Bad Invisible Teachers Read online

  Chapter 12

  "Katia has the most beautiful kulo of Europe."

  They are the same boundaries that decades first you/they had entertained other writings, other witticisms in red blood or in black livid, to be the pulpit of this telegraphic contemporary sermon.

  Of the ideological hate of once the ks remain, you throw at random only, with irony and unawareness, from the artist that it has graffittato the panegyric in characters pink color culetto.

  So many other culi in competition among them to lay a trap the continental record of Katia they still occupied the before parking lot the school, sat on the steps, supported to the wall or simply standing. The more exhibited those of the males, ridicules and tragedians heroes of the fashion, immolated to the altar of the indecency: collapsed pantaloni, unused belts, underpantses griffate in beautiful sight, the all for the ostentation of shrunken or flabby glutei for the starvation. Everything the contrary they were those of their companions, maliciously statements within a seductive limit, invigorated and had been smoothing for times of gym.

  That young people were alone a lean handpiece persisted in comparison to the totality of the population to drain: the classical high school Beccaria, flower to the buttonhole of the Milanese education, picked up from the wealthy zones between the Fair and course Sempione more than thousand clients, separated in about fifty classes.

  By now it was the one and half: the more ones had disappeared, and also of run; the least distant ones from the school were also already in house, where to the time of lunch an uninhabited kitchen from parents in career allowed them to snatch a sandwich, a yogurt or an apple to crunch in front of the computer.

  The pure and hard ones remained of only the non virtual contact, teen-agers to the towing, bulli in showcase, gangway dolls or such aspirants. Or, more simply, friends, desirous to still share some instants of liberty before riabbandonarsi to the duties in loneliness.

  It was strange, at that time, veder to cross the gate from an ex teen-ager prestante, carefully dressed, with a tasted elegance and not exhibited. Sunglasses, dark suit, candid shirt, wide shoulders, ruffled hair and definite incedere: difficult for him to pass unnoticed.

  The girls already launched looks. Not even an effort to simulate, to hide their thought to the companions, that, for their part, they studied the intruder with suspect. If you/he/she had remained only only also a remnant of the animal vigor to the origin of the kind, the pantalonis would be lowered and entirely you/they would have scattered the piss to mark their dominion. And, snarling hot tempered, you/they would already have thrown back in the caves those ready females to give the shoulders to the new come, displaying on all four the fragrant orifice.

  Laura sat on the steps of entry; sportingly dressed up with a shirt to shades orange and blue, a skirt in jeans as soon as above the knee and white tennis shoes to the feet. Also she noticed him/it, following the wave of the turned heads, and smiled at to recognize him/it. It was the only one to do him/it.

  It was not entirely a surprise but it didn't dare to hope indeed us for.

  He/she hastily dismissed the companion with which cazzeggiava from some. It didn't even acknowledge the expression of envy of this when it got up for running into the new come.

  The friend, remained to the pole, would have reached the contemporary sabba there assembled and street with the reality! Have you seen? Ago so much the prude and then with whom if it does her/it? Will have at least ten years more than her, that is ashamed! But you have really reason. Yes, it is a disgust. But it will do only it for the money, you will see if it is not this way. But him you/they should arrest him/it. Yes, it is true, it is really a pedofilo of merda. Even you/he/she is also gotten married and with children and it goes to chase the the ragazzines. (But now I go, that the sgrillettata of the after lunch I do me her thinking about him, the pedofilo of merda.)

  «Hi» he/she greeted Laura hiding the emotion but not the gratitude.

  «As you are nice, today» Angel immediately compensated her/it, sincere as few times in his/her life.

  You smiled and in answer it didn't find better anything of whether to reply with the same sincerity.

  «You seem me some beaten, instead. Have you slept little tonight?»

  Angel passed by instinct a hand among the hair, rearranging the possible one.

  «It is so that I/you/he/she thank for the compliments?»

