6. Therapy of bump.
Also the Sunday I/you/they have remained home. I have spent the whole weekend between bed and couch, feeding me of affected and frozen and looking as much, too television. The beard is grown me with an unusual speed, so much that, if I/you had made to spend a few other days without shaving me, I would have become equal to Tom Hanks in Cast Away.
My mother has called Sunday morning to ask me if Chiara and I wanted to have lunch from them: I have not told her nothing, but I have declined the invitation saying her that we had decided to go to the outlet of Serravalle and that we would have departed before lunch.
There has never been to Serravalle, however it is my preferred excuse.
When they invite me to do something that really it doesn't suit me I always say:
«I regret so much but I go to Serravalle for purchases.» Then if someone asks me «Thing you have taken to Serravalle?» I answer that «I have not found anything, all garbage.»
I always pass for the fool that he makes centocinquanta kilometers not to buy anything but I don't care, it is an excuse that holds up.
You/he/she has also called Chicken Sunday to ask if Chiara went soon away and we could eat us a pizza together us two. You/he/she has also spoken of a rental convenient camper, a place where you/he/she had bought the trailer one colleague of his and where sure could be to put us in good hands.
Chicken hips I have not said anything, it didn't suit me to tell nothing anybody.
Generally I am not a reserved person but in that occasion I desired mend me from the whole social fabric that I had around. I saw my house as a cave and I felt me sure as more I was away from other people's opinions. I have explained to Chicken that I was not able, without justifying me, and I have given him white paper for the rental of the mean telling him that, if for him it was all right, it was all right for everybody. The stamp of voice of Chicken has lost enthusiasm, but you/he/she has not made particular comments and you/he/she has not wanted to know other.
There are some things that should never be done when he goes out of a history: I have done her everybody.
A vein of masochism that I bring for a long time me inside, sustained the conviction that if I/you had suffered of ugly I would immediately have been before better. I have hoped of" to recover" the first possible and for the therapy I have turned to the" Doctor Musica" selecting from the musical file the best in my possession for the instigation to the suicide.
At four o'clock in the afternoon I observed, well prepared on the table of the room, all the photos with Chiara, listening to Massimo Ranieri in" to Lose the love": a combo devastante.
I have passed in the stereo different songs that I considered therapeuticses and it didn't surprise me the facility that I had in to find proper titles for my state of mind, rather I was delighted me to consider, how much the end of a love story, pits common inspiration for different authors at times.
Taken by the whole emotionalism that I found in the music, the computer I have put to and I have tried to write something.
By now they were months that I wrote, I almost made him/it every evening.
I began a page of a story that spoke of Africa or of a group of friends or a barkeeper of district, I framed the ambientazione, I delineated the characters and the interlacement that their actions would have created, I began the layout with a sentence that for some motive it seemed me more proper than others, I went on a pezzettino and... I cancelled. Considered something are not more never me that an amateur of the gesture; I believed whether to write pits something poetic, besides being a formidable model of auto-analysis. I minded not having trace some of so many small constructions done with the letters, but it thrilled me the idea that every time departing from a white sheet on the screen, I would have had endless possibilities to create again something.
Besides to already take back with devotion a run initiate would have meant to exclude others of it and you/he/she would have brought me to the writing it approves how I hock, promise, while I wanted to write only for escaping some.
I had reached even the point to write us on this thing: it disperses her, the history of a novelist that he/she works every night and it cancels every morning Penelope of a book that he/she will never read.
A character of the kind yes that I would do him/it commit suicide.
That Sunday afternoon I have written so much and I have not written anything, as usual. While I was writing, of the irony of Mark I have remembered that Hut called me and that indeed he/she thought perhaps that I would never have written anything. It didn't bother me the idea that Mark considered me incapable to bring defeasible something, rather you/he/she dried me to be so aware than you/he/she was right. However after having reread the beginning of a history that spoke of a city where people are unhappy because you/he/she cannot die, I have cancelled only the everything with determination with a finger and I/you/they are gone out on the balcony to smoke.
