martes, 24 de septiembre de 2013
martes, 30 de julio de 2013
jueves, 18 de julio de 2013
martes, 9 de julio de 2013
domingo, 7 de julio de 2013
sábado, 6 de julio de 2013
miércoles, 3 de julio de 2013
martes, 2 de julio de 2013
domingo, 30 de junio de 2013
domingo, 23 de junio de 2013
martes, 18 de junio de 2013
lunes, 17 de junio de 2013
sábado, 15 de junio de 2013
viernes, 14 de junio de 2013
miércoles, 12 de junio de 2013
lunes, 10 de junio de 2013
sábado, 8 de junio de 2013
viernes, 7 de junio de 2013
jueves, 6 de junio de 2013
sábado, 1 de junio de 2013
viernes, 31 de mayo de 2013
lunes, 27 de mayo de 2013
viernes, 24 de mayo de 2013
miércoles, 22 de mayo de 2013
martes, 21 de mayo de 2013
jueves, 16 de mayo de 2013
miércoles, 15 de mayo de 2013
lunes, 13 de mayo de 2013
domingo, 12 de mayo de 2013
sábado, 11 de mayo de 2013
viernes, 10 de mayo de 2013
jueves, 9 de mayo de 2013
miércoles, 8 de mayo de 2013
sábado, 4 de mayo de 2013
viernes, 3 de mayo de 2013
jueves, 2 de mayo de 2013
domingo, 28 de abril de 2013
sábado, 27 de abril de 2013
viernes, 26 de abril de 2013
martes, 23 de abril de 2013
lunes, 22 de abril de 2013
domingo, 21 de abril de 2013
martes, 16 de abril de 2013
domingo, 14 de abril de 2013
MIENTRAS PEGA LA LLUVIA EN LA PARED
MIENTRAS PEGA LA LLUVIA EN LA PARED
---*~*~*---
Te has dormido con la cabeza en mi regazo. En
silencio. Simplemente, como buscando un refugio que yo no puedo darte.
Tú no tienes culpa alguna de lo que sucedió esta noche .
En todo caso, si hubo culpa, ésta fue toda mía...y sólo mía.
Sigue lloviendo. Ya no hay tregua posible en este cansado
otoño.
Mis dedos se enredan una y otra vez en la mata oscura de
tu pelo, y un suspiro me indica que la angustia aún no te abandona.
Ya ves: me hiciste volver sobre mis propios pasos .Algo
que jamás hago, que nunca antes había hecho.
Pero, ¿es qué...Sabes?...Cuando te vi allí... bajo la
lluvia...
Duerme, criatura. Es mejor así, que duermas, mientras yo
pierdo mis ojos en este oscuro rincón que siempre ha sido mío ,y que no da a
ninguna parte, y que apenas me devuelve,a través del ventanuco, un poco de luna
en las noches estrelladas y quietas, ésas que para mí carecen de sentido.
Mis dedos van y vienen, una y otra vez, por el remanso
triste de tu pelo.
Lo que pasó...pasó. Sé que te costó llamaradas de
vergüenza, y el temor (peor aún que la muerte) de leer una vez más la burla y
el escarnio en el fondo de mis ojos.
Pero me suplicabas, y yo, que lo niego todo, y que me
endurezco aún más ante el espectáculo idiota de le gente de rodillas, esta vez
no pude hacer otra cosa que concederte lo que me pedías.
¡Es que era tan simple!
Después de amarme como nunca antes me habías amado, tu
angustia pugnó por un único alivio: me pediste la gracia de llorar a gritos,
abrazado a mi pecho. La gracia de gritar, de sollozar, de insultarme y de
insultarte por lo que el destino quiso que hiciéramos de nuestras vidas.
Discúlpame...Yo no sé escribir ni hablar tan bien como lo harías tú: no puedo enhebrar más que palabras
filosas como hachas, que hacen daño aún en las heridas más antiguas.
Me pediste permiso parta gritar mi nombre desgarrándote
en tu dolor, llenándome de puñetazos inútiles el pecho, mordiendo la rabia que
te sacudía desde dentro, donde llevabas (y llevas, y llevarás todavía... ¡pobre
infeliz!) algo más fuerte que el odio.
Gritaste, aullaste como fiera, maldijiste todo lo que te
unía en invisible y poderoso lazo a mi persona... Renegaste de todo; hasta del
frágil escudo de tu propio honor.
Querías no haber nacido nunca; querías no existir...O, en
todo caso, que yo no hubiera nacido...que yo no hubiera existido jamás...
(¡Ah!...Si tu Dios te hubiera escuchado antes!...)
Querías anularlo todo, cansado ya de cargar con tu
delirio, y de soportar incluso el mío, que yo no puedo llevar ya conmigo en
modo alguno.
Exhausto, te dormiste abrazado a mis rodillas, acurrucado
en el suelo, bestezuela hambrienta de un simple gesto de atención o afecto, que
yo no puedo brindarte.
Tus quejidos mientras duermes me anuncian que el dolor no
cesa ni bajo la piadosa sombra del sueño, que es lo que más se parece a esa
muerte que me pedías como un favor, y que yo... pude darte... y no quise.
-Abre los grifos del gas, vete, y déjame sólo, si es que
no quieres morir conmigo... Hazlo...Hazlo ya, por favor, Jethro.....
-¿Morir contigo?.. ¿Es que estás loco?... Si muriésemos
juntos en un mutuo abrazo, el mundo sabría la verdad. Y eso no puedo
permitírselo yo al maldito mundo. No puedo permitírselo a nadie. Sabes lo que
ocurriría si te encontraran muerto aquí, ¿y en una forma tan infamante?
-Sí, lo sé... Pero no me importa... ¡Juro que no me
importa, Gibbs!... ¡Basta!.... Ya no puedo... ¡ni podré soportarlo un sólo día
más!
Reí:
-Sí que podrás... ¡Ya lo creo que podrás!... Para eso
estás hecho,Di Nozzo-... No te das cuenta de que, sin uno de los dos, el otro
(no digo ya su vida, sino todo su sér, o, si lo prefieres, el mero hecho de su
existencia) ¿no tendría ya sentido alguno?
(Era mentira. Tú sabes que era mentira. A mí me toca
morir primero. Y tú debes vivir. Es la ley. Y la ley no debe torcerse por
ningún motivo).
-¡Maldito hijo de...!... ¡Bastardo!..... Me niegas aunque
más no sea esa gracia,Gibbs?...
-Regocíjate de que te concedo permiso para llorar a
gritos, para que puedas desahogarte. No suelo hacerlo jamás, Di Nozzo.:tú me
conoces muy bien.”
La impotencia
hizo estallar entonces tu pecho en mil pedazos; murmurabas palabras
ininteligibles, frases viejas de dolores viejos, de heridas de infancia: el
abandono de tu padre, la soledad, la pesada carga del honor y del deber, el
juramento absurdo hecho en los días de tu plena inconsciencia infantil...
Duerme, por favor, duerme... y no despiertes hasta que
sea bien entrada el alba. Podría llevarte al lecho, y acostarme contigo una vez
más... Pero no... Mejor no. Si despertaras... ya no tendría la oportunidad de
decirte todo lo que quiero decir ahora. Todo lo que necesito decir... lo que
necesito vomitar ahora, desde el fondo de mis tripas, sabes...
No suelo ser generoso con las palabras. Ya me conoces .y
mi manera es brutal.
¿Qué?... ¿Tiemblas?... Sí; tiemblas de horror en tanto tu
sueño contempla quién sabe qué oscuros secretos en la omnipresencia de mi
cuerpo en tu piel, en tu sangre... en tus huesos...
Y tiemblas de amor cuando me reconoces en el último rayo
de luna que muerde la tierra antes de la aurora.
-¡No puedo más, Jethro!... ¡Te juro que no puedo
más!...
-¿Y con ello?
-¡Siempre con tu maldita indiferencia, Gibbs! ¡Ah! Si me
fuera concedido morir mientras duermo, antes de que despunte un nuevo día,
¡antes de despertar!... ¡Otro día más soportando esto!... ¡Otro día más,
maldito Gibbs!... ¡Otro día más!....
Pero aferrabas mi pecho para no soltarlo. Querías
enterrarte en él, disolverte, desaparecer en mi carne, bajo mi piel,
dispersarte por mi sangre enferma, clavarte a mis huesos.
Pequeña aurora. Rayo de sol furtivo que besa mi noche
eterna. Te ahogas. El dolor te estrangula, con más fuerza aún de lo que podrían
hacerlo mis dedos, que ahora viajan por tu cuello, esa delicia de seda que se
ofrece a mi boca como un bálsamo... cuando tengo sed... mucha sed... ese
refugio tenue y a la vez fuerte y duro para la furia de mis besos...
Me muero por besarte una vez más....y otra....y
otra....Pero no lo hago. Mi boca tiene el extraño poder de turbarte el sueño y
la vigilia; por eso la muerdes siempre hasta hacerla sangrar, en tanto yo hago
lo mismo con la tuya.
La pared vacía, mojada por la lluvia, llena el ventanuco
que da a ninguna parte. -No hay más luz que los relámpagos que, de tanto en
tanto, acuchillan el cielo nocturno, plomizo; no hay más ruido ni música que tu
respiración, de a ratos tranquila, de a ratos agitadas, obre el lejano batir de
esta lluvia intensa, de esta lluvia que no cesa.
En una noche así se suicidó la mujer que me diera alguna
vez a luz, para su desgracia, y más aún para la mía...Una mujer a la que nunca
podré volver a llamar”madre”.
Justo frente a mis ojos, ojos de doce años que ignoraban los juegos infantiles, la
ternura y el reposo, y que se alzaban, fríos, para contemplar aquel cuerpo
extraño que pendulaba, colgado de las vigas del techo, en una húmeda habitación
llena de invierno.
Pero, como siempre ha ocurrido en el caos inexplicable de
mi vida, aunque crecí y luché..me encontré con que ya era demasiado tarde. Sin embargo....cuando pude
abrir un poco el ventanuco, el único que me había quedado para contemplar
alguna otra cosa que no fuera la muerte.... tuve todavía tres cosas... sólo
tres cosas... un rayo de sol... un único rayo de sol... que también me fue
arrebatado arteramente,en una noche
como esta.
Los hilos invisibles con que me sostengo me sirvieron y me sirven para resistir, para
aguantar, para que el tiempo siga pasando de largo, mientras que yo intento
hacer que se olvide de mí... que el tiempo se olvide de mí.... que haga a un
lado mi condena.
Y quién, sino tú, iba a ser mi postrer rayo de sol?
............................................................................................................................................... Por ese ventanuco, por ese único y paupérrimo ventanuco
entraste tú, y yo, aterido en el frío de mi existencia, me puse bajo tu
lucecita tenue, que brillaba con una infatuada presunción de orgullo y
arrogancia.
¡Qué tontería!
¿Qué clase de orgullo?... ¿qué especie de
arrogancia?...
El pequeño rayo de sol se acurrucó a mis pies, rogando,
suplicando que le dejara calentarlos en las noches de invierno.... e ignorando
que realmente era yo quien suplicaba, sin decirlo, por ese calorcito dulce
que sueles darme, de a ratos, después de nuestra furia compartida, cuando en tu
boca y en tus dedos empieza a nacer la necesidad de esconderte en mí, de
sepultarte en mi pecho.
Cuánto te gusta mi pecho... ¡cuánto! Para ti, yo sé que
es una imagen del silencio, de un paraíso extraño, de un nirvana que te
disuelve en la inefable benevolencia de la nada. Por eso te duermes
siempre así, siempre en mí, y sobre mí....
Cuando ya sé que te has dormido, entonces...
Entonces te abrazo. Antes... antes no me atrevo. Antes no puedo. Y te beso,
pero sin tocar con mis labios los tuyos; te beso sin rozar siquiera la
porcelana esquiva de tu frente, ni el glorioso nido de tu garganta... No sé si
hoy me atreveré a decírtelo.
¡Cómo te abrazas a mis rodillas!
Ven. Recuéstate dormido en este pecho, antes de que se
reviente, antes de que se haga añicos por tener que seguir callando lo que
eternamente debo callar.
Así... así... pequeño rayo de sol... Tony...... ¡Cuánto
quisiera tenerte ahora otra vez!
Pero no. Mejor no.
Mejor seguir gozando del dulce reposo de tu cuerpo
exhausto.
El mundo cree que tú eres una especie de príncipe
encantado, en tanto yo soy el guerrero plebeyo
hecho a fuerza y a furia de golpes, a sangre vertida sin miramientos, a
venganzas absurdas...y que luchamos
para hacer valer la supremacía de nuestras propias fuerzas, del poder
asesino de estas dos máquinas infames de matar que son nuestros cuerpos... Deja
que el mundo lo siga creyendo así.
Tú y yo sabemos muy bien que tan sólo somos dos desgraciados,
dos infelices que se buscan en el medio del frío de un interminable invierno,
para darse mutuamente calor, para beberse, para apurarse el uno al otro,
consumidos por esta sed inextinguible, por esta voracidad culpable que no
tiene ni tendrá fin.
Ahora que duermes me gozo en abrazarte, en recorrer tu
espalda poco a poco con mis dedos, en esconderlos en tu nuca bajo el manto
perfumado de tu pelo....
Ternura... ¡Si supieras!...
Si supieras que si tú me faltaras... yo... yo... sí...
¡seguro!...yo... me mataría.
Si supieras,...Tony!
Pero es mejor que no lo sepas. Por eso mi silencio, mi
indiferencia, esta frialdad mía que te destroza por dentro cuando tú supones
que mi pecho, este pobre pecho mío que tanto amas, es tan sólo un páramo de
piedras y arena, seco y estéril, que te devuelve un capítulo más de tu larga
historia de frustraciones, de angustia, de soledad...
Sueñas. Transpiras. Te agitas. Las gotas de tu sudor
bañan mi piel... ¿Sueñas, alma mía, sueñas?... ¿Qué sueñas?... ¿Sueñas que me
amas?... o quizás sueñas que nunca me has amado, que estás libre de esta pesada
carga, de esta marca infame que hiere tu natural orgullo... Dime qué sueñas...
Dímelo con esos gemidos que me encienden la sangre gota a gota...
No puedo más. Voy a besarte. Voy a dejar morir mi boca en
tus cabellos, en tu cuello, en la dulzura oculta de tu garganta... Rayo de sol
nacido de la aurora, para morir irremediablemente en la brutal ceguera de cada
una de mis noches....
Tu piel me sabe a gloria. Húmeda, tibia, como un cántaro
para esta sed prohibida que siempre ha vivido conmigo, quemándome la lengua
hasta que el bálsamo de tu boca la refresca y la apaga....aunque tan sólo por
un breve tiempo, sabes, porque tú y yo somos como el mar: cuanto más bebemos de
nuestras bocas, de nuestra piel, de nuestros cuerpos... más sed tenemos... más
y más sed...
Te beso, y no despiertas, porque mis besos viven en tus
sueños.
Podría llevarte de nuevo a mi lecho... Pero es mejor
yacer aquí, descansar sobre este suelo pobre, humilde, cubierto tan sólo por
esta gastada alfombra sin color alguno, y este par de cojines, mirando el
ventanuco aquel que da a ninguna parte.