  Laura dissuaded the look and curled the lips to mo' of baby. A curious mask of innocence and whim it was dyed her in face.

  «It was alone to make conversation» it murmured disappointed. «Hold you pure your mysteries, beautiful tenebrous.»

  And him, still fighting against the anarchy of the long hair, he/she explained.

  «Any mystery: I have ended only the gel.»

  They smiled. Some instants of embarrassed silence were needed before she confessed.

  «I didn't think that you would have come indeed.»

  «Because no?»

  Laura reflected an instant.

  «Already. Are you right: because no? After all I deserve him/it to me really.»

  «But feel her/it! And would thing be that I/you/he/she deserve yourself really?»

  «Nothing special: to go for a stroll with a friend. Does it suit you? Here near there are some quarters. Or, a little more distant, there is the park Sempione. If you are not too much tired.»

  Angel didn't even pick up the last of the adorable provocations.

  «You, rather: you don't have to study for tomorrow?»

  «They are already to place.»

  «Not difficulty to believe him/it.»

  «You are giving me some secchiona?»

  It avoided to reply: it was the moment for that mature to put an end to these adolescent skirmishes. You turned, and, grazing her arm, he/she invited her/it to follow him/it.

  «We go, saputella. The air of the school you from to the head.»

  Along the walk him concessero talked vague, frivolities of scholastic life, licentious amenities from discoli, evocations of austere figures of teachers. Innocent words and serene laughters.

  Then the park came, lung in metastasi in Milan, already parish priest and already repetition terminal.

  The steel bars around all were the last therapeutic fury; stentavano the plants to cover her, as if they refused them same that extraneous body to the citizenship of the multiform vice.

  The leaves from the branches protected nestfuls of pups of man, reduced to silent witnesses of the combustion of distant, exotic relatives. They came from far rhythms of assorted membranofoni, that articulated dances free pede.

  The paths of the park to that time were almost desert and their footsteps were rarely crossed with those of others. It reigned wherever an unusual reservation.

  «I don't come here often, despite suits twos footsteps» it said Laura, breaking a silence that lasted from when you/they had entered. «My brother has never wanted that frequented the Sempione, above all with my schoolmates. He/she preferred that we went to the gardens of Door Venice, despite they were on the other side of Milan.»

  «It is natural: to our times the Gardens were considered of right, the Park of left. Your brother has always been very sensitive to the common places.»

  It appeared on the surface then her a guilty smile as that of a baby that confesses the peccatuccio to his/her/their mother.

  «You want to know the truth? Those few times that I came there it was above all for making him spite.»

  «And from me thing waits yourself? A reproach or a compliment?»

  «We are not on a stage» it replied. «I am not giving you a beakful.»

  «Then shift on a discounted question: you where you find better yourself, to the Gardens or to the Park?»

  You stopped him, staring at him/it and catching him/it.

  «You would think badly of me if I told yourself that both hook?» That answer tickled its desire, not in the banality of the motto but
in the blush that dyed her cheeks, respect to the modesty or antechamber of unbridled sensuality. «Here he breathes the farm air of the proletariat. There, does that built order have, as it is that it is said? The discreet charm of the middle class.»

  «You have ever seen him/it?» The surprises with a simple question.

  «Seen what?»

  «The film. The discreet charm of the middle class.»

  It escaped timorous to his/her look.

  «To say the truth, didn't know even it was a film. I thought only pits a way of saying.»

  «Nothing serious» it encouraged her/it grazing her arm with the fingers. «I tell only you that that charm is easier to find here it that there.»

  «In that sense?»