The selected music still filled the apartment and covered the foundation of crickets in summer and of heat that arrived from the road. A song described better than others the end of the run, the drift of the trip that we had made Chiara and I. I have listened to her different times following and later, going in bed as a pensioner to seven o'clock in the evening, I considered to the words of the text and I felt me some lightest.
It chooses us to do us him some in company, this trip in which is not crossed again by the by.
At 20.00 o'clock I already slept.
Monday now wakes up to the usual one to go to the usual job and, as a curse, has discovered that that would have been the classical day" Malpredi."
It was a thing that we had invented Mark and I to the high school: the days" Malpredi" they were for us the days sfigate, those that, where you move you you move you, you make a cazzata. When you beat with the ditone of the foot against the leg of the chair, even as soon as awake; when you realize you that you have ended the toothpaste and you don't have in the house of it; when in to go out of the parking lot of house, manoeuvre sort a million times, lines the car.
The name is in honor of the great teacher of philosophy of the fifth B" Vittorio Malpredi", man known to the chronicles for its awkwardness, able to get dirty once himself/herself/themselves at least to week drinking the coffee, only to the world able to put under the headmaster making reverse. Glorious man.
In my day Malpredi of Monday has succeeded in the order to: 1) to instigate a principle of fire in the house, turning on the big stove without minding the presence on the same of an angle of tablecloth; 2) to break the switch of the box of mail in the special lock; 3) to forget cigarettes and badge to house, arriving of it unprovided to the job.
To the job then, the cosmic conspiracy has left even more space to an insidious sore: the gossip. It is unbelievable as the people with which you share the place of employment individualizes your states of mind and your moments of difficulty with phenomenal intuition. The firm where I worked then me it was a center of training for specialized bloodhounds.
With the moral one in bad state I had gone to the alone job for duty of service, trying not to give any skirmish of the internal crisis that was tormenting me. Before entering I was given me a rule of survival for the day: not to make to shine through in any way and for any motive that moment of uneasiness. Sure to succeed, I was convinced to be able to simulate the same movements and the same attitudes of every day with built boldness. To the limit, I would be seemed only some most silent of the usual one.
The first meeting of the morning I have done him in front of the atrium. I have met Gianna, the panterona of the office purchases. Gianna had been working within there for very more time of me and was a non beautiful cinquantenne but estate and shine as an auto of epoch, with a sexual life rather discussed. With the black hair, curly and the red plastic glasses, remembered the girl Woodland of Fantozzi but slightly in better. You/he/she was drinking the coffee to the automatic distributors and, as soon as I/you/they have entered, you
/he/she has greeted me with a wide smile of teeth made yellow by the tannins and by the cigarettes. I am certain to simply have answered her «Hi Gianna» in hasty way to wriggle me from the look that it already seemed me curious, then I have set out toward the office.
Yet I have not done in time to call the elevator that she has passed close to me to observe me.
«Paul, but that dark face, has slept badly? Are you angry or is it you dead the cat? Ah these young people of today...»
«Ugly sow with the yellow teeth that you have made to sweep here from dogs and hogs inside, but that cazzo you want from me? Because you don't hang yourself instead of breaking me the coglionis?» I would have liked to answer, but in effects I have confined to a more banal «No, nothing of what, I am sleepy only.»
Before the door of the elevator was closed among us coming me in help, Gianna you/he/she has given me another of its pearls.
«Eh him, these boys, as it is said: to the evening lions to the morning coglioni!»
Tried to behead her/it with the flowing doors of the elevator, I have smiled instead for inactivity and I have greeted again her.
Gianna was alone before her.
In the order: Mirella of the operator, Patrician of the accounting, doctor Pigozzi and even Paolona of the cleanings has reserved me comments on my way of involving me, for them who knows because anomalous.
«Oh, but that you have?»
«Everything well Paul? You are strange today.»
«But are you sick, do you want a hand?»
They seemed all sincerely worried and I suffered that curiosity malcelata and seasoned by reassuring smiles, that small movements of comfort, those postures open of disinterested availability with the same impatience that I would have been able to try in front of a team of insurers intents in to propose me a policy life.
