Saint Spirit

by Quelli di ZEd

accompanied by the lavish joy of its head that rambled, yes, but of joy and eloquent esondava of thanks toward whoever or anything, toward himself and I pour the austere gravity that nailed him/it to the ground braking his risky hovering motion. With renewed safety it got up from earth. It was himself, completely himself. It noticed with extreme joy that its body was such and what to as you/he/she had left him before falling dormant on that accursed couch. It was still Saint Black, an undertaker of the city more polluted and darkeggiante of Italy, his/her accursed Milan. It was in the villa Monteghini, where by now it resided from more than three years beside the most villainous and scheming woman that had ever known, the eccentric countess Dafne Monteghini. It opened wide the door of the immense saloon where you/he/she had absolutely been once irresponsible for for him indeterminable. As soon as it crossed the long corridors of the stately house, leaning out himself/herself/itself of time in time in the whole myriad of rooms that composed the vastness of that sumptuous palace, his/her memory it aroused him reconstructing the complete picture of that instants. When its look detained him on a severe clock to pendulum, thoughtful in the darkest angle in a room, in the patient attended to articulate with its deep voice the salient points of the temporal life of the human beings, it realized to now have slept perhaps no more than a quarter of. You very clearly remembered his/her return to house toward the five. You/he/she had undertaken that insane performance with the beautiful countess and then, before collapsing dormant beside that extraneous, candid young girl, had cast the last drowsy glance to the hands of the clock marking the five and quarantacinque. Now the implacable precision of the severe car storm marked you are her in point. You/they would be been able to be you are also her of a whatever day distant months or also years from his/her last state of vigil in that dimension, but by now, in his/her cuor, he/she knew that truth was all contained in the secret and mysterious brevity of as soon as fifteen minutes.

  A whole life can have passed drowned in the piattume and then incappare in the ineluctable fatality of a minute solo to see his/her own upside-down life toward the most paradisiacal rebirth or toward the quickest, deadly conclusion. A love at first sight, a genial intuition to the apex of a devoted life totally to an extreme study, to guess a fortunate combination of numbers, incappare in he who will be our patron or our assassin, to skid for shattering with his/her own auto, to be reached by a bullet, the apex of an intense emotion to be betrayed to from our same heart. Of how much second have need each of these events to make to inexorably turn our life?

  Now it more ever had need to know where Dafne was. The instinct immediately brought him/it on the ramp of marmoreal staircases that conducted to the superior plan, for then to fork the long corridor and to find really in front of the room from night of the countess. Crossed the whole journey to an insane speed, almost pits the same gravity to drag him/it in that direction, beyond his/her same wish. The door was closed to key, but perhaps he/she already knew him/it that you/he/she would have had to force that entry. With his enormous amazement realized at that time only to already have among the hands an ax. The obvious consequence was that to shatter to suon of hits that wooden obstacle to its thirst to know. The room was perfectly in order, there was no anybody trace of Dafne that made to suppose at least one recent passage of his. It started confusedly rummaging in the enormous chest of drawers in front of the imposing bed to canopy, then in the various drawers of the piece of furniture from toilet, among thousand cosmetic, creams, vials of perfume of whatever dimension, from the most varied colors. It finally came to upset on the bed the content of the comodinis and among all the endless objects he/she immediately jumped to his eye an old photo in black and white. The takings holding her/it hold to the angles with everybody and two the hands, as you/he/she had been as a precious delicate object, and it approached him to the face staring at her/it for endless seconds to a palm from the nose. That young, with in arm a baby of perhaps three years, was him, was the archer that had disclosed him the whole one defrauds of that fiabescos I husk that had dreamt! The lines of the baby, were so family then. His/her great pointed black eyes slightly to the sides, those small rosy lips that precociously they preannounced already the prosperous fleshness of which would be composed from adult, the nasino to the insù and that so pale complexion to be seemed transparent. Dafne! It immediately turned the photo. There was a sentence written with a beautiful handwriting in the cursive typical of who has always and only writing with pen and calamaio.

