Bad Invisible Teachers

by Quelli di ZEd

  Chapter 3.

  There is an obsession all human for that giochinis that repeat to the endless one the same reality imprisoned in herself as the Russian matrioskes or the Chinese boxes. You open one of them and within to attend is you of it another. A jail by the other, a wrap for wraps; the death of the escape.

  The men love closing him in the cage: not only in a cage but in a cage already caged by another, that is in turn in the cage in a greater cage.

  You goes out of the cage of the maternal uterus to end in that some crib, and footstep I pass he doesn't do anything else other than to reach the final cage, of which you/they become wealthy worms and becchini.

  Nobody escapes: as the ants in a reliquary of glass, that you/they have the illusion of the liberty but that they don't escape the cruel eye of the naturalist that there has confined her.

  There are cages grigie, narrow, disgusting, but they are also there gilded, comforting and comforting cages. One of these are the family.

  You is born in family, he dies in family. You goes out of a family to enter another, simply changing of role. Fathers and husbands, wives and mothers, children and daughters, brothers and sisters. A circle, neither vicious neither virtuous, a circle as the planet on which we live, before and it completes immense cage where limits will extinguish there.

  To give the good example, the Child of the Head has had a family a Sacred Family.

  But what is him missed, they have been his/her parents. That asexual birth, with a fatherly figure cut out out to the last moment to save the appearances, you/he/she has cancelled every trace of the to procreate, to produce. Of the genitoreses, in short.

  For my children I have thought about doing the contrary one: you/they have had two parents but I have tried to free them, for how much possible could be in this world, from the tyranny of the family.

  Lovers of the life are grown, of the people, of the friends, of his/her/their relatives, from all receiving and to all giving. They are grown free from the devotion it plans but never orphan. Children of a free and farsighted love. But above all, children of the most perfect sex.

  And most perfect sex is what becomes art, that the instant of his lives to be revealed himself/herself/themselves and with it it dies. As the music, the most sublime of the arts, that it fades away to die of his/her present.

  They knew by chance, the parents of Angel and Helen.

  Or, for better saying, the devil had put us the tail.

  I adored the intelligence of that woman, Adele Sastri, and from a long time I followed with interest of it the career. Skilled journalist, wrote of chronicle and sport for one of the so many newspapers of left been born in the years' 70.

  You/he/she had landed you against every possible prognostication, deprived as it was of the specific requisite democrats and antifascist in demand in that years.

  You/he/she had not made the Sessantotto season that coincides with his/her most disengaged puberty. You/he/she had gone to school from the nuns orsoline, that, apart the usual calumnies upset on the undersigned you/they have had the merit to hold since that time out of their doors the velleity of the shaven ones, convinced to be able to not only manage from itself every organ of his/her own body but also the mechanisms of government of the whole world. University, has been devoured then in the four anticipated years, without never floating in the limbo of the political vote. It dared therefore to present himself/herself/themselves so in editing, with a degree in Italian literature achieved with praise, whose thesis on the usual Dante was not able certain to meet the favor of the militant editors, and with the worse aggravating circumstance that an intellectual of left could exhibit: Adele was beautiful. Bella and female, not feminist. The uterus knew very well as to manage him/it without howling him/it, also because his was an article of merit. And you/he/she had understood that the being considered object of pleasure always coincided with an exponential pleasure.

  Who knows thing had thought the head editor seeing her/it to him before with an elegant skirt, a black blouse of satin, the taken care of makeup and the stretched hair. The fate had wanted that on the desk you/they had come first the bright articles and the press releases from her compiled in University for the student movements: thanks to a curious accondiscendenza, Adele turned his/her intellectual separation into neophyte enthusiasm. It seemed embodied Lenin, ready to climb himself/herself/themselves and to sacrifice himself/herself/themselves on the barricades, when you/he/she was learning only instead a language, it appropriated as a paguro of a hull, ready to leave him/it when you/he/she had considered him/it obsolete.

  The editor didn't even try to bring in bed her, so much distrusted that incomprehensible, austere beauty; you/he/she put on a trial basis her, relegating her/it in chronicle, and of you/he/she didn't move anymore there her.

  A couple of years after the assumption, the Olympiads in Moscow offered the occasion to the newspaper to celebrate the heaven of the proletariat and to her the possibility to escape for some. The sport was his/her competence, the chronicle also. It was therefore her to follow for the newspaper the 1980 Games, a historical edition, less sad than that of Monk but also always conditioned by the dark plots of the politics. A beautiful piece of world, for opposite reasons, it didn't accept the invitation of the Soviet imperialist, guilty to have invaded Afghanistan: USA, Canada, West Germany, Japan, China and other sixty countries remained home. Italy dorotea limited him not to send the athletes that belonged to the sporting groups of the armed forces and it unthread using the flag of the Cones in substitution of that national. They missed the humming swarms of carnivorous bugs to make proud the highest Dante for that pantomime of the mass in shore to Acheronte.

  In this meeting of worlds and men, Adele stirred with boldness. It appreciated the capital of the communism to be him pleasant sort, to have striven to hide his/her own baseness and his/her own intrigues to the guests; it was so hypocritically a western mannerism that found him/it adorable.

