my self-preservation that began, quietly, stroking his temples. Gustavo's party would see, in all likelihood, also Irene. Irene, with whom I had any relationship ended several months earlier, after a long agony of lies and self-inflicted wounds of emptiness.
When I put the phone down, I came to rethink my party. I had graduated in philosophy with a thesis on irrationality Kierkegaard, Schopenhauer, Friedrich Nietzsche. Nietzsche and his "Eternal Return." Behold, the Eternal Return identity, that was my ball philosophy, the circle that joins, the poem repeats the onset, the year ends and begins again, the universe implodes and goes back to expand: to a new beginning that is dispersed in a multitude of possible conclusions, all different, but all the same, in the end, when the era of financial statements lies about us.
Gustavo (I emphasize for the less discerning among you) is my brother better, and is gay. My father planned to leave her first born to be with my mother. Once conceived me, returned to base to adopt a third child. Like myself, my father was a distinguished gentleman with a strong vocation for hyperkinetic stories cyclical.
I wonder if it was not to follow his example that Gustav turned into a gay, conscious choice on the night of December 31, 1999. Since then he had spent some difficult days. At his party, we both knew, I could not miss. I did not have forgiven. Not this time.
arrived in Milan late afternoon on the fifteenth day of a dull, incomprehensible by nature, white clouds, black clouds, sun flashes, cold wind, rain squalls and waves of sweat mixed with sticky smog. God how I hated that city. I had spent two years I had loved and she had paid a compassionate embrace, and then forget about me as soon as circumstances I had moved away. Now I take back with arrogance and strangers greet me offhand that sounded like an insult. There are different ways to forget things and people. Irene I had forgotten for months, driven by disgust of myself, but comforted by a determination that the granite in the past had always helped me in difficult situations. Diligently, I deleted his phone number, all such emails, all your pictures, forced my thoughts in straight lines. But now I found myself here, in Milan, and I could not believe it. I had sworn never to return? The world is full of sincere and welcoming places, where you do not feel all that unhealthy living with awareness. Naples, for example, did not love me, indeed even knew who I was, but I do not hide, indeed that was the very beautiful: and when I returned I would have re-embraced by the warmth with which I had accepted the first time. Gustavo
arrived at the station twitching in his athletic ethnic wrapped in rags and tattoos of great value.
- "Cazzofiga dungeon You are here! "She hugged me
causing the fracture of a couple of ribs and a possible internal bleeding.
- "Come on!" I screamed in agony, "so kill me!"
was in great shape my mezzasorella, and liked to be crazy to undergo manipulation of gymnastic demonstration.
What's the difference with me. I, three years younger, opposed his exuberance my body indolent, lazy, imbolsito, slightly paunchy, as old before their time.
letting go, Gustavo shook my face in his biceps.
- "Have you noticed how tough they are?"
- "Blessed is he who fucks you!"
smiled, strangely pleased, and I took a nasty slap from his older brother.
- "Have you brought a nice dress," he asked.
- "What wedding ..." He looked at me
to hold back a retch.
- "I have a new shirt new" sentence, "This will get you one!"
The festival would begin from there to a couple of hours in a house in the suburbs, so Gustavo determined to go to him at once. At home we met her roommate Marianella, a misfit girl like few others in this part of Padania, intent in its state of rest or uniform rectilinear motion, ie with the ball and a stereo cannabis cigarette burning in an ashtray.
- "Hey," he began, "it's little brother safe and sound!"
- "Hello Mary. You seem very well ... "
-" You think so? I feel like shit! "
Marianella nervously straightened his hair and to change the subject, he offered me a cigarette.
The rest of the afternoon slipped away from definitely go down in history: I took a shower, put on a pair of clean jeans and shirt "new new" my brother. It had been almost two hours without Irene had been mentioned, and I began to caress the idea that some efforts had brought out of town. Instead flavor:
"Before we go to pick up Irene. You left without passing through "
There. I would have reviewed. I would see Irene.
to pick who was nearly dark. While Gustav and Marianella came down to greet her with the ritual of kissing couples, I stayed in the car with the absurd excuse that the charge of driving should always be ready to go. Irene jumped up I had no time to watch it.