La lluvia está cediendo. Pronto asomará la luz endeble de
una luna herida, partida en dos por la sombra de esta pared húmeda y mohosa.
Mis manos recorren tu espalda, desde tu nuca hasta el
nacimiento de tus nalgas... y aún se atreven a bajar más... y más... para
llegar por fin al delicioso nido que tu carne ha preparado para que mi ansiedad
encuentre algún reposo.
Te estrechas más contra mí. Crees hallar un refugio en
este pecho que tanto me duele... sin saber que tú eres mi refugio, el escondite
secreto de todas mis calladas tristezas.
El ruido de la lluvia se hace cada vez más inaudible. La
tormenta ha cesado. Mi mano viaja por tus muslos. Mi boca se esconde en tu
pelo. Cierro los ojos...
Mi corazón se quiebra de golpe al sentir que has
despertado.
-¿Jefe?.... ¿Qué...qué hora es?....¿Qué pasa?-
-Nada. Duerme, Tony. Aún no amanece. Duerme.
-¿Y tú?... Aaahmm... ¿Usted no duerme, Jefe?...
-¡Basta ya, Anthony!... déjame dormir, ¡y ya duérmete tú
también de una buena vez!
Sonríes. Te revuelves en un mimoso gesto, mientras haces
ademán de viajar con tu boca a lo largo de mi cuerpo, una vez más.
-No. Ahora no. Deja eso ya, y duérmete.
Obedeces... pero protestas. Divinamente.
-Ahmmm... al menos podríamos haber ido a la cama...
Ahmmm... para estar algo más cómodos... ¿no cree?...
-¿Quieres ir a la cama?
Te miro, en tanto te desperezas. Cómo me gusta verte así,
¡aniñado en tu somnolencia deliciosa!
-La ventana de la alcoba
principal por lo menos tiene otra vista... da al patio interior...
-Oh, sí. Un patio donde ya no hay nada.
Enciendo un cigarrillo, para esconder mis ojos detrás del
humo.
-No hay nada porque usted lo quiso así,Jefe. Yo lee ofrecí... ahhmmm!... traerle unos
rosales... recuerda?
-¡¿Rosales?!...¡¿¿Aquí??!.....¡¿Para qué?!....Para que
murieran, ¿como todo lo que cruza el umbral de mi puerta?...
-¡Jethro!... ¿Ya empiezas?..
-Oh.... ¡Ya duérmete de una buena vez, Di Nozzo!
Silencio. Cierras tus ojos, en tanto termino mi
cigarrillo para apagar, como siempre, la colilla contra la palma de mi
mano.
A lo lejos canta un gallo. Son más de las cuatro
AM.
La lluvia sigue cediendo; las últimas gotas golpean
contra la pared sucia, como queriendo despertarla de su triste letargo.
.Ay... ¡cuánto se parece a mi alma, esa triste, ruinosa,
solitaria pared que da a ninguna parte!
Y te has dormido otra vez, con la cabeza hundida
completamente en mi pecho. Tu boca derrama oleadas de aliento en mi piel
cansada; tu respiración me acaricia como siempre.
Enciendo otro cigarrillo, esperando a que se asome
la luna, partida en dos por la alta estructura de este muro gris.
La luna, madre del suburbio, hermana del silencio,
compañera infatigable de esta noche sin fin que es y será siempre mi
existencia.
La luna rota, herida, deshecha.
(Necesito un trago. Para algo tengo tan largos los
brazos: los estiro apenas un poco, y llego a la mesilla donde está mi botella
de bourbon. Sí...Necesito un trago. Y otro. Y otro más. Así está mejor, para
avivar aún más este fuego que me devora la garganta.)
En fin... Nunca lo sabrás, Tony. Nunca.
Nunca sabrás con certeza qué has sido, qué eres y qué
serás para mí.
Nunca lo sabrás, hasta que me haya ido definitivamente,
y, algún día, por pura casualidad, descubras esta carta, que voy a escribirte
ahora, inmediatamente, antes de que tenga que embriagarme otra vez para
olvidarlo todo, antes de que nazca el día; antes de que, como todas las
mañanas, tengas que abandonarme... para que ambos podamos vestir disfraz y
máscara.
Porque eres tú el que me abandona, ¿sabes?... y no yo a
ti.
Yo... yo estoy siempre contigo. Yo soy tu perpetua
angustia, tu miedo, tu secreto dolor. Todo lo que eres capaz de guardarte en el
escondrijo más oculto de tu alma.
Y aún no sé si, el día en que leas esto, podrás
creerlo.
Y, en verdad, no me importa. No me importa en
absoluto.
Yo sé que es cierto. Y con eso basta.
La luna rota besa tu piel por mí.
Ah.... lo olvidaba. (¿Ves lo que hace el alcohol?...
...)
Lo que quería decirte es que, desde el fondo de este
sucio pozo de miserias que es mi alma, yo... yo... te amo. Con desesperación.
Con locura. Más, mucho más de lo que pudieras imaginar nunca... y más,
muchísimo más de lo que has llegado a amarme tú.
Si es que lo que llaman “amor” es esta extraña sed que me
consume, que me vuelve loco por verte, por tenerte... y que me hace sentirte
como nunca.... especialmente cuando no estás conmigo.
Y es por eso que quiero terminar de una buena vez y para
siempre con todo este suplicio inútil.
Para que no te mueras, Tony, como hubieran muerto tus
rosales al cruzar el umbral de mi puerta.
Con esta especie de muerte lenta.
Con esta sed.
Ahora...
Duerme, Tony... Descansa...
Aún no ha comenzado a asomar la luz del alba.
Tuyo siempre,
Leory Jethreo Gibbs.
viernes, 12 de abril de 2013
jueves, 11 de abril de 2013
miércoles, 10 de abril de 2013
martes, 9 de abril de 2013
lunes, 8 de abril de 2013
domingo, 7 de abril de 2013
sábado, 6 de abril de 2013
viernes, 5 de abril de 2013
jueves, 4 de abril de 2013
martes, 2 de abril de 2013
domingo, 31 de marzo de 2013
While the rain is pounding on the wall...
while the rain is pounding on the wall
--- * ~ * ~ * ---
You've fallen asleep
with your head on my lap. In silence.
Just like looking for a shelter that I cannot give.
It's not your fault
for what happened tonight. In any case, if there was any kind of fault, it was all mine ... and mine alone.
It’s still raining. There
is no possible truce in this tired ,saddened fall.
My fingers get tangled
again and again in the dark locks of your hair ,and everything tells me that
this sigh of anguish still does not leave you.
You see: I did retrace
my own steps. Something that I usually never do, that I never have done before.
But is that... you
know ... When I saw you there ... in the rain ... under that rain…
Now sleep, creature of
my soul.Just as well, while you sleep,
I loose my eyes in this dark
corner that has always been mine, which
doesn’t lead anywhere, and that just brings me back ,through the tiny
window, a little sight of moon and starry nights , that are always meaningless
to me.
My fingers keep going
back and forth, again and again, by the sad haven of your hair.
What happened ...
already happened. I know it took you
flares of shame, and fear
(perhaps worse than death) to read once more the mockery and derision in the
deep of my eyes.
But you begged me, and
I, whom deny everything to everyone,
hardening even more at the sight of those people whom live on their knees, this time…alas,I couldn’t do anything but to do exactly what
you asked.
It was so simple!
After to have loved me
like I'd never have been loved before , your anguish pushed for a single
,unique relief: You asked me the grace
to mourn loudly, clutching yourself in my chest. The grace of
screaming, of sobbing.The grace of
insult yourself, and the cursed
fate that decided all what we did in our lives.
Excuse me ... I cannot
write or talk as well as you would do. I cannot
thread more than a couple of words that sound so sharp as axes, that
hurt even more when they attack those
old and almost forgotten wounds.
You asked for permission ,harrowing meanwhile
screaming my name in your pain,
beating my chest with your useless
punching, biting the anger that shook you from within, where it lasted (and lasts ,..and shall last ... poor
bastard! forever) something that is stronger than hatred.
You screamed, howled,
as a fierce beast , cursing all that
joined yourself in an invisible and powerful bond to me ... You
were denying everything ,renouncing
all., even the fragile shield of your own honour.
You wanted to
have been never born; you wanted to
do not exist ... Or, in any case, you
wanted me as the one whom should have never
born ... never existed ...
(Oh,if your God had heard you before! ...)
You wanted to cancel
everything, tired of carrying your delirium, and withstand even mine, that I
cannot take with me in any way since.
Exhausted, finally,you
fell asleep hugging my knees, crouched on the floor,like a hungry little beast waiting for a simple gesture of attention or affection
that I cannot give you anymore..
Your moans while
sleeping are announcing that the pain does not cease under the
merciful shade of sleep, which is what most resembles death :and death was all
that you asked to me as a favour, and I ... I could have given
this to you ... but I do not
wanted. Or must I say that I couldn’t?
-Open the gas taps,
go, and leave me alone, if you do not want to die with me ... Do it
... Do it now, please, Jethro .....
- To die with you? ..
But you're crazy? ... If we were to die together in a mutual embrace, the world
would know the truth. And I cannot
afford the damn world taking
acknowledge of anything... Do you know what
would happen if you were found dead here, and in a way so infamous?
-Yes, I know ... But I
do not care ... I swear I do not care,
Gibbs! ... Enough! .... I cannot not take
another day!
I laughed:
-Yes you can ... You bet
you can! ... You actually were born for that,Di Nozzo... Don’t you realise that without one of the two of us, the
other (I shall not say his life but his whole being, or, if you prefer, the
mere fact of their existence) would no longer have any meaning?
(It was a lie. You
know that it was a lie.! My turn shall be
to die first. And you must live.This is the law. And the law must not be twisted for any reason.Yes,yes,I
know:forgive me if I am being so cynic!).
- You son of a ...!
... Bastard! ..... Do you
refuse if only that grace, Gibbs? ...
-Rejoice that you
granted permission to mourn loudly, so you can let off steam. I usually
do not ever do it, Di Nozzo.: You know me very well. "
Then impotence
blew your chest into pieces; you whispered unintelligible words, phrases
from your older pain of childhood
,dragging in them all your oldest wounds: the abandonment of your father, the
loneliness, the burden of honour and duty; in fact even that absurd oath made
in your childhood, in full
unconsciousness ...
Sleep, please sleep
... and don’t wake up until it will be well into the dawn. I could already take you to bed and sleep with you again
... But no ... Better not. If you
woke up… ... I would not have the chance to
say everything I want to say now. All I need
to say ... All I need to throw up now, from
the bottom of my guts, you know ...
I’m not usually generous with words. You
know me.,. And my way is brutal.
What? ... Are you
trembling? ... Yes,you tremble in horror as your dream contemplates
who knows what dark secrets in the omnipresence of my body on your skin, in
your blood ... in your bones ...
And you tremble in
love when you recognise me in the last
moonlight that’s biting the earth
before the dawn.
- I cannot stand anymore, Jethro! ... I swear
I cannot stand anymore! ...
- What about it?
- Always with your
damn indifference, Gibbs!
Ah! If I die in
my sleep out granted before a new day dawns, before waking up! ... Another day like this…cannot stand it anymore! ... Another
day, Gibbs damn! ... Another day! ....
But you grappled my chest for to do not releasing it. You wanted
to bury yourself inside it, to dissolve yourself, to disappear in my
flesh,under my skin; you wanted to scatter yourself in my blood , sick,jabbing yourself to my bones.
Tony,my little dawn!…. Tony,
furtive kiss of sunbeam in my eternal night!
. You
drown. Pain strangles you, even harder than
my fingers could do.My fingers,that are
now traveling on your neck, on the delicacy of silk that is offered to
my mouth like a balm ... when I feel the pain of my thirstiness ... when I am very thirsty ... that dim refuge
stands yet strong and hard to the fury of my kisses ...
I'm dying to kiss you
again .... and again .... and again .... But I don’t. My mouth has the
strange power to upset both your sleep and your wakefulness, which is why you
bite it always to make it bleed, while I do the same with yours.
The empty wall, wet
with rain, fills the window that leads to
anywhere. -No more light than lightning, from time to time,
stabbing the nocturnal sky, so leaden;
no more noise or music that your breathing, at times quiet, at times agitated,
and the distant beat of this heavy rain
….of this rain that never stops!.
On a night like this
the woman whom gave me birth(to her misfortune,and even more for mine)
committed suicide . A woman I can never return to call with the name of "mother".
It was right
before my eyes, eyes of twelve years that already ignored the infantile
playground, the tenderness and the rest, and stood, cold, watching her foreign
body hanging from the rafters in a room full of wet and winter.
But, as it has always
happened in this unexplained chaos of my life,
I grew up and fought .. And I found that it was too late. However
.... when I opened the little window a little, the only thing I had .there was
an almost insignificant appointment to
see something else other than the death .... I
still had only one thing ... only one! ... a ray of
sunshine ... a single ray of sunshine ...
but it also
was caught artfully, in a night like this one..
The invisible threads
that hold me always served and still
serve to resist, to hold, for the time is passing by, while I try to make
it forget about me ... to forget about me ....But these threads are
useless for to push aside my conviction.
And who but you, would
be my last ray of sunshine?
You came in through
this small window, through this single and impoverished small window , and I(
shivering in the cold of my life) was suddenly
under a dim little light that shone with a presumption infatuated with
pride and arrogance.
What nonsense!
What kind of pride?
... What kind of arrogance? ...
The blatant little ray
of sunshine curled at my feet, begging, pleading to let him warm them in winter
nights .... and ignoring that
really it was me the one who begged, without saying so, for that sweet
warmth you usually give me, sometimes , after our shared fury, when in your
mouth and on your fingers is being born the need to hide yourself in me, to
bury yourself in my chest.
How do you like my
chest!!!! ... How! For you, I know
it's an image of silence, a strange paradise, a nirvana where you felt yourself
dissolved in the ineffable benevolence of nowhere. That's why you always sleep well, when you are always in
me, with me,beneath me,upon
me…throbbing like this… ....
When I know that
you're finally asleep, then ... then I hug you.,I embrace you... Before ... I don’t
dare before. Before I can’t!. And then I kiss you, but not touching my lips with yours;
I kiss you without touching even an inch of the porcelain skin of your
forehead, or the glorious nest of your throat ... I do not know if I shall dare to tell you today all what
I should….
Ah,how you are now
hugging my knees!
Come on.. Lie
asleep on this chest of mine , before it bursts, before it is shattered by
having to remain silent ,so I can close my lips forever.
So ... well
... my little ray of sunshine ... my Tony ...... How would
I wish to have you again in my bed,just
now!
But no. Better
not.
Better I still enjoy
the sweet repose of your exhausted body.
The world thinks
you're some kind of charming prince, while I am the plebeian warrior ,the self
made one, that has
grown thanks to
the force and fury of his own
blows, of the blood spilled unceremoniously in his absurd revenges… ... The world thinks we fight to assert the
supremacy of our own forces, the power of these two infamous murderer ,killing
machines that are our bodies ... Let the
world I still believe that.
