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Carlo Rogato
SAINT SPIRIT
Night
Saint Spirit
Copyright © 2012 Zerounoundici Edizioni
Cover: Picture by the author
PREFACE
This book is entitled Saint Spirit because Saint is the protagonist of it, because you/he/she has been completely conceived in a holy field, because the hands what time you/they are writing they belong to a humble ferryman of souls. If you had had among the hands the original manuscript, you would have skimmed through pages bathed by the rain, stained of earth and characterized by a bad handwriting, because written on uncomfortable postings what glacial plates of marble and galleries of ossari just illuminated by the weak light of forgotten lumini impolverati.
You want to forgive since of now all the lacks or the errors that you will find flowing these pages, fruit of a creative thought, lacking from whatever city frenzy and influenced by a myriad of other people's echi, from fleeting visions and from spiazzanti feelings to fior of skin. What those lightening impressions are daughters of a genuine suggestion or of a strong veggenza, both caused by the atmosphere of the place in which you/he/she has been conceived, are a doubt that the author can never eradicate from the conscience of the reader, but you/he/she is also true that he very probably you/he/she has never spent about ten times a day, for almost one decade, in a mysterious and fascinating cemetery in Milan, in which the author has seen hundreds of thousand of souls cross the threshold of the eternity. Not all the frequenters of a cemetery have however, the sensibility or simply the interest to go beyond the mere subject but, if he who give the peace to the body of a dead person sealing him/it in the naked earth, it has an advanced conscience and a serious spiritual intent, then you/he/she can perceive the dark limit where the two energy purifies he weaves. The cats of a cemetery warn the trasumanazione of the Spirits that you/they evaporate from the earth to the sky, also the crows realize and they sometimes play ugly jokes to the weak edges of Spirit of those people that have been meaningless human beings. There is an incommensurable world that perhaps all we should observe.
This book not drawn of death, anybody, to my notice, you/he/she could give a truthful description of it, at least not with the common words of a human being, to this writing has simply been given birth and baptized in the middle earth, between the life and the death.
I
A last sigh and it came within her with all the strength that its basin was able sferrare.
He/she was on then her extended, some for pure to like, some because that uncomfortable pallet didn't allow him to lie down beside the beloved one. Yes, his beloved that still seemed warm in comparison to that bed of metal. Still few times and also this other fàce that had red hot its soul would have been brought away him. It always happened so, its heart had gotten used by now to intimately tie so much and with the same transience to have to scar the pain for the abrupt abandonment. Despite this it didn't stop loving her all with the most elevated and sincere feeling that its Spirit could try. Already the first shines ricoloravano the antiseptic room that welcomed all of his/her nights, monotonous or delightful that were. You made strength, it clinged for the last time to that body with the whole most desperate rituality contained in the goodbye to a dead person and he/she dismissed him from her with a whisper of chaste love to fior of lips. From that moment in then another you/he/she would have become, a professional without face and name, an anonymous undertaker of Milan. After having systematized as from routine the body of the young woman, riempiendo of wadding the mouth and the nasal hollow, made her wear an embarrassing plastic pouch to the place of the elegant and sensual briefs that more they would be agreed upon to ornament of such a sublime body. Monstrously turned on a big lamp on the beautiful face of immovable nymph. a point of pin fer unexpectedly his/her eyes to the hiss of the insane love that still whispered him in the ears. It premised the palm of the left hand on the forehead, with the right it immediately extracted a cigarette and a cloud of smoke his it dissolved to hesitate. It ended the work from big teacher. Almost imperceptibly putting make up on that pale face, it totally turned upside-down the impression that aroused to the eyes. Before it was one dead killed that it inexorably brought the lines of the last instants of horror lived, with the jaw it bargains over, the wrinkled forehead, the poveretta almost wanted to engrave through that corruccios of so that on the skin the name written in cursive of its assassin. The soft gull of the superior lip was pressed, firm to that gum that had had the assignment to defend for all of his/her brief existence. Colei that was lent to serve as cloth to the anonymous Leonardo that operated in that cold laboratory, seemed now, the beautiful dormant in the wood, more attractive and more alive than any to be alive indeed for. What immoderate cruelty would have been that creation to the eyes of the father of the young one that, lightened by that vision, you/he/she would have started to invoke thousand times that so known name to its lips until you/he/she would not have been able to pronounce more alcunchés.
Saint the undertaker seated on his/her usual chair to the entry of the ardent room. It waited for the workers of the day, and when they came he/she dismissed him with a transparent smile and a sign of the head. By now they were years that from both the parts were carefully avoided. Undertakers the colleagues didn't like that to be ambiguous, bloodless, that passed whole nights with the corpses in loneliness, that had never asked to the direction to also be moved in the diurnal turnazione having all the rights of it, considering that by now it always appeared and only his/her signature on the register of all the nighttime services from a so long period that the same direction, to ascertain its mental integrity, had called him/it to back more resumptions. To mark the total breakup of the workers of the day with Saint they were the cuts on the personnel, following which it found again only permanently him to face the turn of the night. He didn't beat eyelash, it didn't change expression, any complaint, anybody application for a best economic position to forehead of the greatest load of job. Since then his/her colleagues deprived him/it also of that coffees to the macchinetta that you/they every now and then offered him, correct to feel to place with the conscience. He didn't seem not to even make case to the hostility of that group of spitfires materialists that treated human carcasses as they were sacks of potatoes, cramming the empty and passive ears of the dead ones of ferocious discussions on the rigor not datum in the derby of the evening before or on the last calendar hard of an any shows girl of the stable "television garbage."
You started fast through the long planted with trees avenue, bare of people but crowded of dying leaves that the asphalt with the typical shades of the season of the corpses fall. It greedily inhaled that air soaked with austere cold
and dampness silence. Few footsteps still and it found again him on the principal road that connected him/it to the world of the alive ones. It seated on the bench. Attended few minutes and here is to come the bus of line that would have conducted him/it in the heart of the city. Gone down to the usual stop in front of the stately Gothic cathedral in Milan. Its look was fleeting to damage of that unbelievable monument of mixed beatitude to fear, and of sovrannaturale perfection. The tall steeples, the forms of that bodies and that vivid faces trapped in the bas-reliefs didn't succeed in braking that bodily stiffening and that enmeshed anxiety that the sconquassavano terribly to the arrival of the first solar rays. It didn't feel him to the sure one until when closed again behind not of itself the solid front door of dark wood of the cathedral. Not that he was a vampire, but he was so disabituato to the light of the sun that that prolonged exposure a day seemed it almost hurt his eyes and it weakened him/it extremely. Here it is finally to cross the ample central aisle! Crossed every centimeter of those sacred boundaries, with the delicate refinement of eyes gotten used to the sweetest, hidden and
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