Part 4
Part 3
Part 2
There was always a terrible smell in the
alley; Martina opened her eyes, and rubbed her forehead. For the
second time, the return from the plateau had a negative effect. She
waited a few seconds, the right time to compose thoughts.
Edi was no longer with her; he had disappeared as the image of the plateau, as the nightmares for more than a year had ruined her life.
She was free—finally!
Free to walk, think, and fantasize, without being put into crisis by thinking a bit deeper.
The half cigarette, was still in front of her eyes; even the syringes scattered along the alley gave the feeling of being in a place that didn′t fit. She would never have had another crisis, she was sure, she had won the battle; now she felt like going home before the stench of the alley attacked her like a second skin.
She rose to her feet, swaying, her hair in her face. She wiped her eyes, still shiny, and walked out of the alley. Leaving that awful smell, and leaving the alley for the main road, gave Martina a liberated feeling. Before she turned the corner, she took a deep breath.
In the street, people were walking on the sidewalk. The cars were traveling slowly in a row, toward the center, on the opposite side. The wind, faster than cars, still carried pieces of paper, leaves, and small branches of trees. The sun was still high, over the tops of the houses and over the protruding balconies full of geraniums. It gave to Martina the opportunity to wonder how long she had been locked in that alley. She looked at her watch, apparently she had spent just under a quarter of an hour there.
She slowed down for better control. She could not believe it. The lady who asked confirmation, after having revealed the time, continued to look stunned; the expression of Martina must be painful. A quarter of an hour had passed; only enough time to make the joint, to suck and get to feel the terror—the rest had lasted only a moment.
If she revealed what happened to her friends, they would have considered, as always, that it was a blast or something like that—just one of the many strange stories that often circulated among them.
She continued walking, confused; she didn′t feel well enough to hazard analysis at the time, but these hours would remain etched in her memory for a long time, and not just because it was the day her fears were gone and her mind was still being a musical instrument perfectly in tune.
There's more: it was the reason why she did not feel like screaming joyful; there was a strange sadness in her, an emptiness feeling. She had never imagined feeling sad after such a victory. She had dreamed of this moment for a long time; she could not understand why she failed to taste it. As at a useless party, snubbed by everybody.
It was just sadness that she felt: the difference of two lives. How far from here was the plateau and the child′s imagination. It was hard to believe it was just herself who had invented that world. She considered instead the last years: a life boring and useless, searching for a charge already abundantly present in her. She had sold her imagination to the hurry to grow up, forgetting who was before.
She was tired, very tired; she wanted to go home, go to bed and sleep. She reached the corner of the square and slowed her pace. Her friends were standing next to the fountain and talking and laughing. Others ran, always searching for something. Should she go straight to their arms, laughing and joking, announcing to all the escaped danger? Instead she was confused, in a square, a city no longer her.
She felt an empty vessel without knowing how to fill it. She was so far from the plateau, where she wanted to feel now—to stand against the willow tree and watch the clouds flow, or go out at night on the prairie.
Leaning on the street corner, she felt the sadness go from her heart to her eyes. Martina cried slowly, hiding behind the wall.
Edi was no longer with her; he had disappeared as the image of the plateau, as the nightmares for more than a year had ruined her life.
She was free—finally!
Free to walk, think, and fantasize, without being put into crisis by thinking a bit deeper.
The half cigarette, was still in front of her eyes; even the syringes scattered along the alley gave the feeling of being in a place that didn′t fit. She would never have had another crisis, she was sure, she had won the battle; now she felt like going home before the stench of the alley attacked her like a second skin.
She rose to her feet, swaying, her hair in her face. She wiped her eyes, still shiny, and walked out of the alley. Leaving that awful smell, and leaving the alley for the main road, gave Martina a liberated feeling. Before she turned the corner, she took a deep breath.
In the street, people were walking on the sidewalk. The cars were traveling slowly in a row, toward the center, on the opposite side. The wind, faster than cars, still carried pieces of paper, leaves, and small branches of trees. The sun was still high, over the tops of the houses and over the protruding balconies full of geraniums. It gave to Martina the opportunity to wonder how long she had been locked in that alley. She looked at her watch, apparently she had spent just under a quarter of an hour there.
She slowed down for better control. She could not believe it. The lady who asked confirmation, after having revealed the time, continued to look stunned; the expression of Martina must be painful. A quarter of an hour had passed; only enough time to make the joint, to suck and get to feel the terror—the rest had lasted only a moment.
If she revealed what happened to her friends, they would have considered, as always, that it was a blast or something like that—just one of the many strange stories that often circulated among them.
She continued walking, confused; she didn′t feel well enough to hazard analysis at the time, but these hours would remain etched in her memory for a long time, and not just because it was the day her fears were gone and her mind was still being a musical instrument perfectly in tune.
There's more: it was the reason why she did not feel like screaming joyful; there was a strange sadness in her, an emptiness feeling. She had never imagined feeling sad after such a victory. She had dreamed of this moment for a long time; she could not understand why she failed to taste it. As at a useless party, snubbed by everybody.
It was just sadness that she felt: the difference of two lives. How far from here was the plateau and the child′s imagination. It was hard to believe it was just herself who had invented that world. She considered instead the last years: a life boring and useless, searching for a charge already abundantly present in her. She had sold her imagination to the hurry to grow up, forgetting who was before.
She was tired, very tired; she wanted to go home, go to bed and sleep. She reached the corner of the square and slowed her pace. Her friends were standing next to the fountain and talking and laughing. Others ran, always searching for something. Should she go straight to their arms, laughing and joking, announcing to all the escaped danger? Instead she was confused, in a square, a city no longer her.
She felt an empty vessel without knowing how to fill it. She was so far from the plateau, where she wanted to feel now—to stand against the willow tree and watch the clouds flow, or go out at night on the prairie.
Leaning on the street corner, she felt the sadness go from her heart to her eyes. Martina cried slowly, hiding behind the wall.
Back at Home - Incipit
Night Clouds
Part 1
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Fairy Tales
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Night Clouds