- "Hello Matt."
- "Hello Irene."
When we arrived, the party had already started without the main invitation. While Gustavo Marianella and Irene and I were heading at the entrance we were confronted for the first time in months.
- "Matt, did you cut your hair?" He asked, "Although there is much that we do not see, then I should not desire it."
- "Yes, I have cut them," smiles, a little 'uncertain whether to accept that relief. I was plagued by doubt and insecurity. Better to remain on the formal? The Studies, etc? Or I could ask you something? It would be prudent to take the road of confidence? And if there's a half hour I had a headache for a simulated run away? If I got drunk and tangled up the annulment? Or if you simply had sabotaged the electrical system of the house party?
That infamous night waiting for me. Once inside
up an excuse and I moved away from the group. The hall was already nearly full, many never before seen faces, some old acquaintance. I recognized a couple of my ex that I am not worthy of a mention. As the entire city, they too had put little to forget my performance.
walked among the scallops with the valiant attempt to break free from my thoughts. Suddenly I was attracted by a very light-skinned girl, who was looking around so ostentatiously aristocrat. Imagined her naked, completely naked, wearing only a monocle by noblewoman as he addressed his audience in perfect aplomb, moving his head with meticulous timing. The idea appealed to me, so I baloccai bit in 'with that image until I was sure that this type of toy could not distract me. The girl in fact had something to himself Irene, perhaps in her arms, her hair or her expression: a history already lived. Over the past two years I had done nothing to find Irene in all the girls I met and so, after the excitement of the first meeting, everything slipped away and phrases of exteriority of circumstance. Pleasantries, only compliments, nothing but compliments. Visceral emotion that never find the path of light. A few minutes later I ran
back to Irene and Marianella. I was convinced that he went straight away from them, they never deviated from my path, yet I had returned to the starting point. The Eternal Return, the anathema of a lesson in philosophy, Irene always had my own version at the beginning and end of my route.
When I finally turned to her I felt weak and my stomach was hesitant. He looked at me curiously.
- "I heard you graduated," he began, "do you think about the specialist?".
looked at her smile. The jersey he wore was embroidered with wide eyes and clung to his shoulders revealing his pale skin. She trembled a little and rubbed occasionally the arms.
- "It's cold here," I said, looking around, "I wonder why they have not turned on the heat a bit 'before."
- "It is not cold, is that this shirt is all bored."
I've always had a weakness for girls and chilled there too, before that he had poisoned my last two years I could not restrain a movement of inner light. Perhaps the first lady of legend, shivering with cold and fatigue had caused in the first hominid those same feelings. Wrapped
of the new sweetness, I began to investigate further my feelings. Since I arrived in Milan, and before that when I received a call from Gustavo, my thoughts had begun to swirl in circular paths. In a moment they had lost the right way to bend the disastrous spiral of the eternal cycle. Was it possible that my health was just the fault of my thoughts? Fault of the narrow nature of the circumstances and not the person who had mentioned? And Irene? It was possible to have purely fraternal feelings for her? It was too late for friendship? There was still hope for that complicity, for a long time before the disaster, there was so much closer?
I heard the story of my hard times could finally come to an end. Perhaps there, right there in the party feared I would be cured of my illness, I recovered once and for all my thoughts clean, I would have gotten rid of feelings that had been obscured for far too long my days. I would return to Naples all new, with a mind free from the past and open to the opportunities of the coming months, many new sunny weather, sea salt and freedom, the freedom that so long I had not heard me.
That night Irene and I danced together for hours, joked, laughed, recalling, critiquing the dancers moves awkwardly, we fucked each other. It was enough of a gentle moment to turn pure and fraternal feelings in me. It was so easy, so natural, exit from the tumult of my thoughts and I explained how I had found my way first.
The festive evening had peaked and I felt as light as ever, when I saw Irene dance wearing goggles that glow Gustavo had lent me.