Realizing something from my scarce way to disguise the things, all they wanted to know, all were curious to understand what it upset me and, sopratutto, all cannot wait to say theirs.
However I withstood entrenching me behind the execution of the usual gestures, or holding opened the window of the ordinary accounting and playing to Spider with the computer.
As long as to a line you/he/she has opened of release the door of the office and you/he/she has entered scene my nightmare.
«Hi Hemming! You/they have told me that you are angry. Oh, then I leave you alone, otherwise you eat me!» He/she took service the worse one of all: Francis De Bridges.
After three years in firm I had come to try for that person an absolute, total, unconditional hostility. I didn't bear nothing of him, not the his/her wide stempiatura and his/her thin hair, I moved and greasy; not the his/her heavy and oscillating falcade of when it walked for the corridors; not the scanty and flat stamp of his/her voice, neither his/her way of dressing few creative and Baroque, neither the odor of juice with too onion that emanated. I had nicknamed him, exploiting the congenial initials FDP.
In effects Francis De Bridges it was indeed a big FDP.
One of the most servile people, falsely modest and social climber that I have ever known. One that had done only that few of career thanks to the minx how much false availability toward the superior. So much good to do everything possible upward himself/herself/themselves, how much able to turn himself/herself/themselves into an unbelievable bastard toward the subordinates.
In firm the relationships between me and FDP were well defined: performs sovrapponibili, a position paritaria in the business organization chart, shared the same office, the same great desk of white ant, the same photocopier. Null'altro.
Nevertheless, to the beginning of my working career I had suffered the nature dominator and the annoying vice to delegate the appointments that he took only for gratifying Doctor Pigozzi. Fortunately, in the time, I have made hard and impenetrable.
I believe that it fed an immoderate envy for my natural magnetism toward the women, despite you/he/she was gotten married and his/her wife even though a beautiful woman; stupid as him, but beautiful.
When you/he/she has entered that morning, I would have liked to answer to the head of cazzo with which it was my turn to divide the office that, if the fact I/you had been really angry that he came to pick me in that way, saying with that sorrisinos false «Otherwise you eat me» you/he/she would have been the cause of his immediate death for my hand.
I have given a further tear instead to the roll of the patience and I have answered:
«No, no, calm Francis, eaten never anybody. However I am not angry.»
And I have started again on the computer.
In the hours of the morning that passed lens how come, the discrepancy between the thoughts and the actions widened. I would have had to keep on dressing the bitter reflections with covers of smiles, but to the eleven and a quarter I have irremediably jeopardized the week. I didn't bear the eyes of FDP that aldilàs of our common desk studied me anymore. The bastard continually lifted the head from the few issues on his/her part of bench, incessantly and with malignant and fleeing eyes.
And when you/he/she has asked «Paul we drink a coffee? This way thing tells me it upsets yourself!» I have looked at him hard and I have answered him with frankness.
«You feel Francis, in this weekend I/you/they are left me with Chiara. You know him/it, they were five years that we were together and, normally, me will want us an instant to take back me. After all it is everything one period some incasinato. Some beaten I am alone, I ask today only some silence and solo. We serve a truce as our continuous rivalry, only for today, and that I/you/he/she remain among us please.»
«Ok, understands!» you/he/she has answered without making to slip out signs of gratification.
For the first one FDP votes it is me even seemed able to be" normal."
At five and half o'clock, now in which usually went out from the office, even Kamil, worker to contract near the building enterprise that was restructuring the third floor, cingalese, in Italy from 15 days, 18 words of Italian in everything, knew that Chiara and I, my fiancée from five years, was left there.
I desired only that FDP and the virus Ebolas met him.
For the whole day, hand by hand that the news turned, whoever is felt in duty to come to marcar it now visits also to give me pearls of wisdom ever felt before.
«Dead a pope... You closes a door... It was not that correct... Even it is a reversing thing... You are young... The women are all puttanes... For me it has another... Now however you can have a good time you....»
A nightmare.