You and I know very
well that we are just two unfortunate, two unhappy guys caught in the middle of an endless winter
cold,attempting in vain to give each
other some warm.Two poor guys attempting desperately to drink everything of
themselves, to rush at each other, consumed by this unquenchable thirstiness.
This greed is not guilty ,nor susceptible of to have any end.
But now I rejoice in
sleeper holding my travelling hand in your back ,for to go slowly with my
fingers in your neck ,hiding them under
the silky dark mantle of your scented hair ....
My tenderness ... My
Tony…If you knew! ...
If you knew that if I
would loose you ... I ...
I ... yes ...
Sure! ... I ...I would kill myself.
If you knew, ... Tony!
But it’s better if you don’t know. Therefore
my silence, my indifference; this coldness of mine that destroys you by inside
when you assume that my chest(this poor old
chest you love so much!) is just
only a wasteland of rocks and sand, dry and barren, that returns another
chapter over our long history of frustration, anxiety, loneliness ...
You dream. You
perspire. You fret. The drops of your sweat bathe my skin ... Do you dream, my soul?Do you dream? ... What do you dream about? ... Are you dreaming that you love me? ... or maybe you dream instead that you never loved
me,that you're free of this burden, of
this infamous brand that hurts your pride naturally ... Tell me what you dream ... Say it with those groans of
yours that turn on every drop of
my blood ...
I cannot resist
anymore!. I'll kiss you. I'll
let my mouth dying in your hair, on your neck,searching for the hidden sweetness in your throat ... You,Tony,are my little unique sunbeam born with the dawn, but born to die out completely in the
brutal blindness that lasts in each of my nights ....
Your skin tastes me to glory. Wet, warm, as a
pitcher full of fresh water for this
forbidden thirst that has always lived with me, burning my tongue
until the balm of your mouth refreshes
it .... if only for a short time, you know, becauseus… you and I…. Ah,we are
like the sea: the more we drink from our mouths, our skin, our bodies ...
thirstier we are! ... more and more thirsty ... and it becomes
unbearable…
I kiss you, and you
don’t wake up, because my kisses are living
in your dreams.
I could take you back
to my bed,and love you again until both,you and I,end up bleeding ... But it is better to lie down here,to rest on this poor forgotten ground,in this even more forgotten basement, so
humble, covering us only with this worn
carpet without any colour, and this old pair of cushions, while watching the
little window that leads us anywhere.
The rain is easing. Soon it
will lean out the feeble light of a
wounded moon, split in two by the shadow of this wet and moldy wall .
My hands roam your
back from your neck to your buttocks
... and they still dare to go lower ... and more lower
... to finally arrive at your delicious
nest of tender flesh,still prepared for make my anxiety find some rest.
You close your embrace
more against me. You think you’re finding a refuge in this chest of
mine,that hurts so much ... so
much!…not knowing that you,yourself, are my refuge,
the secret hideout for all my silent
sadness.
The sound of the rain
is becoming almost inaudible. The
storm has ceased. My hand travels by your
thighs. My mouth is hidden in your hair.
I close my eyes ...
My heart breaks at
once to feel you have awakened.
- Boss? .... What
... what time is it? .... What? -
-Nothing. Sleep,
Tony. No dawns. Sleep.
- Do you? ... Aaahmm
... You're not sleeping, Boss? ...
- Stop it, Anthony!
... let me sleep, go you to sleep and have a good time!
You smile,and stir in a cuddly gesture while you attempt
to travel with your mouth over my body again.
-No. Not
now. Stop that now, and go to sleep.
And you obey ... but
protest. Divinely.
-Ahmmm ... at
least we could have gone to bed ... Ahmmm
... to be more comfortable ... Do not you think? ...
- Wanna go to bed?
I look at you, while
you stretch. How I love to see you so, in your childish ,delicious
drowsiness !
-The main bedroom
window at least has
another view ... it overlooks the courtyard
...
-Oh, yes. A patio
where there is nothing.
I light a cigarette to
hide my eyes behind the smoke.
-There's nothing
because you wanted it that way, Boss. I offered you ...
ahhmmm! ... to bring
some roses ... remember?
- Roses??! ...?
Here??! ..... Why?! .... To see how they
would die day after day, like everything that crosses the threshold of my door?
...
- Jethro! ... Already
starting ? ..
-Oh .... Now go
to sleep for once, Di Nozzo!
Silence. You
close your eyes, while I finish my cigarette to extinguish( as always) the butt
against my palm.
In the distance it’s
heard the crowing of a rooster. It's after four o'clock.
The rain keeps giving,
the last drops hit against the dirty
wall, as if to wake it from its sad slumber..
. Alas ... How
similar to my soul is that sad,
ruinous, lonely wall that faces anywhere!
And you fall asleep again,once more, with your head buried completely in my chest .. Your
mouth is spilling waves of hot breath
on my tired skin ; your halite caresses me as always.
I light another cigarette,
waiting for the moon to lean out, for to be cleft in two by the high grey wall
of this structure.
The moon, mother of these suburban slums, sister of
silence, tireless companion of the endless night:so endless as it shall always be my life.
The moon rotates …the wounded, broken moon….
(I need a drink. For
something I have such long arms: I stretch them just a little, and I reach to the table where there is my bottle of bourbon. Yeah .. I need a
drink. And another. And another. That's better, to further stoke the fire that
consumes my throat.)
Anyway ... You
shall never know, Tony. Never.
You'll never know for
sure what you have been, what you are and what you will be for me.
You never know, until
I've definitely gone, and, one day, by chance, perhaps you will discover this
letter, the letter I'll write to you
now, immediately, before I have to get drunk to forget everything again before
the day is born , before, like every morning, you have to leave me ... so that
the both of us can wear our daily costume and masks.
Because you’re who leave me, you know? ... and not
I to you.
I ... I am
always with you. I am your perpetual
anxiety, your fear, your secret pain. All
that you are able to keep only in the
most hidden cache of your soul.
And I still do not
know if the day you read this, you'll believe it.
And, in truth, I do
not care. I do not mind at all.
I know it's true. And
that's enough.
The wounded moon kisses your skin for me.
Ah .... I
forgot. (See what alcohol does? ......)
What I wanted to say
is that, from the bottom of this filthy pit of misery that is my soul, I ... I ...
I love you. With
despair. With madness. More, much more than you could ever imagine ... and more, much more than what you've come to love me.
If that …what they
call "love" is this strange thirst that consumes me, that drives me
insane to see you, to have you ... and that makes me feel that void,that
emptiness,like never before ....
especially when you're not with me.
And that is why I want
a good finish once and for all with this whole useless ordeal useless.
I cannot let you die, Tony, as your bushes had died as
they crossed the threshold of my door.
With this kind of slow
death I’m experiencing now myself...
With this
infinite thirst.
Now ...
Sleep, Tony ... Rest
...
Has not yet begun to
appear the light of dawn.
Farewell…
Yours ,forever,
Jethro Leroy Gibbs.
martes, 8 de enero de 2013
THE TOWER OF SILENCE:SECOND PART:FROM CHAPTER VI TO THE EPILOGUE
THE TOWER
OF SILENCE
(English
translation,by the Author)
SECOND
PART:
Chapter VI:
(Rachmaninov, Second Concerto,first mouvement)
(Ville
d'Autrémont, nine o'clock)
The winter
garden had a sort of secret charm in
the morning.
On the blanket of
yellow silk, there was a solitary
purple tie, and the vision of orchids carefully aligned in a semicircle,
receiving the autumn sun.
Reid was busy in
sorting them , reaching for his knowledge of botanics.Among them,he discovered , loner, a colchicum or mountain
saffron, with its curiously humble flowers with a sad liliaceous blue colour..
The music came
from the studio placed next door, whose gates
opened into the garden.
The coffee was
served on the table.
He put aside
pencil and paper., And sat next to the yellow silk, gently caressing it with
the tip of his fingers.
. All of the
preceding dayhe had been in that chaise
longue, in the arms of his strange guest.
Where would now Gideon be ?
Sleeping? Would he have gone?
. Upon awakening,
drunk with pleasure, happy, tired, with his
nerves as numbed by the considerable effort that presuppose eight spasms
lengthy and without interruption, he did not find his master -mentor-lover at
his side.
Only the music
indicated that ,perhaps, he was in the
house.
... Or maybe not ...
He slowly sipped
his coffee, sweetened with honey, and it was then, when the last drops of
sweetness bathed his tongue, when he reminded of Aaron.
Aaron… What
was he doing at that time?
He looked at his
watch.It was nine in the morning in
Britain.
. Midnight in
Seattle ..
He lit a
cigarette, leaned back in the wicker chair, and left himself abandoned to
memories.
(Anchorage,
Alaska, winter 2007)
-'I'm
in a gelid land ,and I have only your
eyes -the kiss took up residence on the eyelids of Aaron as a balm - Your eyes, a crystal
in perpetual mourning ...
Aaron grabbed the waist ,so
exquisitely formed, and then dropped his hand to caress his almost lifeless
lover’s narrow hips.
-
And your eyes are like bitter almonds . –said Aaron ,
still breathing with longing
A kiss, and another, and another,
and another ....
-How far back
you want me? -asked Aaron.
-Since I watched
those eyes of you for the first time ..
and ... you?
Aaron somewhat parted from him and
held his gaze,firmly.
--I do
not want you.. I do love you.
Spencer raised
his left leg, and wrapped Aaron’s hips.He felt his muscles strong, wiry, like a sculpture .It was like
bronze.,not cold marble, but it bore
the stamp of what is cast in the flesh . It was hot as a force in all its
beauty.
- 'You're
beautiful, Jewish .-said Spencer , his voice muffled by desire.
-Young
,insolent gohim with topaz eyes-the
swarthy man replied, narrowing further embrace.
He sought his
mouth in his chest .It was a paroxism of
anxiety.He fell down,bursting back on the bed, with intertwining Spencer
in his body, without mercy, without reservation.
The "bold gohim", the
"little daring"! fiddled with his mouth pinned to his
throat, gently biting his ears, looking
for the point of no return….Skilled,expert…sadistically charming… ")
Spencer
remembered with eyes closed, clutching his cigarette and taking it to his mouth
as if it was given to him ,already,to tast those kisses..
. One hand rested
on his shoulder, and brought him back, when his body,that was still
in enervation , was beginning to
reenter into a state of erethism .
-My orchids go
mad with jealousy when they look at your drowsy beauty .
Spencer opened his eyes and smiled.
-Jason ...- he said clutching the
hand that caressed him -Where were you?
-Around, -Gideon said, sitting
beside him -The old ones(like I am) need some time alone.
-You are not no old at all.An old man doesn’t drag his lover to orgasm more than seven times.
. Jason laughed,
shrugging.
-Pure-old trickery ...-he ruffled his hair, and gave him a quick kiss
on the mouth, -I just want you to know I'm like King Marke: I 'm not here to
separate the lovers, but to bring them together.
-Bringing
them together?-Spencer shivered, despite himself-.What do you mean by that?
-What you hear, creature-he sighed-.
I told you I'm dying..This one is my
latest adventure, the most beautiful, the most daring, the most perfect. I said
that…, well, I heard about you and Aaron from the first time ... come on! Since
before it happened!! Or perchance you thought about the mess in internal
affairs,and you believed that?
Spencer
smiled..Perhaps in another circumstances he would have flushed.Now,it was impossible, since this singular man,
strange, unknown, unclassifiable, had become his lover.
-'There's
something I want ask to you..Really,thy are
two things: when that happens, I want to be cremated and my ashes
scattered in the Grand Bé.-Spencer nodded gravely-The other is more difficult,
-Gideon continued.- You know I suffer from liver cirrhosis,that is
irreversible.Well.Death from cirrhosis
is quite unpleasant:bloating, vomiting nauseating substances,
excremental liquids.. .... naked exposure of the human misery.
He went to another table that was in the garden, and opened a box t.
-I want to ask you for to do this for me.
That said, he showed him a singularly beautiful antique
pistol.
-I .. I ... Reid
stammered, `I do not know ... I can .. never ...
- ... You've
never killed anyone in cold blood, right? But think, golden creature, that this
will be only an act of immense mercy.I ask you to make me listen to the third
movement of the concerto in C minor by Rachmaninov, while meet one of my two
last wishes.
- I wish -he added,
and his voice was almost broken-if it is not too much to ask, if you can close
my eyes ,if they are still open, and you can
do the same with my mouth .... if possible .. with a kiss ...
He sighed deeply.
-Do you like it ?- he wielded the
pistol-It is a .38 special Eibar,
Spanish, has ivory ornaments ...There are only two exactly equal..This is the
original…Can you see? It has my
initials:JMG
Spencer asked,
examining it with curiosity:
- 'And the other?
Gideon
smiled with an almost mocking
expression.
-
'Soon you will know.
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….
(On the road
Paris-Saint Malo)
The images
followed one after another.Field, trees, buildings, charming visions; however,everything had lost its relevance, its significance, its dimension of reality.
-This seems a nightmare-. Morgan
said, leaning back in the back seat of the Alfa Romeo-.We travel by the French roads to a command operation,like to
a military mission,, with bulletproof vests, and no one stops us , nor does not
even make a hint of wonder .. .
-Don't worry
about-. Rossi said -Yes, it's a nightmare,or a surrealistic
sketch,maybe.See who is the most
ruthless unsub that we have ever faced!!!!..and…
-He has a name, not an unknown subject-third Aaron, already recovered from his unfortunate first
appearance on stage-We know your name
.. but, as has deceived us yet , that probably is not the true one ......
-No.He hasn’t deceived us in that .It is his real name.
Derek felt
curious about something:
- Tell me, Rossi
.... You knew him from long ago?
-I said that about thirty-five
years, at least.
-Do you know
something of his life …reliably? Because we never found anything.
Rossi laughed..In
the meanwhile, the MP3 in the car let out the joyful notes of The Barber of
Sevilla.Derek admired again Rossi absolute coldness,his lack of empathy, his definitely iced nature,his petrified mettle.He
liked to be called” a disciplined sociopath”. ..
Rossi began so:
-Gideon
was born in a miserable hovel,. in Bronx. His
father was a bastard that captured girls in Europe to bring them to
America to pursue prostitution. The post-war hunger was the framework for their
mischievous adventures.Abraham Gideon was the name of this ruffian .. One of these girls, Antoinette
d'Autrémont, daughter of a good family from Britain, impoverished by the war,
was left captivated by his promises ... and .... what more pleasure for a Jew
,than the degradation of a gohim?-Rossi
looked significantly to Hotchner, over his shoulder, adjusting the rearview
mirror in order,and continued:
-
They had two children, while the poor woman contracted
syphilis through his office, a disease that went straight to your former
conspicuous general supervisor.
He did a pause;then,he continued:
-
Abraham Gideon had lots of fun abusing of his own son.He used to burn
him with cigarettes when he returned
from his travels ,sickening with kvas and cehapvodka .He used the boy for to make money ... you'll want to know that
Jason Gideon was a very cute boy? This seems incredible, isn’t so? -Rossi
laughed harder-Until one day he escaped and went to jail after a shoplifting in
a grocery.As a result, he was confined
in a kind of asylum or reformatory, while the sister was carried to a convent
of nuns. In the asylum, among other
things, Gideon showed what would be the final characteristics of his
personality: an almost genetic bad character, a desperate need to defend who he
considered the weakest, a belligerent atrocious temper ; his love for
music, chess, books ... and, of course, his homosexuality ,that was
conscious, confessed and expressed.
