This is a short story of 14 years ago. I recovered to take a look to the evolution of my writing ... I do not know, I know that evolution does not work with me ... then it was a very delightful time for me then and still feels ... good reading. B The life of a man is all written on his keychain. We hang the house keys, car ones, those of the office or workshop, the keys of the drawers closed and the keys that open any door.
In his pockets there is only the key to the hotel room.
The rain has just ended and only a few clouds drift westward dragging the darkness of early September as a blanket. Go to drown the sun in the calm sea of \u200b\u200bred and dirty water. The last drops slide off the old worn out gutters of the building became a hotel liberty thirty years ago. Its former owner, the Felice M. Master, was one of the most vicious hardcore whores and between the region and friends had sought happiness promise and lost all the money. His father, Jose Alberto M. Knight, and his grandfather, Antonio M. before, they had accumulated money and ruining the poor people going to Mass every Sunday. The gentleman was happy to put it only at Christmas and Easter, and this was ruined. His room was on the top floor of beautiful building near the sea, with a large window framed by two caryatids titted firm and browning by time. Waking up every day in the late morning, Master Felix looked at the beach and the horizon always EXPECTING to change his life and friends. From behind the glass now another man looks at the same beach and the same horizon. See some seagulls timidly begin to fly in circles low and slow.
He has always liked the seagulls. White and lazy. He had seen many times float in the sun a few meters from the shore. As a child he imagined them as accountants in placid vacation quickly covered with cream to tan or not tan at all. Had seen them many times stretch your wings and take flight idleness of the first order one by one and then two, three, ten all together in a crescendo of shouting, splashing water and compressed air under the wings, a white turbines on the sea. Their timing surprised him forever. Never any of the thousands of trajectories coinciding with 'the other, it, each flight but only in conjunction with other . Gulls, attracted by some invisible guard action, they called each other with long, shrill cries, names perhaps. He always imagined that in that uproar the parents blame the children for their slow and that the brothers and friends organized to not lose sight of the battle there in the wake of the boats returning to port after the fishing. See you again gulls wild throw toward the stern vessels for food and stop just before hitting the wood salt, spreading her wings and crying foul threats to fishermen. Still see clouds of white boats anchored in the hulls and red and green baptized Maria Antonietta II or move slowly in a gray iron bridge, go in the eyes of a child, and in the eyes of the sailors, salt statues guarding the old Aragonese castle. But the sailors watched and did not see, lost in the account of the hours that separated them from the public end of their captivity.
-Marshal fucking cuckold seven times, even 677 hours and then you go to hell ...-
Gulls did not know and know nothing thoughts of men, and just flying. And yet ... yet at times had seemed to come and take him to the station sad and always full of people leaving and hugged. Often it seemed that volandogli in circles high above the brown-eyed women announce the cruel and the flapping of the wings brings the smell of warm bread and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. he happened to be dreaming of a gull, happy to eat stinky fish and watch the world from above. She watched with their eyes sailboats zigzagged into the sea too heavy to fly and drowned trying to cling to the sky with one wing. Then he was awakened in his bed, without wings, alone or in company of women perfumed hair color is always different. Patience.
-no cage will take me to the south-thought. And instead of fancy.
key ring weighs the hotel now in the pocket and is cool to the touch . that remains is to call . The phone is next to the bed and has nothing to do with the rest of the furniture, old furniture cherry, shiny and reddish. The white handset is heavy.
Sitting on the bed begins to dial the number, pressing the keys automatically and hoping not to make mistakes. It seems that courage is not yet at the supermarket.
A female voice on the other end of the line waiting.
-Ready? -
-Hello, I am
--holy God, where the hell are you?! Where are you?! -
- I'm in a hotel. It 's very nice, the sea-
- Tell me where you are, are you okay? -
-Yeah, yeah, I'm just fine-
can see it while shaking the phone with both hands as if to detain him for arm. Surely someone with your eyes tells the other phone in the bedroom. The pupils are dilated like when she is angry or enjoys.
-Please listen-
Yes, yes love, I'm listening, but you do not quit, please do not close. Tell me where you are, I'll pick you-If
imagine driving along the highway. She, her cage, which is to save and, for the duration of a systole, he decides to say yes. Diastole after the surprise in a vacuum.
-I am in a beautiful place. I wish you were there, I'd like to make love. There is a beautiful sunset and there are seagulls-
-I come to you, tell me where you
-No, let it be, it does not matter, it does not matter-
Love, why do not you tell me? -
-What you'd have to say, what? And how, then? So it was useless-
No, you had to tell me, we would have done something, anything, I was right, Christ, I have the right, what do you think, eh? -
-Stop, stop, I'm sorry I did not want to hurt you ...-
knows that she is crying, I can feel the silence, biting her lips to see not sob. Sometimes it seems like a little girl, a beautiful girl.
-Play ... I preferred not to say anything, I thought I would just go away ...-
-Si, the usual selfish, bravo, Mr. I know everything, I do not worry! You know what you are eh? You're a fucking selfish bastard, that's what you are, as always ... but why I say, why do you always keep everything inside, even these things, why, why ...-
now screaming and crying, crying and unable to speak while he crouched on the bed, looks out the window .
-My love, listen ... I'm sorry, I wish you did not know-never-
What do you mean?! Are you crazy? He called your doctor friend, you imbecile ... and trying his voice concern ... Then I asked him what had happened. He started talking about the secrecy and other balls, then I told him you were gone for two days and told me everything. But you know how I felt? It 's like if you had killed, great man you understand? If I had shot I would have done less evil bastard. Instead of your friend that asshole I nearly cried on the phone, telling me everything. It 'just like that, eh? Tell me you feel right, you're gone and you killed me. E 'have not slept for a week. We did not know whether to call the police and carabinieri. It 's a week can not sleep because you're not here. It is not fair, not fair! -
-I know I is not right, but I could not tell you, I did not have the courage, you know,? I could not ...-
-Oh yeah?! Then why are you called now, tell me, why? Tell me where you please, we are all worried, I, your mother and father talk more, but Christ, where have you been caught? -
Sixteen miles off the coast, a pod of whales swimming in defending two little training. One of them drown in an hour. A man's Udaipur kills a child with a stick too thin for his seven years. No groan when the skull is thin crack. For some there is no difference between life and death. In the silence of the hotel room, a stack of papers is poised on the bedside table. The first one reads "The Temporal Relationship Between intracellular acidification and DNA fragmentation in apoptosis. Death is everywhere and life is just the edge of the frame to be harnessed.
-I could not, you know, I could not tell you that I'm dead - For a moment he lacks the air and no electrical signal passes in its neurons. awakens the memory of days in May sweaty pitch behind the church by Don Giacinto stinking of cigarettes and nights before graduation. think that the key to everything is chaos, the absence of any rule, every harmony, the kingdom of the crazy coincidences where a single cell can destroy billion. There is no reason, but only fragments of the future gone mad. No trajectory to be a seagull. So he decides to strike.
-I can not live and not die, love-and the dagger is blended with the lightweight women's breast-
everything has become so heavy, it's all so heavy - and entered the heart causing burst
- and I do not know anything - and delete all the sketches, the walls of the house and the memories attached, the air itself.
Kiss the phone and all you hear is a scream that comes from eight hundred kilometers of cables and gets into the blood too slowly.
- Nooo, nooo, nooo, please, no! -
sick man's whole body vibrates and the vibration continues its momentum towards the window. While the receiver drops the seagulls gliding and stop flying .
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