I remember them very well those sunglasses: blue phosphorescent, unaided, a pair of huge fake glasses, caricature, the kind of pragmatism in the graduation parties. While we danced
Irene asked me
"Now when we meet again?"
replied: "Not anytime soon. Do not plan to return here in Milan, I hate this city, and the country will come back before Christmas. "
marked these simple words on a note of satisfaction, happy the new freedom that I thought that I caused.
But freedom for me was freedom from her. From the thought of his body, his skin.
Of Irene must have realized this.
not answered. Perhaps he had caught my satisfaction in finally feel free, or had experienced in my words a hostile distance. He was silent for a while ', with downcast eyes, and when he turned to me and a light corner had risen in his eyes.
Irene continued to dance. It seemed to me that he had increased the movement of the hips, shoulders and followed an undulating path, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Suddenly approached me and pulled the glasses glow with a slow movement, almost pensive, accompanied by a reverence by odalisque. They approached him and, still dancing, I studied the form. She wrapped her fingers together and uniting the toes with some effort slid his hand inside one of the openings of the glasses. Verify that the plastic adhered to his wrist. He looked at me. Slowly bend the neck sideways to the beat, hands clasped behind his back. She moved her shoulders up and down alternately, slightly quivering lips to the plastic rubbed on the wrists, and even a few moments the other hand was trapped in the second opening of the glasses. With gestures just mentioned, continued to dance, head down, neck slightly bent, his prisoners wrists in a vise.
I felt my will dissolve.
Here, the first woman.
cold. The wrists locked behind his back. All
corresponded.
Suddenly the music and strobe lights disappeared altogether bent to my eyes. The crowd around me melted into a shapeless magma bubbling of colors and smells.
Without my being aware of my right hand was separated from the body. Irene was heading; el'avrebbe taken there, amid the chaos of light and syncopated silence, her hand had stroked his back, his hand would have inspected the holes in his tight shirt, then tear it away in a gesture, the rebels would have raised my hand bra, close nipples, kissed her neck, shoulders, breasts, he felt his abdomen and back arms, breasts, and then a run into nothing, down, down, under her skirt, he would have kissed her under her skirt with the ' rush of nostalgia, grief, ecstasy, despair, hurt, escape and return, and think, imagine her skin, her taste, and what was its expression in the night, as he closed his eyes, overcome by the senses , his wrists still close behind him, lost his eyes, his lips barely raised his breath mild, soft and loud in the warmth of my kiss.
When Irene noticed my hand, I was now only inches from her. He roused himself. With a series of alternating movements of the wrist and freed himself, without ceasing to dance, put on his goggles in the lapel of my shirt.
Everything that had not lasted a few seconds. One moment, the time of a few stanzas of music. A moment that had upset all my soul light, my freedom: everything had been swept away.
I knew that the image of the first woman in history, now with the face of Irene, would torment my nights in the months to come. I knew it, but now I could not help it. The peace of moments before I had left, never to return.
Without waiting for the end of the song and without explanation, Irene planted in the middle of the dance floor and walked out in the parking lot. I got into my car and laughed, then cried, then laughed again and I finally picked up on his knees. To find the rhythm of my breath I held on to my rational thoughts. Bad luck, I thought, it's just a damn bad luck. Under normal circumstances, this scene would be out of place. In a normal situation, without too many worries, go back inside and talk.
But mine is not a normal situation.
Why is there a reason, a reason no possibility of compromise.
The reason is Gustavo, and I and her.
Because what is true is true for me and Gustavo for her.
And if my name is Gustavo mezzasorella should do the same with Irene. Irene, the adopted daughter the family of my father.
The nature of our relationship I thought long and hard. Brooded until exasperation. Basically we are not tied. Basically we do not have the same blood. After all, his true roots are lost in the plains of Eastern Europe. After all who cares.
But at the end of everything, the last stop of my righteous thoughts and reversed, what I can not shake is that I and Irene as "daddy" the same guy. And I see with my own, and his eyes.
Here is the epilogue of the story of the first hominid: I can not fall in the cottage, I can not speak, because I have a right to feel what I feel.