As ihe turned out to be a genius, he was awarded a scholarship, and
gained access to school and the university.When he had left the institution, he
went to seek his sister, and, working in meanest trades (dishwasher, shoe
shiner, errand boy, janitor, etc.) took over her until she married a
clerk.As this employee(his brother-in law) proved to be a paragon of
debauchery, he took care of his two nephews.And he also took her back to the city to take a walk
around the hospital where Abraham Gideon was languishing because of cirrhosis
(Antoinette had died some time ago,syphilis) and spat his face.
Jason was without a penny, in miserable condition,
working night and day as a slave, giving all to the family of his sister
Sophie, but he still retained the scholarship.
Both at school and at the university
,he was revealed as the genius that he was.That he is!-Rossi said,stressed,
raising a finger ... -That should not be forgotten,even if he is completely
deranged .
- And you knew in
college? -Derek asked, lighting a cigarette.
-Not precisely.I was in college in
Philadelphia, the city where my family and I moved after to have left New
York.In those days,there was a sort of political meeting in the Nevada desert,and I travelled there,without any
hesitation.: they were years of exuberant student union ....
Rossi continued,with a nostalgic shade crossing upon his features:
-I was drinking a beer
in one of the many bars located along the route between Reno and Las Vegas,
when a guy came up to me .He was tall, with long curled hair, dark brown,
dressed carelessly, and even boasting of his sloppiness.He looked at me with a
strange intensity.Suddenly,he said: :
-Let’s go to f…ck the ass of the bourgeoisie.
I looked at
him, holding the brightness of his dark eyes, perverse, provocative, smelling
the grass from his cigarette like a mast raised ,so insolent, so petulant,…and
I could not help but smile, and accept
his tempting invitation.
We left, after acquiring a few beer
cans ,certainly very economic,that I
had to pay out of pocket, and that's when he introduced me to his ad latere,
a very tall, blond, thin and infamous
face which he called "Frank Van Houten ".
Hotchner
violently interrupted him:
-FrankVan
Houten???????
- -This is not the
one that???????? The one he just……he just….??- Derek stammered.
-The
same,' said Rossi,always imperturbable—The same one of that
confrontation in the cafeteria of the Desert
which does not surprise me at all to be the same one where we met, thirty-five years ago.
(To be continued
..)
TOWER OF SILENCE
CHAPTER VII:
Rossi continued,
while Aaron threw hand from his flask of bourbon:
-That night I was invited to spend
the night in their trailer. I witnessed
everything imaginable and unimaginable, too.I was attempting to sleep in a bunk located above the occupied by Jason, and I could heard the groans,
roars, laments, that his fellow, fellow, Frank Van Houten, (whose back could
see if I poked a little) tore from him..
I decided to abandon him (I couldn’t bear that “scenario”!!),even if I
was sure Jason never would forgive me for that.
Said and done: he never forgave me
not having added to his private orgy of three, and I think that attitude
decided him to hate me for the rest of
his life.
A few days later,
however, he came to the bog where I was
staying, and, near tears, told me the story of his life.He hugged me, discovering his chest for to make me
see his wounds.He showed me marks
of bites, gashes, burns ... in his back
and buttocks .. Then…He kissed me
passionately, and he said he would do anything for me, that I could
consider him as only mine .. He reached into my groin, stroking, rubbing vehemently.I never had been the
subject of a sexual attack of this nature before( I confess), and I was
stunned, motionless, paralyzed, not knowing what to say or do.He begged me
to take him with me; he told me
that he wanted us to do great things
together..He gave me this gun,an Eibar 38 special, identical to the one he
wore, and he had had engraved with my initials: RAP (my middle name is Anthony:
Anthony, as he named after the son that
his wife had, God knows with who).
Many years later,
when you, Aaron,called me,phoned me, as
a a result of developments in the case of Yates, passing upon cavalierly over
his authority, he came to my house (how
the hell he had learned where I lived,
damned if I know!), angry, insulting me point blank, shouting from the rooftops
that you and the rest of the team had chosen to contact me when I was sleeping
with a bitch (it’ss true), and not with
him, while he was working hardly on the case ,stealing hours to his
sleeping..And he left my house
yelling,impetuously::
-You’re wasting your time with cheap bitches, while Yates is stabbing and killing half the world! You're
pitiful, pathetic, and, as if that were not enough, you have a bad taste that can
be qualified as atrocious!
I must place on
record the following: what Gideon has never forgiven in your life is a slip of
a heterosexual nature.
-That's absurd.He,himself, was
married! And he says he has a child, '-said Morgan.
Rossi almost
choked on his own laughter:
-Derek, innocent
boy! We have wives to procreate
children, and ephebuses to have solace! Plato dixit !
Then, calming
down somewhat, he continued:
-I met Eleanor,
his wife, several times.She was a poor woman who was terrified, and who he did
not make love NEVERMORE..Because of
that. everyone knows that Anthony is not his son
-'You
.. you comforted her , David? -Hotchner then asked, tired.
-A couple of times.But Anthony
is not my son. I almost would to infer that this was some Frank Van Houten’s prank.
Hotchner wanted to finish everything
as soon as possible, to talk openly with Spencer, face the reality of a
relationship that no longer they could hide, and escape from the world..
Derek was seriously considering resigning from the BAU.
Rossi amused (it was obvious) , and
the weak pretext of "saving
institutions" now seemed a sort of
cover for personal revenge.
-If this is revenge, I'm out, -said
Morgan-Even more : I'm out of the BAU, and
I will ask that for
the resignation to be officially
accepted..
-That what I
decide, Derek.-pointed Aaron,
seriously-Who I want out, and immediately, it's you, David.Once
we have finished with this case, consider yourself lost in
retirement availability.
Aaron thought
delegate command again in Derek Morgan ,and
get away with Spencer (as far as possible) of all that moral insanity
that had contributed to the collapse of his life, his person, his physical and
mental integrity.
-And
Frank Van Houten? –asked Derek –I
remember Gideon asking me to leave the
cafeteria, because he could and wanted
to defend himself alone.
- It was easy-Rossi
took a curve at high speed, noting that L'Heureux and his people came behind
them-When Frank made the mistake of hijacking the bus with the
children, finally sealed his destiny.Gideon (after killing a woman named Ilse Flohs , which he previously sent
a bouquet of chrysanthemums, the flowers
he most detests), he took over FRank, and he even had the grace to
dissolve his remains in a barrel of acid.
-If you know this , why did not you tell us?
- I was not active
then ,Derek.It wasn’t my business.
-Go! What freshness to
wash your hands, David!
-I know
why you're saying all this, Dave.-Aaron third –It is to make Derek having no remorse when pulling the trigger ,before Gideon could articulate
a single word.But the fact is that I'm
still your boss,-he stressed - in case you've forgotten, and I wanted to hear
the other bell’s ringing.So ,sick sociopath, I tell you I will go before all of
you, and that Morgan will only fire if I, and only I, personally, give the
order.
Morgan was the
best shot of the team.His bullets were
always lethal.Rossi’s machiavellianism
had gone so far as to use an honest man to end a case that considered
((it was more than obvious) like something personal.
-A man whom I owe
all that I am, -'said Derek, not without a great sadness in his voice -He was
the one who officially accused
Buford of abuse me. He was who proposed me for the FBI, pulling me
out a miserable ,monotonous life And he
never asked me anything in change.I
swear on my mother.
And it was true.
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..
(Gideon’s residence in Combourg,at
the same time)
The green liquid
slowly bathed the white bun candy and capriciously poured into the fresh water, tinting it with her
voluptuous litmus, turning
then luxuriously into the famous white “louche”..
Gideon held the
silver spoon in his left hand, while the right one was manipulating a
bottle of Suissé, the finest and strongest of the Swiss absinthes.
-The time is approaching,-he said,
offering the cup to Reid. -My life has been hard, but I have several things
that I consider fortunate,..for to already
rescue them,.Among them,the most important is to have known you.
Reid was visibly
nervous.
-
'Drink,- said Gideon- This will help you..And think
it's just an instant The events have precipitated, and this time,for once,
not because of my fault,precisely.
Spencer stood up and hugged that singular man with all his might,
stroking him feverishly.
- I have not had
anything from you ... Your pleasure, I
mean, your ... your climax, do not know it, and I booted eight spasms of
incredible strength ...
-I told you they were only old tricks of this old man- Gideon smiled
-But I guess I should show you before I had left.
Slowly,he unbuttoned his shirt;then,he undid the silver buckle of
his black leather belt.
Spencer gulped the glass of Suisse, and the liquid burned down his
throat, foreshadowing the disaster.
Then he knelt in front of Jason
Gideon, and eagerly sought the space between his legs.
-Creature …-murmured Gideon -If I
had known you before!
After a moment of hesitation,
he grabbed Spencer vigorously, and held
him up, almost lifting him in the air.
-'No,'
-he said,feeling himself horrorously repentant
-Never!. Never on knees.! Never.! Let
it so, creature!!.You are too beautiful…too beautiful!!
Spencer shook the
embrace, and Jason devoured his mouth with a
frantical kiss in which lived
and lasted all his inmense pain,
desire, anxiety, murderer rage ,and
infinite sadness.
-We will be
alone, '-said Jason, breaking the kiss,and spreading a little the hug'-Mrs
Dutertre and her husband have gone to Rennes, to visit some friends and
relatives..Please,promise me that they will live in this house when I will be
no longer here. They were my only
company.They , and the cats that
are out there, nameless and
bearingless.Ah, and my birds, my
habitual companions,which I asked every day for you ...
-Absolutely! .-Reid paused-But you expect someone else, right?
-Yes..I
already said I'm not here to separate
the lovers, but to bring them together.
Spencer was trembling:the perspiration had become
a thick veil on his forehead and his hands: the thought of
seeing Aaron under such unique circumstances terrified him.
-Aaron .... Aaron will come ,perhaps?
Gideon smiled, and went to embrace him again.His breathing was painful.
- I'm here to gather
you both,at the end of the most beautiful and perfect of all the stories.Do you
know?-He lit a cigarette and leaned back in his chair, with his back to the
windows,- I have always felt sorry because I knew all of you had seen my demise
as a gesture of contemptuous abandonment..No.If I had continued to be there,
maybe all of you,yourselves,would
regret it,and everyone would
have ended by asking me who I was for to insist resting there,after all my
mistakes and my cowardice…I always would have been a negative note, an obscure note.Can you understand? Too much
death does not look well with a black
background, Spencer.And of course I know that
you suffered more than the others.
-I loved you as a father.
-Yes, but I did not love you nor I
love you just like a son-Gideon pulled
him up to sit on his lap,and he
murmured :-I adore you. Nobody will love you like me, not even Aaron:but you chose Aaron.
-If I had chosen
you instead of Aaron ... it would have changed
things?
Gideon sighed:
-' Not
yet , unfortunately..Mi disease is very advanced.This is terminal..It is an inherited gene, aggravated by my constant
use of alcohol.I reached until drinking pure ethyl alcohol during
my tremendous crisis of
despair.I had delirium
tremens…But-he raised his index-,even in delirium, I could see your face
.. and it was enough for me to lie to mourn as a child, and scream your
name.Your name,Spencer!The mere mention
of your name and the mere memory of a lost smile,
saved me from falling deeper into the abyss.
Spencer shook the
hug, and patted the hands of Jason Gideon with sincere affection.
-You were always
so tight ,so hermetic with us ...- he said.
-'It
did not interest me none but you.I think of to
have been clear in the letter that I left before to go.
-Derek has
affection for you, however.
-And I
for him, but I could not get more
involved than I already was. Derek is a honest man..Aarón is also a honest
man.And honesty was, for me, as a direct slap in the face, Spencer.I was born
corrupt.
Spencer smiled:
- You saying
about yourself what you never could
never admitted even in the worst
criminals.I think that Rossi is the
speaker of the genetic theory of evil, as it has been stated by the Italian
school, but you were always different.
-Yes, I have always thought that the
social factor was decisive, if we can speak of a determinant, exactly ... But,
in my case ...- He reached in his vest pocket, and pulled out a little black copybook-This is the story of
my life.Read it,please, when I will
be no longer here.
-You
said a few months still missing …..
-Yes, but I can
not retain you with me longer, even if
I wanted, creature. You deserve to be happy.You may help Aaron to assume the
reality of things ,as they truly are..That man
is perhaps the best person I've ever met, but heconstantly lies to himself, and much.
And do not give
me that admonition :” the regulation has forbidden any interpersonal
relationship”, because, in practice, this is not done .If Hotchner fears that
he can not bear the weight of the
relationship, then,he should resign immediately .I did the same, and I
did not even have any relationship with you, except labour, and perhaps a slight
friendship.
-You could have
spoken then .You could have approached
me to explain what you felt.
-You were already
with Hotchner.No.It wouldn’t have made
sense.
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….
(A stop on the road Paris-Saint
Malo, near Rennes)
-'There's
something here that does not make sense, boss-Morgan said, while Rossi, after
stopping the car in front of a gas station, approached the police car in
which was coming L'Heureux, accompanied by a half dozen of
effectives-Something ....
. -I think so too,
Derek.
All the men went
to the little cafe .Derek beckoned to
Hotchner, and went into the bathroom.
. Once there, he
turned his cell phone and dialed a number.
-Your computer siren, always at your
service!
-Hello, my princess.I need you.
-Gee, Derek, I
was deathly worried! Where are you?
-That's
not matter.I am so far.. ... Well: I need to find out everything about the
people whose names I am sending by private message., please.
-They are the victims?
-Yes, baby girl.Víctims of a serial
murderer, we think ..Los crimes occurred in different countries: Italy, Greece,
Czech Republic, Spain., Argentina, France ..
(A constant
clatter of keys began to be heard at
the other side of the line.)
... ...
-Aha..You’re in France, right?
-Yes.
-This is unofficial ---?
- Yes.Please, baby
girl...To anyone else… a deal?
-A
deal ,marron glacé. In half hour
you will have what all of these alleged
victims ate during their first communion party, bar mitzhvah, etc,
etc.
In the small cafe, Robert L'Heureux
and his men were arguing heatedly in French with David Rossi.
Aaron ,sitting down apart, sipped
his coffee served in an old thick slab
cup ,eyes fixed in a vacuum.
Derek turned off his cell phone,
left the bathroom and went to his boss.
. -In half an hour we'll know it for sure.
Aaron’s olive face contracted in a
grimace of fury.
-What did you do? You know I've given orders respect to this..You
already know that nobody must be in
this, except us.
-
We can not risk being victims of an ambush. If this is a personal vendetta, which are
arranged between them. My suspicion was
born of a single sentence spoken by our ... "Supervisor", "Shoot
to kill: no prisoners will be taken on this issue. "
. Hotchner was silent.