  "To my precious daughter, that my soul will always protect, wherever you are found. Your dad, Giuliano."

  Then had been the father of Dafne together with the dead husband to have disclosed him the mystery of that hermetic I travel!

  Now Saint wondered if those figures in its dream represented only one imagination of his or if the two dead persons had really come until in its psyche to save him/it from that abyss, interrupting the ineluctable fate to which went toward. Who knows then if you/they were really saving him/it or they were intents to complete another it totally operates still to him unknown. It allowed to fall in earth the old photo and while it clearly estranged from his/her hand riaffiorava in his/her head the memory of the astral trip in which you/he/she had known the history of Giuliano. In that instant it clearly saw the image of the young bohemien again, before intent to conquer the fascinating Jasmine, then the beautiful Katrine and subsequently become father, to take takes care of him of the favorite his/her Dafne. It had the clean impression to be him discovery in the context of an ancient Greek tragedy, where every character had a well defined role and fully accepted its destiny and the total abnegation of the really me. He stayed the only solitary to be to fight with all of his/her strengths against a merciless fate, without however of it to ever come to head. Was something to definitely lose us the head! The only his/her desire, that also coincided with its most impelling need, was that of riabbracciare its countess, to be able to pour again the whole experience of its Spirit to its feet, to finally seek the peace and her pardon for its greatest error, that not to have her/it narrow estate among the braccias since the first instant, not allowing to any of hands him her street. It didn't interest him more to know every backstage of that truth, that more he disclosed and more it seemed twisted and sibylline. It seemed to play with an endless matrioska. To the inside us n'era always another, but the dimensions of the dolls didn't decrease, rather they seemed terribly to magnify who knows him for what diabolic sorcery.

  "Dafne!he/she called " her/it attending in vain her answer.

  You laid down then on the bed and among those perfumed sheets it imperceptibly warned the divine aroma of his/her dame. The desperation seemed not to find peace in its defeated mind. Among the smokes of that incessant pain that it darkened his/her sad limbs it reappeared the image of the naked young girl, abandoned of shoulders on the couch. It tiredly got up from that bed soaked with tears and it dragged him following the invisible echo of that memory. After a few minutes it again had before that red couch where the young girl had nearly been immovable in the same position. It drew near to her and it seated on the edge of the couch, beside his/her back, it lowered the head and it greedily inhaled the young fragrances that that body emanated. They were so family. Gently it turned the shoulders of the young girl to observe her/it of forehead. Was it true what he/she saw? The life around him kept on appearing as a horrendous game made around of coincidences and takings. It was not really possible what he/she saw. Was the most astute I deceive. at least the pious ones succeeded. within that minute! Had been everything one deception, therefore not being is us some possibility for the truth not to even reveal for an instant, equivaleva to admit that the same deception was the most incontestable reality of its existence! You/he/she would never have wanted to believe us in his/her cuor, yet still that dormant young girl was Sabrina. Then of sudden her eyes opened striking by lightning him/it with a disorientated look and frightened. The young girl he threw on hit from the couch pushing Saint away from her.


  "Oh my God! And you who would be?"

  Just in that breaker she realized to be naked, as after all it was also it the occultist, parish priest absolutely not being himself/herself/itself to dress again him after his/her awakening. The girl, with an immense effort, the succession of the events remembered before an excessive numbness brought her/it to collapse dormant. Two hours of insane love you/he/she had passed saffico with the beautiful countess Monteghini. Had been a dream! That fascinating woman was interested in the art of his/her pictures and you/he/she had invited her to his/her house to show her his/her one man show gallery of art and to share their identical love for the figurative art. Then you/he/she was found again to recite in that insane game together with the countess, incited and plagiarized by the refined person ability of seduction of Dafne. The folly you/they were loved to on that regal red couch sinned up to that the girl had not fainted, won by to like.

  Who was that man? he/she wondered. It warned the fear to have who knows perhaps salesclerk how