He is still, straight, his head bowed. Maybe my eyes are closed. While she, she ... the walking around, without pause, without fatigue, tenendogli eyes always on him, as with us the moon. Closer and then come talk to him and brushing her lips with eyes, mouth, chin. Definitely breaks down the natural barrier of respect which was always, necessarily, existed between her pupil-teacher-and-him-.
him he looks like a broken tree, lifeless. Stride and how, the contrast with the bottom, we want to remember the joyous arrival of spring. He looks like a plant that can not be aggregated in that cycle of rebirth.
But she is vital part in this change and its concentric orbit seems to us the dance of a vine, ready to close the path, ready to extinguish that last breath of life hidden in the trunk broke and dying, crushed, sucking the sap forgotten. Transforming it.
light, perfectly balanced on them, but only makes her shine. He absorbs it, it already seems a dead thing, it feeds on despair.
She finally said, speaks to him. Indeed. Whispers. It 's so close to his face that's almost enough to blow the words senz'emettere sound. And he is not sure whether these words really able to hear them in some way or not but somehow decrypted and translated from his own skin, moist heat of that silent breath, and able, somehow, to read and interpret the shape.
The sun knows that our planet's talking about. But the prayers that rise are trapped, trapped in the sky. Reached the peak of their rise, fall to the ground, becoming terrible curses and blasphemies.
She whispers
"Master ... you do not tell the whole truth ... "The bottom
remembers only the spring. It 's a symbolic backdrop.
"Or better ... I told you the truth, it contains also the path of its own negation. "
He still does not move. Yes, he says, because it certainly is, its an act of the great strength, and endurance.
"Master ..."
stroked his hair, now, uncombed. Then brush up against her cheek, and lips. His hand stroking down his neck, then tighten the shoulder.
embrace it.
Here.
The vine finally suggested last sap of the plant. The strangles, puts to death. But only symbolically, of course. As the spring painted on the backdrop.
From the darkness, suddenly, came a voice. E 'shouted. So unpleasant, undesirable, but apparently inevitable
"Okay, that's fine for today. We're done, see you tomorrow at the usual time. Thank you, goodbye. "
"Okay, that's fine for today. We're done, see you tomorrow at the usual time. Thank you, goodbye. "
They feel, in the dark, walk away.
remain, they, instead, as well, hugging, or rather, she embraced him, that still did not lift a finger. And someone off that last light on them, and painted on the spring. That plant and its climbing in total darkness disappear.
The smell of dust that comes from below.
remain, their, real estate, there, in the middle of this dark world.
Here at last she moves away, takes a step back and behold the "master". She looks at him for a long time, being able to really just remember the details and being able only to guess the shape in the darkness. Without a word, walks away. He shakes his hearing in his footsteps. Raise your head, turn his back on those sounds and he goes, leaving empty that night.
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