I wanted only to work, in silence, but I have listened to all, for the whole day, without never giving signs of impatience. You/he/she has been an exercise of auto hard control.
Returned home, after the shower, I have called Susan and we are given appointment to the usual place there.
Susan was alone: you/he/she was my shelter, my original sin, my escape.
I had known her three years before, when he/she worked for the summer period in a cafe: blonde caschetto, thin body, light but present breast, neck to be kissed. Ten years older than me, a husband that worked to the foreign countries and two children. To the beginning it had practically fact everything her: you/he/she had looked for me, seduced, made enslaved. The first times, when I had needed her I had directly gone his/her home, but not as soon as Michael, the first one of his/her children, had been enough great to understand, we had begun to frequent the motels. We always found us in the same place, in front of an industrial area by now low, and I remember that waited him in car as I was a criminal trying to recognize the moment of his/her arrival from the lighthouses of the cars that passed. The desire to complete the sin, the disgust not to succeed in staying himself/herself/themselves. When it arrived we didn't even greet there, only a sign before departing. Each with his/her own auto and his/her own thoughts.
Nobody knew about us, not even Mark. I considered the meetings with Susan as on a detached plan, parallel to my life but the s
ame far. She and I met there in an inviolable dimension.
Susan was not only for me a beautiful woman that showed less than the years that you/he/she had; of her I saw the brittleness and the loneliness, of her I esteemed the ability to be standing however, in all the facets of the existence, of her I appreciated the solidity of the intentions and the absolute absence of repentance when she took a decision.
With her I have made all the sex that I have desired. What I have never dared to ask to a woman I have asked him to her. We are not never there data rules, nothing filters, nothing conventions. We are unloaded the weight of the mutual bad moods on the skin there. Sweeping wildly, we are calmed the wounds for three years there.
Thinking about our situation, I remembered as for me twenty years it disgusted me to think that under the appearance of a normal environment, in a normal context, in the life of the normal people, you/they could be buried ambiguities and poverty, secret and desolation. Now that felt me absorbed in that objectivity as a character of American Beauty or Eyes wide shut, the disgust had become me tolerable, even family.
I have tried different times to truncate with Susan, perhaps for Chiara, perhaps for that residual of Catholic education that made me feel the guilt as an unbearable weight on the soul, probably because I have always known that it was a wrong thing, intrinsically wrong.
Every time that I saw her/it I swore me that you/he/she would have been the last and I communicated her the decision as it was incontrovertible. You laughed me in face, aware that would have returned.
I returned from her swearing again me that you/he/she would have been the last time, a vicious circle of sex and meetings to out lighthouses, lies and senses of guilt, of which I was victim and person responsible.
That evening when I have called her I have not told a lot her the telephone, I have waited only that answered with almost hot tempered impatience.
«Tonight you are able?» I have immediately told her.
«Yes.»
«Usual place?»
«Ok...»
«Then see you later...»
«Paul...»
«Tell me.»
«Hurt me tonight.»
«Ok.»
«Hi.»
«Hi.»
Susan loved to be beaten, beaten strong.
I didn't understand a lot her as thing and to the beginning it embarrassed me, yet in the time I had perhaps understood as that pits one form of his of auto-punishment and, even if I didn't feel too much me to my ease, I beat her/it strong.
Also that evening I have beaten her with violence, just as she liked it.
Not as soon as you/he/she is closed behind of us the door of the room of the motel, we have begun a brutal dance composed by kisses data with heat and takings impetuous, obsessive holds and slaps, I painful and sex's odor, sweat on the forehead and sighs to like, then of pain, then of pleasure still.
We have swept as dogs, damp, wild, uninhabited from our souls.
I have not even told her of Chiara, neither of Mark that got married him, neither of FDP, that I would have liked to see dead. I have not had to tell her disappointments, you/he/she has been enough for me to unload I set her to him in our cruel dance.
I am dead with her, inside and above his/her body, and only after a few minutes of total absence I have taken knowledge of me and I have met again beside in that bed of motel with unarmed Susan.
Again each we were separated in his/her own story.