-I guess we can trust her-he
said,after a while. -And I guess you have not mentioned ...
-No, of course.
-Whatever it is, his name should remain unblemished.
-Now you're the fanatic of the
institutions?
Aaron stood up, and no muscle of his
face led the interior martyrdom
that he experienced.
-'I have reason to hate him more than
anybody else-he said, very quietly –But I
feel that everything crashes into a shadow. We are pursuiving a shadow…
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….
(Combourg,,Ville d’Autrémont:the winter garden…At the same time)
The empty space in the middle of
the semicircle formed by the carefully
chosen three hundred three orchids indicated the absence of the colchicum.
In a small black bottle, the kind
that were common in old apothecaries, the root was mixed with laudanum, a
little honey, wormwood, Madeira wine, and tincture of henbane(black and white)
,"the flowers of death."
- I knew you would not dare to press the trigger.It
doesn’t matter yet. .Colchicum acts
rapidly,it reaches within one hour to
induce coma, and death is safe, easy, almost immediate,and painless..And,
especially, clean..I’ve been a Judas, a
Nero , a Caligula, a Erostratus..: but I will die as Socrate-he smiled- Anyway, if you think it is necessary shot, I
do not expect anything else from you..Now., please, spit in the little
bottle..I want your saliva as the
vehicle of the poison, as the water of
my death.
Spencer hesitated a moment then
salivated at the flask.Inmediately, Gideon drained its content to the dregs .
_-_This has been done.This is a Fact-he
said, and went to the piano,.He steps were decise,secure.He sat down,
and started playing the bars of the third movement of Rahcmaninov’s second
Concerto.
Spencer came up to him, and sat down in the lounge couch ,facing the
windows-On the table there was a book.He opened it. It was Verlaine, and they were his Saturnian
verses.
(TO BE CONTINUED)
TOWER OF SILENCE
Chapter VIII:
"les
sanglots longs
Des violons
De l'automne
Blessent mon coeur
D'une langueur
M o n o t o ne. Tout suffocant
Et blême, quand
Sonne l'heure,
Je me souviens
Des jours anciens
Et je pleure Et je m'en vais
Au vent mauvais
Qui m'emporte
Deça , de lá,.
Pareil à la
feuille morte "
Des violons
De l'automne
Blessent mon coeur
D'une langueur
M o n o t o ne. Tout suffocant
Et blême, quand
Sonne l'heure,
Je me souviens
Des jours anciens
Et je pleure Et je m'en vais
Au vent mauvais
Qui m'emporte
Deça , de lá,.
Pareil à la
feuille morte "
(P. Verlaine, Chanson d'automne)
(The deep whispers
Of the autumn Violin
are like
a wound in the soul
A wound of strange anguish
without end.
Of the autumn Violin
are like
a wound in the soul
A wound of strange anguish
without end.
Trembling,I remember
This flight of time
I left.
Evoking the past
and those distant days,
I cry.
This flight of time
I left.
Evoking the past
and those distant days,
I cry.
This wind blows
a yesterday of darkness .
It happens
like a bad storm
raising ,littering dried leaves …
like I am)
a yesterday of darkness .
It happens
like a bad storm
raising ,littering dried leaves …
like I am)
The rustle of those dried leaves in
the road leading to the small town sounded like a kind of clatter, so
percussive, incisive, sometimes unbearable.
After leaving the car, and leaving
aside L'Heureux and his people (hiding behind a low wall overlooking the
cemetery and the Castle Forest), Aaron
Hotchner nodded to Derek Morgan.
-Nothing, yet?
The brunette shook her head.
Wielding their weapons,they were protected as they usually did. Hotchner
walked forward; then, Rossi, and Derek brought up the rear, slowing purposely his steps.
They were just leaves, a pungent
smell of honeysuckle ,old dried flowers , a gust of wind, a dark cloud behind
the tower : perhaps that slightly damp dew could become rain.There was a
dead tree; an old blind fountain sorrounded by
the little circle of boxwood; a statue(naked and mutilated);a bird.
It was that hopeless time when twilight begins to become evening.
No one could have imagined the
storm and the persistent martyrdom that were shaking Aaron's soul.
He feared …but he also longed to
know what had really happened: if Spencer was alive or dead, and in what
circumstances.He wanted, (and at the same time fhe elt a terrible disgust, a
sordid fear ) he carved to know every detail,even if it was the cruelest or
the most infamous.
He knew that every man carries the
constant fascination with death, and that its
aphrodisiac effect competes with the desire of transmitting life.
He finally knew a new type of sorrow: the voluptuous pain of broken passion, jealousy, uncertainty, fear, anger, desire at
their finest terrible insistence.
To embrace the one he adored, living or dead, maybe also cover
the gloomy picture that awaited him with his tears, those tears that were pouring silently alone
and only three times in his life .. (the death of his father, Hayley's
sacrifice, Spencer Reid's farewell) ..
Aaron Naphtali Elijah felt his rebellion against the eternal blood
pogrom that imposed him to voluntarily waive any staff of personal rebellion
.Several centuries of atrocities (characteristics of what at least
three millennia of historical hate did
to his race) had prepared his heart to turn definitively like a stone.
That's when he heard the distant
music, and when he saw the cats (the
countless cats!) running in the presence of the three men who, somewhat
apart, were marching in single file directly into an iron gate that had a sign
,an old badge with letters spent by
time : “Ville d'Autrémont, 1679.”
A name and a date.
He thought he heard something behind
him: he saw Rossi crouching behind the
small blind fountain,.and could
hear him whisper, as if nodding:
-Rachmaninov.
Some yards behind, Morgan pressed
the call button on his cell phone (an anachronistic detail amidst that timeless
solitude), and could not hear, but he could see still with his hawk eyes,
trained to foresee what indecipherable, how Morgan’s face had turned pale.
And he could see him make a
desperate sign.
Aaron fell, almost running.
-You will not believe, -said Derek,
pale, with his features that,without
words,were trying to explain what
he could not understand- These young
victims are alive .... they are alive.. ...., Aaron!
Clutching the arm of his subordinate
and friend, Hotchner said, not without the
slightest hint of surprise in his voice: -
-Is it safe?
-Absolutely.!One of them ..-Derek looked at the small screen
of his iPhone.-, the so called Laforgue, the pianist, even today will give a
concert at the Salle Pleyel ..
-So? -Aaron asked, and did nothing
but ask to himself..
-Someone lies.. Someone (a
narcissist, certainly, some diseased erostratomaniac needing of public) have
simulated these crimes, to bring us up here..This is my personal theory.
Aaron had full confidence in the
extraordinary ability of Penelope, and in the no less extraordinary good sense
of Morgan.
So he insisted:
-Do you think we can trust Rossi?
Derek Morgan shook his head.
-I'm not so sure- he murmured.
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
(Gideon’s private chamber,besides
the winter garden,inside the house.At the same time).
Suddenly,Spencer stopped reading to
ask, softly:
-Could you do me one last favour,
master?
Jason, while caressing the keys on
the piano, and feeling himself full of poison in his veins (he barely perceived
his legs, and began to experience
blurred vision), tried to sound, however, natural:
-Anything, creature.What it is?
-Give me some anesthesic,some …
soporipher drug. I don’t want to see
the time when Aaron…
-Are you afraid of to face
him?-Gideon asked.
-What I fear is that he will not
come alone .. The chances that he could come alone are very few.
-I know..But you, and only you,are the one who should be able to face
this..It has caused great harm on
you..It’s time to speak clearly and
openly.
-Also, if he come ... with Morgan..or
Rossi –Reid continued-I do not know how to react ... They may think that I killed you, because you tried to force me .. Maybe (and this is the
worst but most likely possibility, because statistically it is proven) they
will think that it is you who abducted and tortured me.
-They are researchers of evil:as you
were,and as I was .What do you want
them to think? That this is a supreme
act of pure love? Perhaps do you pretend that they could understand the secret poetry that lasts behind our pact?
-It might look like a suicide pact,
and ...
-No.You shall not die..-Jason turned slightly to face Reid,with his eyes like
glassy:obviously he could not see him.Then he sighed,painfully.
'-I have ice on my legs –he said,
finally.
Spencer approached, sitting on the
carpet, and stroked Jason’s limbs ,that were so rigid, like tetanised: they felt frigid as irretrievably dead.
-They shall not have the happiness
of to execute me, or to get a single
word from me.
His hands were clinched.,but he already attempted to caress
Reid’s hair.
He even had the strength, however,
to draw his Eibar 38 special, which was on a low table next to the piano.
-Let's finish with all of
this,and say no more .... I want to
give me a good time to tear this fucking useless life, dammit!.
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….
(In the sorrounding garden)
A single shot rang out in the
garden, after the sudden interruption of the music.
It was only an instant.
-Reid!!!-Hotchner cried-Reid!! My God!
REID!!!!!!
He ran with the forces and momentum
that only grant despair and delirium.
Morgan, with a bound, stood beside
him.
Finally ,they situated
themselves outside the entrance ,almost
with the speed of light.
-Clear !-cried Morgan,pointing to the
living room.
-Upstairs? -asked Rossi.
-In the lobby that is opening onto
the conservatory- Hotchner murmured , and
he crouched beside the door frame.
The
brutal rose of blood covered the
carpeted floor around the piano. The body looked fallen down on its side, and
almost in a fetal position. His eyes and mouth were still open.
Derek looked away, horrified.
Standing next to the bloody offal,
blood stained himself, with capriciously crimson splashed stains on his
tense face , painless, contracted, but
apathetic, still clutching the Eibar 38 special,it sadly stood a victorious Spencer Reid.
He turned slowly to face them.His
features were not accusing any kind of emotion, but his eyes were full of
tears.
-Aaron –he whispered, almost
inaudibly ...
Hotchner lowered his weapon, and
saved with a jump the distance between
them, hugging Reid against his chest, almost wanting to embed him in his heart, as he had done after Hänckel’s
affair..
-Spencer ... -Aaron muttered, and
his voice was softer than usually.-Spencer, I'm here, and do not worry, my life
....and nothing else matters.
Derek ("My life What the hell
...?" ,he said to himself ) bent over Gideon’s corpse, whose face he had a
hard time recognising as his once good friend, teacher and benefactor.Jason had
stubble, and very long hair, which sought uselessly to cover his balding crown.He was horribly emaciated, consumed; his now
dead body seemed to be little more than
a bag of bones.
Rossi lit a cigarette, in a gesture
of olympic contempt :.
-Thank you, my dear Spencer-he said,
speaking to Reid in a tone that sounded like strangely relaxed-We've saved time
and bullets here.I would applaud you, if I were not sure that Aaron certainly
would disapprove the gesture.
Reid looked up, without leaving the
safe haven of Aaron’s chest, and said:
-You have nothing to be thankful
for, nor to applaud, doctorRossi. This isn’t a victory;this is a disgrace .... a huge
tragedy.And I do not want to think that
it is also an injustice ..
-He’s right, David,' -said Derek -Gideon did not kill those victims.
Everything was false.
-I wonder if you knew that, David?
If you knew it was all a sham, and if you bring us here this far deceived
?Should I take it that you were complicit in the madness of Gideon ?Or should I
infer that it was a plan (truly diabolical) to deliver to get back at him ..?-
asked Aaron.
Rossi shrugged, and walked toward
the exit.
-Maybe so, '-he said-Or maybe not.Think
what you want, Aaron.
Hotchner's voice again became
steadfast, strong, recovering all his usual aplomb:
-When we get back to Quantico, you’ll explain me this
with details..I will be inside., and
you, of course, you're out. Dismissed.
'-Oh yes, of course ... Now is your
lover who demands full attention, right?
Rossi’s almost
mockingly words almost dragged Morgan to commit a silliness:.
-Will you shut up, David?
David made a gesture
with his hand in the air, and went out into the conservatory.
-He took a mixture of poisons'-
began Reid, weakly-He was doomed to die of irreversible liver cirrhosis, it was
a matter of few months.He did not want
to end miserably, spitting excrements.He
poisoned himself because I
hesitated to oppress the trigger..But he was suffering visibly much: the
process of poisoning was too long ..
You were coming .. I did not want to see him fall apart even more ... He took
the pistol,and pointed it to his chest: his hand were shaking horribly ... I
put my hand on the gun, snatched it, and finally pulled the trigger..My traces
and fingerprints are still there, along
with his own.Now, Aaron,I have to fulfill his request, his last will..His his
corpse must be cremated immediately, and ashes scattered on the island where
the poet Chateaubriand is buried .He
was his ancestor on his motherline , and a
symbol of a world he loved, and that
had died long before he was born.
-We can not ignore the legal requirements
.The French police stomps behind us..They will want to do the autopsy.-Hotchner said.
-Tell us, -asked Derek-
Reid,please…He was the one who pretended
the crimes for to make us come here ?.
Reid shook his head.
-I know nothing about that-he
murmured, and raised his eyes to meet the gaze of Aaron, those pupils in
perpetual mourning which saw himself reflected-Help me , Aaron .. please ......
I gave my solemn promise….
'-Certainly,-' said Aaron.-Of
course.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..
(Island of the Grand Bé)
(Rachmaninov Concerto no. 2, second
movement: Adagio sostenuto).
The ceremony was brief, simple.There
were only Reid, the Dutertre
couple (drowned in tears), and, at a
safe distance, Aaron, Derek and Rossi.
"Goodbye, friend and
teacher," Morgan said, his eyes following the quiet flight of the ash in the autumn wind. "I can never say I've really known
you."
Aaron found himself buried in a
contradictory sea of feelings..His mind
flew to the days of youth, when he had the opportunity to attend one of
Gideon’s lectures.He was so amene then, so warm, with a simple treatment, so
fine and gentle. ... She wanted to
remember him so..
Or perhaps as a vague shadow that
was dissolved in the night leaving the
cabin in the woods deVirginia.He would have
wanted to recite the
Kaddisch prayers (after all, Jason was
half Jewish), but he hardly remembered
them..He murmured, then, a loss stanza
of the Kol Nidrei.
Rossi was the one that could appeal
the most to the background, often
painful, of remembrances..He closed his eyes,
and the malevolent smile of a
boy with long dark brown hair, insolent eyes, tall stature and
strange beauty suddenly appeared to him.
He felt that, perhaps, in his youth,
he had loved him as a haunting presence
is worthy to be loved. He was looking tasty, yet dangerous and always
tantalizing..Jason was beautiful in those distant days..Later , the bitterness
snatched up the same shade which he had
become ..
Rossi suffered the pangs of
love-hate-love and the terrible sense of the irreparable, all in one, when,
seeing the ashes flying, he knew that
something was going on forever in the wind next to that little handful of gray
dust.
And then it was when his chest burst into tears.
He fell to his knees, burying his face in his hands, and almost shouted:
-Why ?…Why, my God, why? Fucking
life, bitch, bitch life!!
Derek was going to approach him, but
Aaron nodded:
-Let him alone.He has already his
own punishment..
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….
The subsequent procedures and
paperwork, the appeals to old friends and acquaintances in the INTERPOL to
circumvent Spencer's intervention in the death of Gideon (declared officially
as "suicide"), are part of what is bureaucratically anecdotal.