  Between a competition and the other, between an article and an interview, there was also time to stay alone. It is in one of that moments, when to listen to his/her own heart opens wide the doors of the supplest humanity, I have struck.

  Adele is sat in a cafe of the Olympic village, in front of a glass by now empty, with in hand a block of the notes.

  Accomplice a community that ignored her/it, one splendid Viking it approached her as appearing from the nothing. It called Glenn and it was a swimmer of the national Swede. In hand two tall full glasses of a cocktail color ruby, shining of unpredictable reflexes. He didn't even know what there pits inside: it was a gift of that imp of the waiter, to which you/he/she had asked what you/he/she would have been able to offer to the marvelous young girl sat apart. A waiter that, since the aspect, it was understood it didn't have peer in the field of the seduction, that light of sardonic separation tried him/it in the eyes and a beauty able to annihilate tastes and tendencies of whoever. Sinned that that waiter would not have more it seen again. Anybody, in reality, you/he/she would have seen anymore it again, neither, curiously, it seemed anybody you/he/she had seen before never it, when the following day the athlete had asked of him to the personnel to thank him/it for the appropriate intruglio.

  Glenn sat him to the table without saying a word with a boldness welcomed without hesitations by the young Italian.

  You scrutinized him/it in face, he/she read in his/her blue eyes a flattering and exciting interest. You followed with the obliging look the fold of the clear chestnut lock, that went down from the forehead until almost to cover the left eye and it arrested him on the neck to the graven attack of the deltoide. The rest of the trained physicist attended only to free himself/herself/themselves some acrylic tutaccia.

  Glenn spoke to an enviable Italian: it told his/her history, of as the Italian mother you/he/she had emigrated in Sweden and him it was in love, reciprocated, of his/her employer, a refreshing of Uppsala, that had begun to work as waiter to sustain himself/herself/t
hemselves to the studies of engineering but that well soon you/he/she had been able to notice the restaurant forgetting himself/herself/itself of calculations useless infinitesimalmente starting to count concrete money.

  They didn't speak very that evening, there was no time of it. They greedily drank the liquid jewel, seduced by his/her spellbound aspect, from his/her chameleonic taste; every sip recalled in itself of it thousand others, upsetting and sinful. The two young people already went crazy from the desire.

  Adele slept alone in room: it was not difficult to decide in that direction to move the footsteps once abandoned the cafe. They opened wide the door and they already started to undress himself/herself/themselves.

  They were them, the luciferinis parents, those people that didn't owe even to do I strive him/it to say" yes", since the impoverished angel didn't trouble him to bring an useless announcement: they wanted what I wanted, for symbiosis of thoughts and aspirations, soaked with wish and power, of power and action, of impure action in impure action. A fact, pure and simple, to which the two young people were predestinate, conceived both bottom the sign of the most vivid and quickening original sin.

  Here is the spotted conception, human, so much human; a rivulet of devastante to like conceived.

  Nothing in contrary to the fertilization eterologa but the routine adopted for the blessed virgin it didn't seem me that best to send in the world my beloved; and rather than to trouble the holy spirit, resorts to the spirit, pure and simple: turbid, lubricating, intoxicating liquid that already enriched of myself her prolific harvest of seeds of the Viking one. Jailbird was the glass and who filled him/it.

  They loved for the whole period of the Olympiads; they were loved subsequently, up to the end in the summer.

  Then she discovered to attend. And the two was loved even more.

  But they were loved with criterion and with respect. Respect for him same first of all. Respect for the issue. Respect for their worlds.

  Then they separated him. And later they gathered him. Then they separated him and they gathered again him. Without never stopping loving him.

  Glenn continued around in the agonismo for the world, Adele debated him between his/her own intellectual independence and the compulsory servitude to the ideology of the newspaper, embroidering precious acrobatics of hypocrisies in form of articles. They met when they were able, when they wanted, mainly in Italy, near the house of the missed in-laws.

  From the ninth month they remained together with Milan.

  And when Helen and Angel went out of the darkness to attend two enthusiastic parents they found them, four grandparent adoranti, two simpaticissimis Swedish uncles, so many friends that did to competition to cuddle the new ones small arrivals. And two worlds to be known, to appreciate and to contest, in which to always grow equal and always different.

  From father, the icy kingdom of the efficiency and the suicides, from mother, I him/it amateurish of the Mediterranean cuorcontentis.

  They lived for three years in Italy, then two in Sweden, then again in Italy, and Sweden welcomed them every qual it turns they desired to run away from the Belpaese. His/her parents, impassioned lovers, were always near, even if not always present.

  And nostalgia blew on the fires of their hearts, maintaining the flame of the love lives, of the purest love, what feeds him some healthy absences. Since the love is illusion, alive of the deceptions that we do to ourselves, it deforms the reality and it estranges him/it from our eyes: for this it is the more noble of the feelings, since it refuses the perversions of the world. Put in the cage, it withers, it is a butterfly that becomes caterpillar: habit, necessity, affection. When it doesn't degenerate in separation, malice, hate.

  This way they grew my favorite children, in wisdom and age, surprising himself/herself/itself every day of new surprises, enriching himself/herself/itself of new meetings, learning to welcome the new one, the different one, the unexpected one.

  Since I have given them two parents, not a family.

  And of these fortunes should be able to enjoy everybody.