I have lit up a cigarette and I have offered him of it one. I believe not to have not even looked in the eyes her/it, because I felt me completely away from her and from what had just happened, almost extraneous to ours brutal baptism.
I looked straight and before: the carpet as it is not used on the walls of the room anymore, the television to flat screen of unknown brand, the shed mirrors in abundance, but without a real criterion. I have gotten up and I have already slipped fugitive under the shower. I/you/they have returned in room still bathed with the towel fixed to the life.
«Susan this is the last time.»
«You always tell him/it.»
«I know him/it, but this time it is different.»
«Also this you always tell him/it»
«No, indeed it tries to understand me. So many things are happening in this period: facts and effects that risk to twist completely my way of seeing the things and to live. I am changing, I want to change, the people that are around me are changing...»
You has let me speak without being upset himself/herself/themselves, almost seeming me comprehensive, for absurd almost maternal. I had the feeling that was perfectly understanding the sense of my words, despite me same I was not to succeed in tracing a clear discourse so absorbed of it.
I have concluded that tormented monologue with a kind of admission of guilt and a true declaration of intents.
«Thing I have done in the last years to be best? As I/you/they are grown? What do I want for me indeed?»
You has lit up another cigarette, this time picking her/it up from his.
«I know him/it that I seem you ridiculous and I don't pretend that you agree with me, but I want to think that I can improve. You have been for me the escape from a relationship that I didn't know how to manage, to escape from you was as to take a sip of life, but it is not enough for me more.»
After a few minutes of silence in which you/he/she has ended the cigarette, Susan has taken to dress again him with the usual elegance of woman. It didn't seem neither disappointed neither angry.
«I hope that you are able of to put all these beautiful motivations into practice» you/he/she has replied laconic and light.
From you/he/she has immediately been me clear as there was no trace of that understanding that was seemed me, how much any maternity didn't exist in its way of listening me. Of fact in front of me I had too much only a tired woman to feel the usual chatters giustificative of the men, now almost frustrated by my presence.
I have added some embarrassed:
«Susan I didn't want.»
But she has stopped me, already more definite. «It doesn't serve that you say other, I repeat him/it to you, I wish me for you that I/you/he/she succeed in your projects.»
From that evening Susan and I there would not be more visas.
I would sometimes feel like knowing how it is, even to see to be able to level her/it the things again and to cancel that abrupt goodbye, but in effects it would not serve to two anybody.
Hardly slope on the car, Susan has started and you/he/she is turned verse me. I have observed her, dressed well and so sure in his/her beautiful car hardly shine.
Even if disturbed for that whole sudden separation I have smiled and I have told her half voice:
«Wishes Susan.»
Perhaps you has not even felt and you/he/she has departed of release returning to his/her own life.
The day later to the job I felt me as a castaway, far years light also from the simplest certainties. The adopted attitude of absolute formal composure had probably slashed almost all the desire of gossip of; besides FDP was in travel allowance and this halved of fact my problems of survival in that place.
In the late afternoon just reentered, I have changed and I/you/they have gone to race.
To race for me is a form of meditation. Happens that when I have a problem, when the restlessness bother me, when simply the day has unloaded me, I slip me shorts and canotta, I turn on the reader Mp3 and I make a long run.
I usually disappear for a couple of hours on the push of the footsteps that you/they bring me to reach my sanctuaries, certain unknown places nearly that anchors they are found by these parts.
I have a preference for the run of work, made of accelerations to time of music, of sprint in slopes ransom-legs and of long breaks of contemplation.
I am not religious and of certain I will be exaggerated, but I associate my way of racing to that rites of faith where before the reflection it needs
to purify himself/herself/themselves with the sacrifice and the work.
How much suggestible am.
However on Tuesdays are gone out to race for relaxing me some. It was a day as I am only of it in summer: it rained, then it sprouted the sun, there was then wind, then it rained with the sun.
To say the truth, while I was returning home from the office I scrutinized the sky hoping it rained a pochino, so, to enrich the theatricality of the scene.
Great drops are fallen as sandwiches, puttana poverty: to moments I drown.