Three nights at the Village Inn they
still had to endure before they can take flight back to America.
During one of those nights, Aaron
left Spencer after making him sleep in
his arms like a child, went down to the
pub for a drink, recommending Derek ( the three occupied the same room) to be
alert in case the boy woke , and asked for his presence.
He
wanted to erase the terrible images of the crematorium, the smell of
charred flesh, the sight of that inert mouth kissed by Reid
before it became ashes ...
He ordered a cognac and lit one of
the Gauloises he had found in the house, in an already open pack .The tobacco tasted strong, hot, dry
,so feverish as the sick mind of the one
who used to smoke them.
At an adjacent table, a remnant of
man, drunk, hopelessly drunk,was
humming a tune of unmistakable sadness.
It was Rossi.Aaron bit his lower lip: Maybe now, drunk as never
before,he finally could tell all the
truth.
Without a word, he walked over to
his table and sat down opposite him..Rossi seemed not to have noticed him: his eyes were fixed on the bottom of his
glass of Pernod.
-David, -Aaron started to say, -I
need to know the whole truth.
Hiccuping, Rossi said:
-Why, diamine? (Demon) .I am out of
this..You already said it ,yourself.
Aaron looked at David’s hand..He was grasping something that he clearly wanted hidden.
-What are you hiding there?
-Nothing .. niente.niente ...
Aaron declined to show initiating a
struggle, but finally Rossi's hand opened, and he saw the other Eibar 38, the
twin of the murder weapon.
-You're going to make silly?-he
asked –This is pretty strange coming from one so cold as you .If yopu kill yourself, it would be an act of
manifested irrationality, which does not gel with your personality.
-Cold ! See you talk!
-Rossi, you're making people look at
us.
-Me
ne frega!
-Rossi, I need to know everything,
but absolutely all the truth.I promise
you that no one else will know.
-And what does it matter? He is no
longer suffering, and I am free. Do you
have an idea of what I have lost?
'-I've lost things in my life,
too,and too many,please, remember ...
Things and people I have loved ...
Hell, Dave! We were friends at one time! You were with me when I lost my wife!!
You were one of those who held her coffin during the funeral! My son has a boundless affection toward you! Let me
join you in this terrible hour! Let me know the “what”, the “why” and the “how”!
-What you want is to make me tell you if I knew in advance about the
murders. .No. Dall'Abaco got me the dossier after L'Heureux wrote to me that he
had received a letter.
-A letter?Perhaps from Gideon ?…
-It had no sender, and was written
using a typewriter..We never could
identify it: perhaps it was an old Remington, like the ones used in the Bureau
thirty years ago.
-It could have been him:it was his
style.
-Maybe.
He paused, his eyes fixed on the
alcohol, like searching for the
strength that had abandoned him
forever.
-You do not know what I lost-he
repeated -You have not the slightest idea.
Aaron took a sip of cognac, lit
another cigarette, and looked decidedly at Rossi, with that inquisitorial looks of his,with the " unbearable and unsustainable look
", as Spencer had baptized it.
-Did you love him, David? –Aaron
asked.
Silence.
Aaron insisted:
-You can tell me: he’s no longer
alive:did you love him?
For the only answer, Rossi began to
mourn as a child, with his head on the
table, mumbling unintelligible words in Italian, as in a monotonous singsong.
Aaron called the waiter, ordered a
double espresso and a glass of water, and gave him to drink.
'-Here,please, drink this.
Rossi drank the water in small sips,
still sobbing, and ,with a brief moment of painful hesitation,he began.,so
quietly:
-After I slipped the trailer, as I
said, he came to my hotel room, and he practically stalked me..I rejected him
vigorously,after a first moment of absolute perplexity..He strongly urged me to
let him go with me to California (I had told that I had thought to go to live
there). He abandoned Frank (whom never forgave him, as it became clear later),
and we traveled together to San Francisco.We rented one crummy little room near the bay.We were very poor, but we felt absolutely happy-. He
sighed, and raised his index finger,like in a gesture of admonition-No,
contrary to what you might be thinking, Aaron,we never had sex.Never..
-'I'm not thinking about anything
-Hotchner said,-I'm only listening.
Rossi smiled bitterly.
-He used to call me
"little bourgeois pig", because he knew my family owned a
large grocery store in Philadelphia. …and
we used to fight hardly….but also
laughing, hugging us….yes,laughing to mourn .... Yes, to mourn.
When I met who would later become
my first wife, after making peace with
my family and recover my lost welfare ,he was so enraged that he did not speak
to me for a long time.Therefore ,of
course, he was not present in the wedding. Although he sent a splendid present: the Divine Comedy
in a beautiful bilingual edition, with illustrations by Gustave Doré.In the
famous chant on the forest of suicides
(suicides turned into trees in Dante’s
Inferno), just where it bitterly complains an "anonymous Florentine
suicide" ,he wrote, in pencil: "JMG".
He meant that he was a placed number for suicide.
Did I really love him?
I never asked this to myself.Did he really love me?.He never said
it..But when my wife gave birth to my
only child ,and the little baby boy died inmediatley after , the only hand that
landed on my shoulder, and the only one that welcomed my crying in his
shoulder, were his.
When he wrote that he was about
to marry, I could not believe
it.Replying to his gesture, I also
refused to go to the wedding, but I got a call that night from a hotel in Los
Angeles.It was from him. He asked me to go out that night to join him in a
hotel room.
-Just in his wedding night?! I heard
right?! -Aaron's eyes almost danced in their sockets, and it was not because of
the alcohol ,precisely.
-I flew to him,and…Yes.You heard it
well...I don’t know why, but I flew to
his side.. He had rented an entire suit in that hotel,for me .. for the both of us.And we were there, talking and drinking, playing
chess and discussing Lacassagne’s
theories. We hugged,strongly,as never before, always laughing and
crying, at the same time..We were drunken ,of course.. But I was never
literally devoured with kisses as I was that night….
(CONTINUED) ...
TOWER OF SILENCE
Chapter
IX:
"... So, At That Hour When
Time slips from us,
are we wedded to Whom I stood before him,
and With The sacrament of his kiss I signs himself unto us,
and makes us of one flesh With Him. '"
are we wedded to Whom I stood before him,
and With The sacrament of his kiss I signs himself unto us,
and makes us of one flesh With Him. '"
(Simeon Solomon, A Vision of Love
Revealed in Sleep)
-Everything was all so ambiguous and confusing-
continued David-, and I hardly knew what was happening between us.everything
passed: time, events, milestones, and other ones less so; the question about Anthony’s paternity (no, he is not my
son; his father was one of the many ills that Eleanor used to take revenge
of Jason); my divorce;his divorce; the military life in Afghanistan, when he came home covered with
wounds, and I took care of him day and night, leaving all for to moist those
feverish with a few drops of water,
and he begged me for a kiss that I
repeatedly refused ...
Then
came the founding of the unit, in which we put everything we had, and still
more.The lectures, tours, research,
books, awards and recognition we received throughout everyone for himself, and
altogether.I already say with conviction: I was always good, but he was
certainly the best one .Without any doubt.
After
the accident in which I lost my left eye, as I had done with him,he did not leave my side for a single
instant.He wasn’t neither eating nor sleeping: he just watched beside me,
sitting next to my bed.I remember him
joking in public,before the doctors and nurses, sayingthat I would be now like Hannibal or Wotan ,an in famous one-eyed guy.. But,
alone, when I felt asleep, he wept bitter tears ,so desperate as I had never seen before in a man .He caressed and
kissed me , whispering that he would have gladly given me his eyes, because he
was tired of seeing so much misery and human filth ... He called me: "life
of his life and soul of his soul"
...Those words broke my heart, and I
know he wasn’t pretending anymore.He always used to feel guilty about anything
,even about what could not be avoided, as if he weighed on his head the image of
living in eternal guilt of omission.Because all of this,he used to drink as a sponge, increasingly, to the point
that, when he was summoned by your superior orders he was really and absolutely sick ... and the disease was alcoholism.A
legal technical euphemism turned it , however, into post traumatic stress.
After
that time, time of continuous fatigue and
superhuman efforts(time when we slept together more than once ,embraced,
knowing that we were not allowed to explore all that separated the torso from
the waist ), I decididely came to my retirement (not sure if it was due to
my personal fear,a sort of constant
feeling that I would have to work day and night beside him) , and then was when I received the letter in which he
said that, at last, as never before in
his life, he had fallen in love.
He
regretted that the "little freak of nature, endowed with all the gifts as
a budding dark archangel" (the pompous phrase could only be yours) was
still almost a child, barely pubescent, absolutely innocent in his naive beauty
and natural perversity.His astonishing beauty and his sweeping intelligence had blinded him to such an extent that,
contrary to every principle established by Regulation (the damn rules!), he
himself became his personal mentor, risking even Van Houten (who still walked
by Nevada) would be able to hunt him. Then
he did not care to live "in the capital of tacky and outlandish
raids" (as he called Las Vegas), because it meant being close to his
subject of desire.He took him to
Berkeley, with the resulting scandal ( a boy of fourteen, a little genius
presented by a renowned protector ... whom, unfortunately,had a very bad reputation in his private life.) “
Rossi
paused, and took a long sip of coffee..During that pause, Aaron felt like if
the universe was collapsing again over him.An universe whose order was blind. His arm was clawing
to feel that nails were bleeding in a superhuman effort to hold on to his poor,
low, miserable hope.
-'Do
you know if anything…. could have happened
then?- he asked, and then he,the SSA Aaron Elijah Nephtali Hotchner ,
the man who never recoiled before anyone or anything, confessed to himself: "I am a coward."
-No.His
personal ethics (because he had it ,
but twisted and incomprehensible to the others) did not allow it.The boy was
only fourteen, and, except for his overwhelming intellectual superiority, he
yet behaved as a c hild.Amd Gideon looked happy in his role as an adoptive
father .Proud and happy.
One
day he came home to talk to me exclusively about that boy.A fact, he spoke
quite scarcely.He showed me photographs
(he was a freak: photographing all the people around him, and displaying the images in front of him, looking
intensely, insistently, as devouring with eyes). Then ,he played the piano most
of the afternoon, and he said he knew I could infer all just listening to the music.
-And
could you?
-Yes,I
could.You know very well that, when he
wanted, he knew how to be understood without words.
Rossi
paused;then,he lit a cigarette, and
said, gravely:
-Now,
besides all this, and responding to
your constant demand : yes, I thought, indeed, that the crimes had
really taken place. With L 'Heureux and I received the photographs, with no return
address, finding the names of the
alleged víctims.The stay dates
coincided with Gideon’s visits to the countries involved in the issue.-Rossi
punched furiously on the table -And I believed this…I believed he was a
murderer! Someone who had done what he did with Frank Van Houten, and with
that prostitute, someone who had punished in a way as ruthless as when, at
the time, rushed to the ones who
humbled Reid at the University, was well capable of this, and even more!
Aaron
shook, and made efforts to do not show this.But he soon felt that
he should not worry about whether the disturbance was manifested or evident.It was like something coming suddenly to him: he felt
that everything was useless.
-The
fault was mine, maybe –Rossi continued -I should have researched more
carefully.You have seen: Garcia solved it all with a simple clic. Regarding who
sent those letters and those photos, and why the hell he did it , I have no
more blooding doomed idea.
David
sighed long, finished his coffee, settled his long gray raincoat, and took his
hat.
-I
shall not go back to America .So…this is the farewell.Say goodbye in my name to
the others, please.
-Wait
!One more detail…
-What?
-Why
did you counsel us to shoot at kill? And
how did he know we were coming?
-Because
he had asked me to do so. And he knew we were coming because he asked me for to
notice you.Because of this I wasn’t worried
about Spencer: I knew he wasn’t in
a real danger.
-Did
you already know that Gideon was sick
of terminal cirrhosis? Since then?
-I
always knew that.From the beginning of his illness.And I was always in the
disposal of to seem cruel and inhumane
if it could save him from more pain..He had already suffered too much in this
life -he sighed,doing a long pause.Then,he continued:
-What can
I say ... I advise you as a friend, not as a professional: Aaron,
please,take care..When one has lost the
sense of reality towards a chimera, when things are stripped of their
materiality and everything becomes confusing, and diluted in a reverie that
never stops .... it is pain that approaches.And, with pain, it comes always
misery.Misery of the soul, loneliness
of spirit, a disease that is increasing over time, and exhausts us, kills us,
little by little, drinking our life
dropwise.
-That's
what happened to him?
David
nodded.
-And
to me- he said, before slowly leaving the door open to the night, for the last
touch of a dark past that definitely had evaporated when tossing that handful
of ashes.
An old photograph and the Eibar special were left on the table.Aarón put the gun in his pocket, and looked at the picture, which, in the dim light of the lamp, it acquired the tinge of a phantasmagory .It was Gideon (he would have little more than twenty years in that picture, but Aaron recognized him instantaneously,at that "unmistakable aura" emanating from a familiar , rare light, incisively coming from the apple of his eye), probably dressed for a party,in the costume of a swashbuckler, with mustache and goatee to the Spanish; long hair, almost black, and again those bright eyes, lit by a malignity that was a sly mixture of tenderness, infinite wit, insolent contempt and helplessness .. Atrocious eyes wrenching on a smiling face ... Aaron recognized in that vicious young lad the features of a pure blood Sephardi .Gideon.The "strong warrior." El unbeatable.
He
was beautiful in that distant time, without doubt.Aaron experienced an immense pity for him, for Rossi, and for
himself.
He
drained his glass, then stored the picture in the same pocket with a strange
kind of mercy he was surprised by how deep and unusual, and went upstairs.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
The
journey was tiring, but almost a relief compared to the events that had been
left behind.
Derek
fortunately didn’t do more
questions.He only asked if Rossi would
accompany them back home, and, to meet face to face with the silence of Aaron,
silent, he headed his headphones, and
got lost into his world.
Before
boarding he bought perfume for all the girls, and also to his mother, sisters,
aunts and cousins, plus a magnificent ring of great beauty, extremely
expensive.Aaron has not need to ask who
was the addressee of this last special present . Derek spent all he had,
and he did so with great pleasure and
infinite affection.
Aaron
felt a healthy envy: why he could not do as Derek, whom intelligence had
managed to get along with a simple heart, noble and affectionate?
Why,
in the narrow world of Naphtali Elijah Aaron Hotchner, everything was subject
to a permanent structure, which depended on the environment settings, circumstances,
and even expectations, desires, aspirations, etc., of others?
A
pogrom mentality, certainly: a permanent spirit of ghetto strictly controlled
from within the ruins .... that is not noticed from the outside.
Unscathed
hieratic, severe, with eyes shining like sparks mourning inquisitive, digging
through the stinking reservoir of human misery: he had been trained well,
because it had been raised so , and so was his father's world, and his grandfather’s, and his
great-grandfather’s, in the Jewish quarter of Prague.
During
the trip, Spencer was dozing with his head on Aaron’s chest, like
clinging to a shelter that he, Aaron,
could not offer.