The following months were spent in doubt. I doubted me same social conventions, the nature of our mind of hominids lost, lost in a world planned by others, and I doubted you, Irene. I thought that, after all, she knew and understood all of what was happening in me. So why had intended to poison my nights? Hated me? Or maybe I wanted, as I wanted her? Maybe he just wanted my desire to appenderselo chest like a medal. Or I was being punished for a wrong forgotten.
These questions crept in me for so long I finally lost all interest in the answers. What did it matter? If only Irene had no ulterior motives when he turned his dance on me was a random act, because, simply, Our history did not emerge from the bottom of an old library as one of the first hominid. And, as far as I know, outside of the libraries no events are coordinated. Everything is resolved into chaos. And the ruling of our daily damnations come without faults and without merit. Simply arriving full of misfortune.
looked at the car sinking ever deeper into the mists of Milan. Without realizing it got in the car. In Naples, I thought, to return to Naples, I have to go back to Naples. Immediately. The wheels crunched on the asphalt.
After a few kilometers I stopped on the side of the road. A logical thought had popped into the magma of my feelings I could not escape. I could not go to Naples. I was trapped. And the reason it was so stupid as to cover a laughing my guts knotted. The bags and walking Irene Marianella were in the trunk. She had been placed there before entering the house of the party. If I had left on foot, did not even have the money or a cell phone to call a taxi. And no documents. No, I could not abandon it in the middle of nowhere. I had to go back inside, back bags, explain. Words, questions, looks apprehensive. Discussions, doubts, worries and tensions. I explained that I had to leave. Immediately. Without wasting a second. In Naples. In Crotone. In Reggio Calabria. In Africa. Gustavo would understand. Would understand? You would understand, but I would have ruined his moment, the her party. Its hours of fresh air among many other indignities. My brother had his nights without hope.
No, I could not.
"I have to go back and hide everything," set at loud. Hide everything. Back at the party, dancing, joking, pretending that all is well, hide everything. I wiped my eyes and looked in front of me. The fog had lifted and a moon smezzata appeared in a burst of awareness.
When I returned I found Irene in the house waiting for me leaning against a door jamb. He asked me what I had ever taken and where I had been all this time. Even his eyes betrayed some awareness. I replied:
"I went to get some fresh air"
Everything went as I had resolved and ended.
At the end of the evening as my nerves were liquefied. But I had it done. I had hidden. I landed my shadow in the end I was restless and strangled in the stomach.
When it came time to say good bye I was exhausted, and my memories are mixed with dreamy visions of the following nights. What I do know is that dissimulai very well. I pretended nothing. Pleasantries. Only pleasantries. No gut feelings. A perfect actor. Only when I said hello to Gustavo
a failure.
- "I love Matt," she whispered, "do not know what was important to me that you were here at my party."
- "Even I love you, brother. " I replied, imploding in his arms.
I never called 'brother'. Gustavo
was there that he understood.
- "You are able to lose yourself in thoughts without end," he revealed, "I promise that you will not miss. Promise you'll be fine. Promise. It's important. It is important to me. "
You know, I thought that all this history of hominids and parking has befallen me because in my life have often been cynical about my feelings. Why do I have dressed in zany humor even when I screamed inside, probing the truest part of me. Why, in my underworld of emotions denied, individuals are miserable and vile, worthy only to be abandoned, forgotten, buried in a life of squalor routine and rituals of the weekend. I thought that my instincts were lowly deserved everything that had happened to me. I am a miserable and I expect the fate of the wretched. Gustavo
But that night, begged me not to miss.
And now I know a few things about me.
I know that night in Milan was a good brother.
And I know someday I'll be fine.
I just have to have patience.
And keep breathing.
One breath after another. A second after the other. A heartbeat after the other. One thought after another. A dream after another. One face after another. One night after another.
sunrise, sunset and sunrise and a sunset again after another.
long, dawn like any other but the other immensely brighter, the hominid dissolve the legend of the woman's wrists and tears in the early human history, as the soul torn away, leave it go. _______________________________________________________________________________________
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