The storm has not lasted, a lot the time to reach the beach where I go to make stretching and you/he/she was already ended.
Hardly arrival in that beach I have felt less only.
To see the dark and greenish lake that got excited put me a pleasant subjection and the odor of wet that emanate the leaves after the rain, the black clouds and the white clouds that mixed in the background him in a rubbery collage of the Prealpis, the birds of water that feeling the footsteps flew away... boh, has felt light and I has felt like laughing for the weight that I had given to small personal stories as those.
It is difficult to explain how much helps to feel himself/herself/themselves infinitesimal in comparison to the world.
It is as when you look at the stars and you think to how much distance there is between you and them, to how much your position is irrelevant and invisible in the universe. It is a lot away from the logic of the" everything rotates around you" of our times, it is the exact opposite, it is as to recognize his/her own lightness in front of the life. For this it perhaps results very complicated to succeed us. Particularly that time has served me a lot of to be able of to feel me so minuscule.
That Tuesdays moreover, in the late afternoon of July, returning home and wet pluvius I have met her/it" girl that laughs."
It often happened me to cross her/it for road: her with his/her run, me with mine.
It is curious as among people that race there is looks of complicity and sharing: it is as if he were all members of a common order, it is some as the bikers that when they are crossed they are greeted even if they are not known.
The girl that laughs I had called her so because when we met there it always smiled at me with a natural freshness, well distant from the smiles of attraction between a man and a woman. Of her I only knew that it called Alice Boffi, that was 3 years old less than me and that you/he/she had frequented the middle schools with my cousin Charles Stefano, which had passed by chance me the first two information.
I didn't have enough confidence with her to call her/it Alice and when we came upon there one in the other I greeted her/it saying her:
«Hi girl that laughs!»
You, had a good time by the nickname, it laughed more, even more fresh.
In our intersections, when its figure disappeared to my shoulders, I turned me to see to get further her/it. Because besides the radiant smile, the girl that laughs also had a big beautiful culo. In effects, I would have been able to also call her/it" girl beautiful culo" but I don't believe that greeting I would have received her/it smiles. Instead calling her/it so I caught me the smiles and also the beautiful culo.
I/you/they have reentered to house thinking how much pleasant not to also know still someone living in a paesello as this was.
The evening at 20.00 o'clock Chicken has called again me.
«Oh but are you dead?»
«No, he/she knows me the contrary one.»
«Eh?»
«No, nothing, is left me with Chiara. I was some beaten, but they are in phase of clean resumption.»
«Thing?»
«From the, ago the good one, when we see us I explain you.»
«Footstep from you!»
«No, he/she leaves alone. I feel like being still some on mine. Nothing morbid, not to believe, wants only some time for me, so, to reflect. When they are to place I call you me.»
It is not that I wanted alone star to cry I set me, only that felt me so contemplative, so next to a new phase of me, to want to close me in a silent metamorphosis.
However chicken has understood to the flight.
«Ok, leaves you alone, I let you to reflect, that you reflect more than a mirror porca sow. Remembered however that we have to find us to organize this cazzo of trip.»
«Give me a couple of days and then we do everything.»
«It is all right, but are you sure that you don't want to speak of it?»
«You go calm. Hi head of cazzo!»
«Ok, hi beast! Oh, but do you go from yours tonight?»
«No, because?»
«Then footstep me from your mother.»
I have tried to answer, but Chicken had already attached.
That fool also knew how to rub me.
As soon as it passed the evening in loneliness, I have begun to feel the desire to talk to someone. I felt like telling as I felt me, to be listened and to make to see the new enthusiasm that I tried inside. I would have liked to see Mark to speak of everything. Not only of Chiara, but also of me and of as I felt me strange, and of him that he married and I had not metabolized him yet, and of us, friends from a life, than I desired us to lose never there.
I have thought about calling him/it, but then I have abdicated.
How does it do him to describe the earthquake that you have within without being ridiculous?
I have already removed from the refrigerator the salad wash and without not even putting the tablecloth I have dined.