Alma is thinking dozed and girls. It seemed strange to realize that what they perceived their senses appropriate to the circumstances of a dream: the colors, melodies, even the smells (aromas dreaming was amazing) but there were also voices the English and the voices were real, while unpleasant and pretentious. Possibly it was a nightmare by carrying the dreams the plane of reality. Or maybe not sleep, maybe just imagined that he slept, and that this happened in a dream or a nightmare ... Dream, nightmare, both decided that everyone was fine while the moment was unreal and sanity do not falter, because only a madman could have embarked on the adventure, leaving behind his family to discover that there was nothing better to do they go to sleep on the decks of ships while despicable people hear voices, just a crackpot might support I missed people who had left and at the same time wanted to exist, only a madman would be seeking solace in a nightmare for the vigil, only a fool or a dreamer. And he could not be mad, but I was dreaming a dream that was also a nightmare. There was the sun to confirm he slept, there was the intense blue that blended into the horizon, and the incomprehensible silence, the breath of the T. brothers, Liberato hairless face, all characters created by his imagination, As the blond, bearded Christ, without stigma, without complaints, who accompanied him there, now, sitting at his side, ready to lend a hand if Lucio asked him. Why is the image of Christ appeared in the dream who was also a nightmare? There was a devotee, or even a heretic, but I was there, repeating the course of that night alone, also of dreams, where a greater sadness that it had mad enough to take it to the end of wanting to die, that night , as now, he missed his family and also wished that did not exist, so be a little less unhappy or at least consistent: he was alone, he was lonely and really just thought that while it would take away the penalty that sank and prevented him from breathing or would it deserves, that night closed his eyes and prayed in despair, was that night, beaten, called a heaven to let him go out because Lucio, even wishing death, did not want to die, was that night, then, that did not consider it to who feared death, but the pain was that night that Christ was born of his dreams, embraced him and let him cry on his shoulders. It was that night, cold night, he emptied his soul in heavy drops full salt, so salt as to build a thousand statues, then realized it was not death, that any day was good to die, but that death was necessary to be living and being alive also meant suffering, pain, understood Lucio that night, was also a sign of life and therefore accepted it. It was that night, but then forgot, and now he was there to remind you all: clear, that was the reason. It was there beside him, swaying with the rhythm assimilated his dream boat, a boat named Maria Fioravanti, as the biblical ark, carrying life poured but new to this life to survive in new bottles. A boat in an ocean, on a finite planet, and he a man, a helpless little man navigating between tables in the lee of the storm, if that was the will of God. But what God asked Lucio when he looked and found it was no longer at his side. What a God! awoke with a start. How much time had elapsed? An eternity. But everything was in place: the sun, the sky, the cover of Maria Fioravanti, shadows still, Antonio smiling at his side, and the penalty, the same penalty, a sea boundless no land in sight, because this land had succumbed. Liberato
smoking with pleasure the young English snuff, the more kept his eyes lost in the horizon, but talking with Giovanni, how it was able to hear the arrival of Giovanni? Had he dreamed, when all is said and done? ... Liberato smiling, smoking and smiling.
"A believe that age is all true and that all truth is possible and good, "thought Lucio, and promised to talk to the boy, perhaps overnight, with silence, the darkness, at that time that the voices and the words penetrate further into the souls, because they are not words, are feelings are true and ears willing to listen. Would have to talk to this guy and no doubt would, perhaps she would speak of Christ, but maybe not, because I believe a madman, better tell him your plans, again. I would say that in America, when their pockets overflow with money, buy the best clothes, the best snuff and the best perfume and return to Italy for your family at the first of Mary Fioravanti, and not mix with people from third, so that no one thought he was like those who used to travel in first class boats and descended to pretend that they were ordinary men and wild useful honest common man and wild as they were doing the two English. So understand. Talk to the boy, but what was it so important that you meant?
-
you thinking, "he said Antonio Lucio, who had awakened.
watched Lucio Giovanni, who conversed with English.
"Nothing," he said, in anything.
"Hey, Antonio, here Mr. Á. invites us a drink, are you coming?
-Francisco, "said the English.
- How?
"May I call Francisco.
"Whatever you pay, are you coming, Lucio?
-No. Antonio joined
heavily, no longer smiling.
The three men left. Liberato
Julian and sat next to Lucio. Julian took snuff to reload his pipe and with a gesture he offered the bag to Lucio. Lucio responded by arming a cigarette with their own snuff; lit it, inhaled and exhaled smoke thinking it had never respected the ration that was imposed upon boarding, and it was becoming little, porca misery.
Finally she said, buy the best in America. Chapter Six
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