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Forty-two
"No traces, no staining; not seem to have anything contagious.
- So?
"Guess who died because he had to die.
"Yesterday a toothache.
- Regina, please!
"Before nightfall we'll have to come ...
I do not understand.
-... And keep insulation at least two more days as a precaution ...
-Pa.
- What does proceed?
"That's all, ladies, my condolences, the captain informed them.
"Doctor, doctor, what it means to proceed.
"I can not tell you more.
"You will say or not let out, am I clear?
-is threatening to an authority, sir.
"I do not think anyone has authority over me, nor do I believe that a warning is a threat. The ladies asked for an explanation and will need to provide is the ... For his sake, and this itself is a threat.
"Well, yeah well, he wants it. At dusk, the body will be thrown into the sea. Sorry.
- How?
"Ma'am, you understand, a lot to go ashore. We can not keep it.
- You're a ...!
"No, please, Mr Francisco captain and had warned us.
Hope, why not ...
"It's true, Aunt Regina, and it is most appropriate. We can not carry a body that begins to rot.
"Good, you understand, miss.
-only ask to give us until tomorrow, at dawn, my father would have liked that.
"Well, I'll see what I can do for you.
Forty-three
Now the clock shows that it is the night, though the lights off and missing persist as gray afternoon, as at the start declining. Lucio feels restlessness, anxiety every night, but this time is less sharp, there is the extreme difference of day and night. It's dense and perpetual gray, warm color and vomiting, which gives the subtle lull in the unrest. At least now there is a breeze, at least revived the lightning cracking the sky, at least now the gray is justified, and the clouds look like clouds, there are lumps and shadows of the clumps in each centellazo. Now, in the fall, the day seems to have regained the will. The day, night, whatever it was that moment, the clocks said it was night.
have already heard the cries stopped, women may have fallen asleep, or simply have run out of tears, or desire to mourn. Lucio looks intermittent darkness and discover other shadows in the shadows, darker than the first, as forms of a continent, a forest, no, not a forest, a jungle better to say yes, the forms that Lucio is now are those of a jungle, a jungle contour that extends endlessly in this now, at this moment, in the present. Smoke released with apathy, it's almost a reflex, an exhale necessary to allow the new inhalation, and continue, breathing, and smoking, knowing that in the act of smoking is recognized to live life and knowing now that the well is so deep, that the darkness has those strange shapes of forest in the middle of nowhere, or middle of the ocean (so obviously thought a desert of waters, so obvious to associate the whole, the majority with nothing), knowing death flees vivo. Back to inhale and then exhale, it becomes conscious, studied the movement and now, as a child, there on the edge of town, with Pietro, when smoke and snuff were not yet part of the universe, is bothered by feeling breathing. No, no sensation, but the consciousness of the act of breathing. Remember that as a child, the discovery of breathing, feeling that his chest was expanding and then resume forms, rhythmically, accompanying the movement of the lungs and the tingling air and out through your nose, thought that breathing was a job that required a huge responsibility, and how much responsibility, being nothing less than life! Is that if you miss the air and then release to allow the entry of a new breath, he would die, like his grandfather. Why grandfather died, I asked his mother. Because he forgot to breathe, "replied the woman. And Lucio understood the importance of this operation, was conscious of the burden that life and he brought with him that it was just a child. It was not fair, it was proposed that life just as arduous work for children, so these were no greater responsibility than to sit on the edge of the road, within the limits the world, with best friend, to feel the sun on your face, to imagine stories of heroes and dragons, or fairies, or elves, or anything else they could trust each other provided they do not forget to breathe. Do it without conscience, without knowing they breathed, it was not unpleasant, but now that it was the burden, the obligation to observe life, the thought of his chest inflating and deflating in a number of times that exceeded the amount of numbers knew (just up to ten and not in the correct order), so tired, as now, who smokes to downplay the fact of breathing, which releases the smoke of vice to give life to understand that things are not as important as she believes that one can invent many more serious concerns and human, more real, this time on a ship in the third class at the Maria Fioravanti gray in a night of stagnation, smoking can make fun of life, of colors of this, smoking is known to live there, where a man lies dead without reason, without signs of disease, a man who seemed so alive, so carefree, a man who probably has forgotten to breathe. A Lucio never befalls an oversight, for the messages is attached wires to the fingers, for birthdays red mark on the calendars, for life, brings the snuff ... The tears, the few tears that it is impossible heal, are responsible to bring their girls, Alma, the girl, her girls. Now, at the moment, at present, in the gray, intermittent lumps in the sky that portion in half whimsical, in the jungle far from ghostly shapes in all, the increasingly strong breeze coming from the East, all in the acrid smoke exhaled reluctantly, almost as a joke, all in all in all: his girls. Her girls. Theirs, only those of anyone else.
Theirs.
His girls.
Forty-four
Liberato The word I needed, but which surely know, was synecdoche. With her could have framed the idea that he was cornered. A trade, only part of the person, perhaps the least desirable for it but to occupy your day, your life, it was defined. But Antonio had no identification other than her name. So when he repeated it in his mind many times until the word loses its meaning, rationality, and become a noise in the flight of a bee onomatopoeic, it was believed lost. The person Anthony was there, with arms and legs, torso and face (though it said nothing), with the clothes that you knew, they were those of Antonio, juniper smoke pipe, the pipe Liberato Antonio knew, but word Antonio had no effect, had disappeared from her consciousness and she had managed to capture little of Antonio. Liberato panicked, he said that everything was wrong to think too, that everything has a limit, an amount not to accept abuse. Believed he had given so many laps around the idea Antonio had been exhausted and exhausted, had disappeared and could never regain consciousness Antonio, much less write about it, it was Giovanni, and the rest of humanity, it is true But Liberato had censored every level of thinking that could lead to exhaustion, which disorder, which prevented him empty and start writing about cows, at least, or pipes. Liberato not want to think, but I thought, I thought of the possibility of having no other words, that all disappeared along with the words, because it was clear that the world was because there was the word world, as the boat with the word boat. God, Holy God! What would happen to run out the words ship, and then any of the synonyms that, moreover, Liberato know? God, Holy God! What would happen to run out the word God? What if someone already knows the name of God, and naming it, or think of her name, is exhausted? Liberato
thought both in his fear that little by little exhausted, he disappeared. And thank heaven Antonio recovered his name or the name Antonio recovered ... if any, at last, was liable for recovery.
*** I'm not here, I know I'm not here, I always knew. I am the one who crosses the road, who is traveling, always traveling and never arrives. You do not want to reach. I know, I always knew, although my mind to think otherwise, even if I think I just hope the goal. If only I had enough wisdom to recognize, with or without these words, but recognize traveler, timeless valleys and mountain walking in the footsteps or making mine, but walking, always walking, no real desire to reach. The road is the one who teaches, educates the senses, if at least my attention was applied to a single league the way, and not always there on the moon, my moon, then it would not otherwise, because he would know that happiness is here, to be who I am and how I am, not spend my spirit to reach the Moon, Moon was my goal (goal would not only ride the momentum of it, for you the earth is round and circular existence ), and just invite her to walk with me, because his company would be the perfection of this trip, but it would be my goal, my life does not depend on his, or any other than mine; life is for those willing to live, and the paths for those with desire to walk, moon, how I wish to be aware of all this, how glad I know you'd be willing to walk with me ... you would see on the road, in the consciousness of the way, your tears would be impossible, your pain would not make sense, because the path is impossible to die, without goals we enslave, death, and was defeated.
Chapters Forty-five - forty-six
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