Alfa that is parking in the courtyard of the prison is red, without a copricerchione and some bruising. A policeman, for sure. The Director of the prison for an hour waiting for the arrival of a couple of visitors to Di Stefano.
The red car reflected in the eyes of the Director tickles your thoughts.
"I would have preferred that he got a hearse or an 'ambulance. That poor woman is dying, and if you did not die under interrogation in recent months is a miracle. You must be very cold to make the director of a prison like this. We must think and forget to pretend not to be alive. Di Stefano was a symbol for many people in recent years, a hope. Simply, there are things that you should not even think about. I wanted to help her. Maybe this attorney will do it, let them know what is secret. That's it. Think of these things is dangerous, may emerge in the words and then I finished. "
The intercom rings in the Director. "Doctor, the lawyer arrived with Mr Di Stefano Montroni ..."
"bring them up, I'll take them"
The lawyer and the cop go up the narrow stairs and dark wing of the offices the prison. Commissioner Montroni left in his gun case and feels naked. The lawyer holds the handle of her purse and tries not to think. It is cold. The jailer who escorted them has little desire to climb the stairs, he hunched shoulders and drag the foot leaving a trail of stench of sweat that cries out to both the wind in the courtyard where they left the car. Just dall'Alfa declined the lawyer raised his head and closed his eyes to sniff the air. The inspector noticed it: "Something wrong?"
"Nothing is coming ... a southwest wind, feel the air." The Commissioner looked at the blue sky with high clouds and torn, and he thought it did not never seen a lawyer sniff the air like a truffle hound or a fisherman. What a strange world! He does not know exactly why, but the lanky, well dressed begins to seem more acceptable as a partner in an absurd morning's work.
The warden knocks on a door and enters becoming clear by now. Man standing next to a clear desk is the director. And 'a man not very tall, olive complexion and hair too dark for his age. "Good morning, Antonio Iodice, the prison ... you wait ... I guess now we want to meet our guest?"
Handshakes fast, looks fast, quick thinking, almost afraid to say the least, to think more. Such as the Advocate:
"Your guest? Guest? What the fuck says this ... "
" Please make my way there. " Commissioner Advocate follow in the wake of aftershave brand used abundantly for the occasion and perhaps through dark corridors and pools of light stops. The clang of metal hinged accompanies them, but no voice and draws them down into the bowels of the prison to find the last door of the last corridor. The lawyer feels to slip into something that is not prepared and would beside someone, maybe a friend, but next to where that cop is just in front of hostile words "Absite verbis offending him, of course ... but it is a criminal a thug ... do not you think? And let's face it .... " The director fills the corridors of chatter, like a child frightened before a vaccination needle about staving off the fatal moment. The trio performed at right angles into a new corridor, the women's section C, maximum safety, a single cell, three women in uniform sitting at a table. One reads a magazine, another Knittel last smokes looking at the ceiling. The instruments of work disappear so quickly that the commissioner is not sure of seeing them. Boredom slips away from the female faces and the last gate creaks.
In that cell down the hall are segregated Silvana thoughts of touching the walls dirty floating, flying on the ceiling full of spiders' nests and fall on the unmade bed on which a small white-blonde woman is sitting with the legs attached to the body and hands that caress the green sheets with large poppies were painted. The thoughts jump to the barred window and try to look out, but outside there is only a gray wall, then fall into the cell and sit next to the woman.
"If I do not move do not feel bad. If I do not move it's alright. Spending time sitting here, back to the wall and I get lost where no one can reach me. They can keep me here for as long as they want, so I'm not there. I lost the better part of me and I was left with the pain, but if I'm still do not feel it. I follow the path of the ray of sunlight that pours from the window above. And 'the finger of God that draws upon my soul. Draw the roads I crossed and I do not dirty the soles of most shoes. Hours I'm still here and I go very far, but the pain does not follow me. If I do not move I do not suffer, I forget myself. I will not forget you, though. Then I feel the pain I feel all together and you drown, but the secret is not moving even in these moments, still, still. Where the hell is calling me, I'm still not run away and look into the light where only I know to move. I do not ever wonder when it will end, maybe today, maybe ever, I feel no more time, I remain motionless and not feel pain. I think someone will come today and you came along. You and all the pain to escape from.
Today someone will come and it will all end. So let's enjoy this peace and walk the streets of God "
The last lock makes its voice heard and exhausted surrender by opening the cell door of Silvana, his last hole.
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