Thank
God, the boy slept almost the entire period of the long journey, or remained in
the intermediate state between sleep and wakefulness (that world of shadows and
delusions), muttering incoherent words (perhaps still circulating in their
blood the remains of those infamous
substances ), curling up like a hungry child in search of the chest to
be fed.A c hest that was dry, hurt, tired, but could not afford to show not one
of his wounds.
Sometimes
he looked up, glancing at Aaron with his beautiful sleepy eyes,
barely open, asking something that did not quite put into words, and he, Aaron
responded with silence and more silence, stroking her hair soaked in sweat,
wrapping the strands that stuck to his forehead, dying for to place a kiss on it, but without the capability of
to do it, feeling exhausted forces in a
mere gesture that never came to fruition.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
(Back at
Quantico)
It
took several weeks to ordain and arrange everything.He redacted his irrevocable
resignation, signed it , and submitted it to his superiors, resulting joy of
the Strauss woman , who looked at last free from her most hated obstacle.
He
would not go more into it, accusing her of blatant discrimination and
anti-Semitism, but made it clear that he had suffered countless
humiliations by that proud woman, who filled his mouth calling him "fagot
Jew dog" in how many times she may
be put before him.
Derek
would take command again: he was more than qualified to do so, and he would
have also, the help of a special kind
of very experienced man, as it was Sam
Cooper, the best at what they were doing, only just a step below .. the master.
After
congratulate Derek on his upcoming wedding (he had finally decided to make
Penelope throw downstairs her absurd
"operetta fiancé"), Aaron went to his lonely apartment (his son Jack
was at his sister Ruth’s, in DC) waiting
for the acceptance of his resignation.
When
the phone rang (he had spent just over a month since his return), he thought he
wasfrom the office for the
confirmation.
But
it was a long distance call: Ms. Mariangela Rossi Di Leonardo, whose
beautiful villa in the Neapolitan coast
David had taken as a refuge, announced
to him that his brother, the former
chief Supervisor of the BAU , had died of a stroke , two days ago.
A
shiver ran not only Aaron's body ,but
also his soul.
("Aaron, take care ...")
He
was still under the effect of the news ,shocked by what had occurred ,when he received the call he
had been waiting.
His
resignation had been finally accepted unconditionally.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….
(Refectory of
the Dr.James Urquhart’s psychiatric clinic ,, in Chevy Chase)
The
nurse accompanied Spencer until his seat.Aaron stared at him,in silence.The
boy looked somewhat better, but still
he had not said a word.
-I'm
going to get you out of here -'said Aaron- We will go away from this
country.Together. I'm taking the child also with us: I will situate him in a
boarding bilingual school.-
He
clutched the white hand, which felt cold, as if he had run out of blood,and
continued:
-But
please my life .. please ... speak ... say a
word ....
In
response, Spencer looked up, and stared at him, until his tears sprout, that
eyes veiled in mourning were bathed like a in
slow,painful rain ...
-Tell
me something .. for mercy! ... Aaron insisted, and his voice muffled.
It
had been a month that Spencer had joined the clinic after intense depressive
symptoms, which led him to an almost catatonic state.He had crumbled just when
the plane touched down in America.
His
lips were closed.His eyes,like dead.In his
climax of pain and despair, Aaron had to solve the indefinite medical
leave, interning him in Urquhart’s clinic, one of the best
institutions specialised in this type of diseases.All of this together with the
formalities of his resignation, and the rest of the unit with their damn
questions, and the Strauss woman laughing in his face ... And Rossi, who had
died so suddenly, and so far ... without have said goodbye ...
Aaron
wondered how far he could bear.
And,perchance
for the first time in all his life, he
made a bold decision in the area of his own privacy.
After
leaving Spencer in the refectory, he asked to speak to Urquhart, and let him
know that he would take Reid with him.
Urquhart,
contrary to his expectation, nodded,
smiling:
-That's
exactly what I was going to propose, Dr. Hotchner. Dr. Reid is not really sick:
if we look at the characteristics of his actual state, I will tell you that it is anything but a form of post
traumatic stress: a type of shell shock. In order: you know enough about human behaviour to having to waste my time
(and make it miss you, too) with more explanation.
That
said, he signed what Hotchner asked
him, and after a brief nod, he retired.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..
A
week later, after to have seen Spencer spending seven days with his chin resting on his knees, hearing
continually the second concert of Rachmaninov in twenty different versions, and
still without having uttered word, given the desperate look of Aaron, both the
lovers ( accompanied by the little Jack, for whom everything was a kind of
game) left the country, for to do not return nevermore.
(TO THE EPILOGUE….)
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..
Epilogue:
(Music: Violin Concerto No.2 by Max Bruch: First movement)
(Location: Cabo
Polonio, Uruguay coast, a year and a half later)
-What do we have here? ... Oh, I
see, I see! Another conch!!
-Síiiiiiiiiiii! Yeah, Uncle Spencer!
Jack's little eyes shone like small
coals stolen from the sea while Reid
"mined" skillfully snails of his hair and ears.
The laughs were like a chorus of
bells with foam, distant sirens and joyous shouts of fishermen.
-Now, let's go to prepare the books and copybooks, that you
leave early morning to school.
Aaron was smoking,supported under the
door into the small staircase that separated the house from the beach, while watching the sea..
It had been a brutal year, with time elapsing at
breakneck speed, devouring hours and minutes, evaporating the days: the arrival
in Buenos Aires, to settle in the department that Spencer had inherited; the
contacts with distant relatives who put him in touch with the Hebrew school to
enroll in it to Jack; the comings and goings to arrange the details of their
future support; the wandering looking for a suitable location that would allow
them to get away from the world..First, really,it was the trip to Ushuaia, looking for the distance of the Tierra
del Fuego.Then, the return to Buenos
Aires, a city that had seemed wonderful to them, but also full of pitfalls.
They could not forget that the one
whose shadow they had suffered for so long was a regular visitor to the
Southern capital: not in vain he had
written not less than three books on criminological aspects in the stories of
Borges, and a highly celebrated study on serial murderers of that country for
them so far and strange..A sort of Paris city amid a fantasy, with a touch
of expressionist haze ,some
romantic Dickensian brushstrokes , and
a smug air of Southern nonchalance .
Spencer loved Buenos Aires, but he also felt overwhelmed by it.
A tourist agency provided them with
guidance on the Uruguayan coast, which contained a site without electricity, no
gas, no cell signal, no internet, no cars, no clackson horns .. A fishing
village with little tourism, quiet and reserved: Punta del Diablo in Cabo
Polonio.
. Having rented the apartment in the neighbourhood of Palermo to
a couple of friendly Germans, and after to manage the transfer of Jack to a
boarding bilingual school in Montevideo,
they left for the small neighbouring country, feeling that ,at last,
they had found their place in the world.
They purchased (with the income from properties that
Spencer received in inheritance that
allowed them to live more comfortably, helped by the dollar exchange) a house
by the beach, not very big, but comfortable, and an all-terrain vehicle( a Land
Rover), to move easily from the village to the capital to pick up Jack in the
summer, and to return him to the
boarding school for the school year.
At that shred the world they still
had, however, certain bonds of sociability.
The main character of the people was
an old fisherman, an Englishman, former
whaler and currently the only inhabitant of the lighthouse:people called him Don Welsey.
And ,so,Aaron had become, also
"Don Aaron," and he did not
disgust endless rounds of mate and gin,
and the equally endless games of cards..
Don Welsey had approached them. when he heard,
after a while, the native language, "but painfully
misrepresented"(“not even Irish!”). He immediately inferred that the odd couple of fellows,was a couple of
Americans.
But Spencer was understood by him
almost immediately ,overall after to have seen the young lad
stopping by to recite the verses of the
Rime of the Ancient Mariner.:
"Water, water, every where,
And all the boards did shrink;
Water, water, every where,
Nor any drop to drink .. "
And all the boards did shrink;
Water, water, every where,
Nor any drop to drink .. "
In short: the inveterate distrust of
the English man for their “children once spurious” was defeated once again, by
the pen of a poet.
And by the mellifluous voice, yet
almost childlike, of Spencer William
Reid.: a voice that softly licked (but also cruelly remarked ) every word, as if
they were made of the same oozing of the sea.
Reid was nearing almost thirty-three
years old , and he had never been more beautiful.His almond coloured hair fell without any reservations to below his
shoulders.He had put on some weight, so
his corporal forms acquired full
roundness :he was a beauty in the right
point of ripeness, like a ripe fruit. Aaron, meanwhile, was showing clearly the marks of the
premature ageing. He hid his almost
fifty years behind the beard he wore on his face :it looked sharp and hieratic
,and also as a touch of carelessness, or perhaps it was pure patriarchal severity, while his hair fell
also almost to his shoulders, and
clearly reveal the threads of time at the temples (a detail that Spencer
loved).
The Englishman used to come at night to play the guitar, to
discuss things from the sea,to hear the
old ballads recited by Spencer, and he was visibly moved by the verses of
Ossian-McPherson, of Coleridge and Keats, Byron and Edgar Allan Poe.
The prodigious memory of Spencer
kept intact every line.
In the meantime,
Aaron looked at his lover with a quiet devotion, and got into
the vapours of gin and black snuff, as if to grasp a dream in which he, Aaron,
was the permanent spectator of a star, that,however, he could still caress with
his hand .. although he knew it was hopelessly distant.
The summer came to an end, and with
it, Jack vacations also ended.
The child had adapted perfectly (as
all children!), when he was surrounded by new friends at school, and in the
village.He played football with
the fishermen’s children, spoke Spanish
River Plate as any “botija”("jug": Uruguayans’ name given to
creatures), and Aaron swore he'd never seen him grow so happier and freer.
For that night Spencer had promised
a party to dismiss the summer, around the campfire,on the beach, with magic
numbers, costumes and dance.
Aaron smoked while watching the sea, wondering, once
again, what kind of surprise could countain the box that Spencer had gathered at the port of
Montevideo,on the last week.
He smiled, and assumed that Reid’s
pigeons would fly over the children’s heads , like those that he had suddenly
awaken in his soul that distant night
in the north, when he,Spencer, surrendered to him..To him, to Aaron,whom, since
the first moment he had seen Spencer’s
face, adored him in silence.
And nothing had changed,
however..Aaron continued worshiping him in silence.
At night (except when it was Jack
who was always sleeping with his father), when he was lying beside him, Spencer turned his head to the window that
overlooked the sea, and Aaron, linking, hugged her waist from behind, in a
delicate embrace, that he wanted be like a gesture of possession, and that was
almost religious devotion.
It might seem a joke, but they never had sex again.
The relationship was now made
of looks, of soft sporadic caresses , of words that rested unspoken, of immense (and intense) silences.
Once, while they were in bed and almost asleep both of them
,Spencer said:
-Aaron ... what will you do when I
die?
-Don’t even mention it., my
life,please ...
-Well, no..but…but .. I am still curious…
-I shall die with you.
-You can’t:you have a son.
-I suppose that when it happens he
will be an adult, and have already made
his life, and damn if he could
want to hear about me ....
-Why do you despise yourself so
much, Aaron?
The question was totally out of
context, since it belonged to a time that both wanted desperately to forget.
Although not quite. Aaron was writing
his memoirs, and Spencer wrote in a little black book which clearly did not
want it to be read by anyone, not even for him.
-Do you know, Aaron. …you, who have served in Pakistan and Central Asia,
which is a djaméh?
-A tower of silence- Aaron said, and
felt a chill that was walking by his
dorsal spine -A place to leave the dead.
-Exactly. It has been conceived or
to allow raptors do the work that you
can not trust to the purity of water, earth or fire.
-Is that what you want, when you
die?
-No, Aaron, I want to be thrown into
the sea. I was amking allusion of it simply because this will be the title of
my book.
-How so?
-It's what we have experienced in
the BAU, exactly what we have lived and the way how the spoils came on.We left
the corpses to the raptors..We attempted to do not contaminate anything with
them, leaving the vultures do their job ,tearing eyes , tongue,…
devouring and crushing with their picks ... and we waited for the bones will
bleach in the ossuary; then we removed them and developed the corresponding
case file.
He paused, and then turned, staring
into the dark eyes of his lover:
-Do youou know, Aaron,that I enjoyed
killing him? Do you know that I
celebrated his death,like a mutual
release? ... -He bit his lower lip- ... However .. And yet ... -he sighed- I
had already killed people before.I remember even that I saved your life killing
a man for the first time ,after to have received that formidable beating you gave to me, pretending your hatred and
your annoyance to see yourself in the company of "an useless piece of
nothing that only serves to whining
and to ask for his nursing bottle ", as I remember you called me ..... Of
course I loved you since that day, I loved your mock insults, and even feared
(but wanted!) that they were true..But
that .... That was different:that was only a matter of work,a matter of
duty..This ... was personal.Do you know which
was the last thing ... he ... told me before he died bled,like a dog?
(because he bled immediately, as you came:
Ididn’t hit him in the chest,
but in the belly ... on purpose). He said "I adore you and take you with
me, for
"A man's character
is his fate"
–Spencer sighed again ... -And he died for what it was, like a poor miserable
dog ,so old and sick, too cowardly even to be rabid.
Ignoring the sadness that had been
planted in Aaron's face, or his own sadness, Spencer continued:
-I did everything as promised,
however.I closed his eyes; I kissed him before being placed into the
crematorium, and the ashes scattered in the Grand Bé.But it was then-Spencer lifted hisr long-tapered forefinger-, yes, it was then, when the
ash started flying in the wind of that autumn ,so sad, so tragic, that I
understood everything..I could hear Rossi sobbing,I foresaw,I felt his immense pain , when it was supposed he was enjoying a kind of triumph. And right there, facing the sea, I
realised how much we had been
manipulated by Gideon,who made us think and say what he wanted.;I realised how dreadful
was the fact of to have been his
personal automata, his puppets, his stooges, Aaron. He programmed us that we
should be fit and able to wallow in excrement, in the dregs, in the most foul
of the psyche ... of the human soul
.While he didn’t commit no crime either , I think he wanted,he needed the crimes , since each of them was used to show off his "infinite
capacity of phenomenological knowledge as a researcher of evil. "
Reid took something from the
nightstand :it was a little black book.
-My book is based entirely on his
memoirs.Probably,it shall be the most
horrible book ever written.. But I do not care, I swear, Aaron, I do not
care!.The world must know who we
are, whom they entrusts their safety
and tranquility, and from whom they
derive the alleged "knowledge of the truth." This book contains the
most terrible details of what I assume will be a candid autobiography (I
believe) of Jason Gideon and the deranged universe created by him..If you
talked toRossi that night, you know
what I mean.
Aaron was going to say something,
but Spencer stopped him:
-Wait, Aaron, let me
finish,please.Derek, the girls, you ... including myself, we did not deserve
this!.We firmly believed in what we
were doing; we were confident that we were free to think, to reason, to
decide..But it was not so! Rossi was
the only one who knew, and he did not say a word..But he did not tell us because he couldn’t!. "He" …Gideon…was dominating
everything,despite time, distance and
all the possible differences .Rossi, in his strange way, loved him….and desperately..But,of course,. He couldn’t stay
at his side. ... "He"(Gideon) should want to
swallow him; so Rossi walked away. '"He" used to swallow those who were with him, no matter anything.That was his way of love ...?. Maybe he thought
it was something else ,and not love….Who can know!
Aaron's blood ran cold inside his
veins.That reasoning was not at all
typical of Spencer.If Reid was a sort of morbid voyeur, incisive
and voracious, he was still empathetic, and always showing up some strange kind of mercy ,some
sweetness,even when he tried about the
most nasty details.
-Stop torturing yourself with that, and do not talk anymore about him, please, Spencer.You terrify me ...
and ....
Spencer suddenly had hugged him,
kissing him tenderly.This dispelled any hint ,any shadow of doubt:it was a kiss of sea salt with a sweet aftertaste
of caramel and coffee.
And they never talked about it after
that time, but Reid was still writing in the mysterious little black book.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….
The flames of the fire cut the deep
blue sky, greeting the night, after an evening of purple and gold.
The shouts and chants glad the
beach, and ... yes, indeed, they had flown pigeons, flapping on the astonished
heads of the”botijas”( "jugs"): they barely knew nothing but the sea,
boats and fishing nets, sand and the school in the village, with the slate and perhaps sad monotone voice of the
old teacher.
All children wore a disguise:
pirates, clowns, fairies, elves, animals ...
Spencer changed his clothes many
times, always with his huge multicolour galley , and, when surprisingly a rabbit came out and ran away,
all the children ran behind it.
Jack caught it and returned sweaty,
happy, shouting:
-Look, Dad !My new pet!
-You shall not be able to have it
with you at the boarding school, Jack, I think, -said Aaron
'-No, but you will care for it for
when I come back in the winter holidays ..
Spencer had disappeared again, to wear
the last costume of the night.
The old man Welsey, who had laughed like a child
again, approached to Aaron and put a
hand on his shoulder.
'-It's a pity that the Dutchman
has lost the party.Yo consider myself a
hermit, but he won that kind ... away.
-Dutch? What Dutch?- Aaron asked, without much interest,
but somewhat choppy.
-The man living in the miserable
hovel placed downtown. He has the
perfect type of the “rare one”.He came about three months here, I think from
Buenos Aires, and, although not a Dutchman by birth, everyone calls him so,
because he wants to be called so.
Aaron did not ask anything more, and
that was when Spencer made
his triumphal appearance.
The children chanted an endless
"Oooooh!". While Aaron turned ,he froze to be suddenly paralysed: he
could not believe what he was seeing.
That picture was silhouetted against
the light of the huge fire under the dark sky
saturated of stars and a moon almost ferocious ... No. .. it was not
possible ... So ... that was the containing
in that famous box ?
High boots style sixteenth century
;the tightest pants, made by black silk; a leather jacket of the same colour;a
beautiful dark green shirt, with wide
sleeves; a belt with silver buckle;a Spanish hat with feather plume, and one
sword in his hand…
Spencer had darkened hair (maybe with ashes?), and he was
wearing false mustache and
goatee.He looked like a gentleman of
thirds in Spain ..
Seen against the light, although he
was thinner and infinitely more
beautiful, and his eyes, especially were powerfully different .... God !In the
view backlit, he was like a parody of .....
Aaron would not stop screaming
desperately .,,, but warned his terrible embarrassment,and he refrained.Welsey
(anyone would have noticed, but nobody was looking) approached him, bottle of
gin in hand:
-Is there something wrong, Don
Aaron?
-No, nothing, nothing .. Please ...
leave me alone ...
("And there, facing
the sea, I realised how much we had been manipulated." ..)
("We were his robots, his automata, his puppets
....")
Aaron turned away from the group
around children, walked to the
lighthouse, and sat on a rock, his eyes lost in the dark waters of the
Atlantic, smoking, with the bottle of gin
at his side.
He was waiting….
…………………………………………………………………………………………….
After the party, Jack looked for his
father, and not finding him among the people, he went to sleep at his good friend Diego’s house, the son of
the small store’s owner .
They had many things to talk about,
and then there was "Wonderland", the rabbit!
He was assured that his dad would
pick him up the next day; also the good uncle Spencer (now disguised as a
swordsman of novel) had given him
permission.
-Maybe Dad has felt bad, because he
has remembered mom, or that bad man who hurt him.. ...... or "before"
...
Spencer asked Welsey by Aaron,quite
worried. The Englishman said he had
gone to the lighthouse for a while, but then headed to the other end of the
village,totally drunk.
-Aaron ... we've worried about
you..Your son, I, Mr.Welsey ..... everyone in the town was worried about you.
.. What has happened?
Aaron lifted up his eyes in
mourning, and looked at him with a consuming hatred over the waters of that sea
blackened night.
-Go, damn !-he said, biting the
words, and in every word, each of the letters-Go, get out of my sight and my
life! You won’t manipulate me, like you did with the others!
-Too late. -it said a calm
freezing voice behind him, in
English-Too late, my dear Dr. Hotchner.
Aaron turned..Before him, it was the
one which was called the Dutch, and that was just another ghost: tall,
thin, wiry, with a shaggy gray beard that hid just
a face that was horribly familiar
.Monstruosly familiar.
-Van Houten ....? ....
-The same who wears these clothes and shoes ,and who is wielding the
weapon that shall kill you, my dear
doctor.
The gray haze of alcohol gave way to
the awareness of one unique certainty:
that of knowing that he would die in that
hidden place , killed by a ghost, manipulated by his own nightmares.
Reid stepped forward without fear:
-We are unarmed -he said-. It would
be uneven, and you've always presumed to be a man of honour.
Van Houten pointed them (when
not!),with a special 38 Eibar, similar as those both sadly already
known,, .. ("but .. not that there were only two equal?")
That was almost
inexplicable.But lethal as anything
else.
-Now you know the truth- Frank
smiled -I was the one who sent those
letters.I pretended ,I simulated those
crimes, detail after detail, and appropriated them to make David Rossi receive
them .. At this point in life, it is
much easier to simulate than to commit. I had
two powerful allies: the desire for revenge dictated by Rossi’s
love-hate-love and by his wounded and
mocked pride ,and his meridional
blood. I knew that, despite who he was,
and despite his famous rationality so
uncompromising, David Rossi would act,
this time, impulsively.
There was a long pause that was
summarized in an equally long sigh of weariness and hatred .Then,Frank continued:
-When – he chewed-speaking letters,
syllabes, one by one, licking them - "I has disintegrated my bones, presumably in a barrel of
acid," asccordingly to the FBI’s ridiculous
report…He.. ... Gideon…the beast! ... and I ... made a pact .A secret one..He would facilitate me a flight from the country if I
promised,if I swore to do not bother all of you nevermore.I accepted…but I actually
wanted something else…. I loved him, and I hatred him so much as I had loved,so he was my
trophy,the sole prize I wanted !!- he shouted -Many years ago (thirty five
years ago!), that bastard left me to go away with the Italian, and then
betrayed me haughtily, joining those ones who were destined to hunt me.Then, I
swore to myself that it would take the
finest vengeance .
He paused, and pointed a finger at
Reid:
-You know it well, truly, Dr.
Reid?.-he laughed, with a sinister
laughter whose blackness was darkest
than the more voracious sea-You've known him,Gideon,, like me, ... 'biblically
.... I mean ... carnally
... in the biblical sense ... right?
It was not enough to keep the
tension of waiting in which one dies not once but ten, a hundred, a thousand
times, but Frank wanted to increase further torture, using that confidential tone,
perhaps intimate, to prolong the agony, perhaps indefinitely.
-No need to ponder the answer from you, Dr. Reid: I know it can be
uncomfortable-he glanced at Aaron -..
But how it has not noticed by you( by a genius like you!),that everything he
touched was destined to perish, inevitably, in a terrible and tragic way ? He
carried the misfortune to any place where he was going: he betrayed my loyalty,
because he was born doomed.
-That is fatalism-Reid said, in a
tone that was the calmest in the world-He
told me it , yes.. His sentence was exactly this: "I was born
corrupt." And I said I was
astonished.But now I can see the truth, and you're right, Frank.,no doubt..
Aaron, despite the awfulness of the
situation, felt that his whole being
was filled with joy: Spencer was back to his usual self, trying to establish a
current empathetic power with the
monster, and he argued with him, pretending to be seduced by his words .
-I do not understand this at all- Spencer continued –Why Aaron, if the
one involved in this story was I, myself?.
-The head is always responsible for what each member brings to -Frank Van
Houten said.Then ,suddenly,he jumped:.
-Who killed him? You, Dr. Reid?
Spencer nodded, hesitated a moment,
then said, gently:
-It was assisted suicide ... I….
The raucous laughter interrupted
him:it was an animalistic laugh,
which guessed a savage joy.
-Assisted suicide! Now they call it
so! -he
spat on the ground-I congratulate you, my dear doctor.Sincerely.. You
freed the world of one of its more vile
slag..And,by the way… what happened to the Italian?-he laughed again-It was an
..” unassisted suicide”?-he laughed harder.
-Hhe died of a ruptured
aneurysm-third Aaron,approaching to him,very slowly.
-Did he suffer?.
-Probably he did not feel
anything..He was sleeping ...
-No, no ... Him .. the monster ....
Gideon…did he suffer?
-As wounded and cornered beasts do-
Reid said, and his words were unusually cruel-He suffered worse than an animal
does in the slaughterhouse.. He drank a mixture of poisons, and, as the effect
was not as immediate as he expected ...
-You did help him..-interrupted Van
Houten, happy-Good,very good…..but I had left him to suffer further.
-Do not think that I was not
tempted to do it,too-Reid said,
smiling.
-I would have let him die of
cirrhosis, breaking himself in an outburst,as a balloon- Aaron interjected .
Van Houten could not stop smiling.
Go-go! I see you both finally knew
what that bastard was doing with your lives,with your entire existences ... You
fell on account of the way that he was manipulating everyone and everything-.
he sighed –Good! Anyway, I can not let you live anymore.I'm so sorry , really,
but nothing that he touched, used, loved, shaped, directed, inspired, etc, etc
... must be standing on the surface of earth..
Frank took away, just a few steps
back, and pointed decidedly to the center
,and up:
-A single shot, doctor Reid.It will
not hurt too much ...
Distracted by his dialogue with
Spencer, Van Houten did not see that Aaron, obeying an instinct perhaps
inveterate, slowly let himself fall to the ground, crawling on the sand to
catch his feet.
There was a shot ,that ended up in
the air, because Aaron took Van Houten clinging to his ankles, dropped him, and
perhaps remembering what he did not want to remember, launched a brutal flood
of punches that did sprout a jet scarlet staining those untouched sands .A
scarlet staining of violence and crime, certainly,was there ,in those sands,
for the first time.
-Damn! –
shouted Van Houten, crazy-Damn!
Suddenly, Reid, who tried to
separate them, while he was pointing
Van Houten with the gun, but with a trembling hand,could hear footsteps and voices behind him.
Welsey was there with some men of
the village, among them the
Commissioner Ríos.He was was a
big man, dark, with a thick mustache and a deep voice of thunder:
-Stop, stop! Police!-he shouted, pointing with his gun.
Welsey approached.He was
carrying a torch, and his old Mauser,
"as old and as deadly as what happened at Verdun", as he put it
everyday.
Among several ones managed, finally, to separate the two men.
Aaron muttered imprecations, sobbing
gasps, and Foyet’s name escaped from his
lips in a faint howl that went unnoticed by everyone, but not for Reid.
Van Houten, whose condition was
lamentable, was easily dominated.The
policemen dragged him to the
lonely precinct, that never had received more prisoners than some tourists’ thieves ,occasionally , and that, for the first time, would be the
subject of a special attention by all
the media in Montevideo, Buenos Aires ... and even further.
-It's over, Aaron.It has been
completed yet- Reid said, hugging, caressing him,. Hugging him against his
chest, crying himself, and heedless of the prying eyes of the local villagers..
-You ... did you know?-asked Aaron.
-Yes, I knew.-Spencer replied- I
could just see him once, while walking through the boundaries of the
village.You already know that I cannot forget .. I carry the curse or maybe
the blessing ... to own an absolute
Hyper eidetic memory..Then,I thought
these damn clothes (cursed grace that makes me
to be wearing them now!) would make him come out of hiding and
decididely attack us .I needed to have
good witnesses, so that, finally, this monster would go with his bones to prison.And , if he fell dead as the result of our reply, for to
make everyone know that it had been in
legitimate defense I had discussed this with Welsey previously Welsey was the
one who was always lurking, covering us,and pointing him,only few feet from here,. all the time.
The Englishman approached to
them..His expression was more serious
than the usual.
-I had flown his head
immediately-.he.said.-Like one more
head as many as I flew in my
life.
Aaron had noticed long time ago that
Welsey was not who he said he was, but he never asked anything.Not intended to
do it: not now, not ever.
……………………………………………………………………………………………….
That very night, before dawn,
Spencer Reid lit a bonfire and threw on the clothes; the little black book; a portfolio that
consisted largely in ornithology catalogs, results of observation of
birds,;three volumes of poetry; several photographs , and a bulky folder
containing a detailed list of all cases that they had followed during their years at the BAU, beneath the shadow of the beast.
And, while the fire consumed paper,
cardboard and cloth, throwing sparks in which Spencer could read the remnants
of hatred, misery and vice that a damn day he,Gideon, had inject into his own heart, wrapped in fantastic lies.Inmediately
after he cursed himself a again for
giving in to the needs of the flesh, that day in Combourg, and, finally , he
swore himself washing his awareness of the manner whatever to clean all traces
of so much pain and so much crime.
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..
CODA: (Same scenario,twenty years later…)
(Paganini, Concerto no. 4 - Adagio
flebile and with sentimento) -.
They have passed, more or less, about
twenty years.
Jack is now a man, and lives in
Buenos Aires, graduating as a civil engineer with all honours.And he is not
living alone: has either a young boy ,a young physician,otherwise
nice and friendly, with often he visits them, when their duties allow.
Aaron along well his almost seventy
years, except for diabetes, which has left no light in his eyes.
Spencer, true to his promise, has
become his guide.
Every night there are long walks on
the beach, talking about the things of the day, about Jack and his boyfriend,
about who are still around,and about those who left, involving themselves in
the sea of nostalgia.
Tonight, however, is even more
special.
There is a fire, and the heat of
those flames thatAaron cannot see anymore still warms his face and hands, while Spencer caresses his
hair, all white, and opens himself friendly
to confidence.
-My life-Hotchner says-, you have
sacrificed yourself for me.
-It was and it is a pleasure,
Aaron.It is what I want: I've chosen.
-I can ask if you still love me?
And.... Whether you loved me ever since the beginning?
Spencer smiles, though he knows, of
course, that Aaron can not see it..
-Since before.
-Before? ...-Aaron laughs, like a
child-Then…since that beating?
-Before.
Then Spencer tenderly embraces him,
resting his head on Aaron’s chest.
-There is no time, Aaron.There are only you and I….since the beginning, and forever.
Spencer closes the embrace, a night bird rubs the seawater
with its flight, surreptitiously, and the tide with its ineffable tongue licks the foam on the sand.
And it’s then, just then, when the blind man’s night ,suddenly, is populated with stars.
(END OF "THE TOWER OF
SILENCE")
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