  «It looks at that group, under those plants.» And it pointed out a swarm of boys and girls sbracciate or in custom, all barefoot ones, with the shoes thrown around as to mark a sacred area. Some males animated the group beating agitated on the bongoses; on all a halo of smoke fluttered that only the distance prevented from recognizing to the nose. «Those live all among Melzi Di Eril and Mario Pagano. To school they go to the Leo XIII, they are not satisfied with a proletarian Beccaria. Proletariat remains in their dreams: an aspiration that is too much dangerous to reach. Allow to tell me, as the anal sex: to words, every man tries to convince his/her own woman to be the most satisfactory practice. It is to the woman it would be enough to unsheathe a rubber fault and to tell his him": Before: show him/it to me".»

  «But from the, how disgusting!» It exhibited his/her own scandal ridanciano and fake. «You cannot simply tell me the film and to explain me thing they have of bourgeois that boys?»

  «Mean and perfidy, just as the characters of the film of Bunuel.» he/she explained, folding up the voice to benefit of a public that didn't exist, of a female that was all one world. «The only thing that you/they have of authentic it is the desire to jump I am set. Ammanicati in the most sinister trafficis, but incapable to organize a simple supper. They are puppet surreal, that get excited for showing to exist, to him same before to the others, obsessed by his/her own nightmares and by the idea of the death. The more hypocrite is the bishop, that enters scene announcing": I Had the car, but I have sold her to benefit of the poor men" and you/he/she passes the rest of the film to try to intrude himself/herself/themselves anywhere, in that world that fakes not to desire. Is it at the end you know that ago? It shoots to the man that, in confession, it reveals him to have murdered his/her parents. Obviously after having acquitted him/it in the name of merciful God.»

  Laura loved the sounds of that sermon giullaresco but it maintained them to proper distance.

  «Now I understand what you have in common my brother and you: you like too much to make the ethic to the others» it limited him to consider.

  Slash in full pride.

  «I believe that you are out road.» it tried to smarcarsi him, but Laura still pursued him/it.

  «I hope to be him/it: I don't have great liking for the one who shows little understanding.» And it pointed out the squad, with a sign of the arm as soon as, but without deigning them of his/her look. «Also in their naivety, could not you/they move you some compassion, the deluded ones? It is one problem of theirs if they want to play to make the proletarians.»

  Angel boxed the reproach. It was the first time that someone turned so his/her pride tacciandolo of the darkest gesuitismo.

  But because a day that wanted to spend without worries had taken that so heavy fold? Where was the thoughtlessness ended that was waited to reach while it was darting on the regardless Valassina of the controls? And the amenities that had accompanied them in their footsteps up to the confinements of the spellbound forest? Was it perhaps possible that that ragazzina had the power to upset him the plans and to not at all drag him/it its despite long anticipated runs?

  «The problem is not that that boys want to make the proletarians not being him/it: it is that they want to do him/it without proletariat exists. As for the religions: a mental condition is built from which to depend and with which to condition the life of all founding himself/herself/itself on inconsistent presuppositions.»

  Laura raised on him a curious and sad look.

  «Then also God is an inconsistent presupposition for you.»

  That tone anodino, disenchanted, it didn't clarify if she had turned him a question tyrant or you/he/she had murmured a bitter verification. Angel resolved for exhibiting a proud sincerity, hoping that the escalation of the provocations had reached its peak.

  «It is a burden of which I/you/they have freed by now from so much.»

  Laura was struck dumb. It diverted from the path and it pushed him in the lawn, leaving back it. When it reached the shade of an ippocastano, he/she sat him on the grass and attended. It was an irresistible call.

  Angel moved verse of her as if you/he/she had not been busy anything other.

  Standing, that sign that came anticipated attended: her hand invited nearby him to sederlesi.

  It performed only, without the duty to reflect. And he/she didn't know how to speak anymore, since you/he/she had stopped listening to him.

  «You don't even believe in the love, then» he/she asked him to the sudden one.

  And as Angel tried of prender breath, you/he/she still anticipated him/it.

  «No, it waits: not to answer to this. Tell only me you have ever spoken. I don't want to know you for what you are, I could not allow me him. I want only to know how you have made to know you. Have you ever succeeded in saying I love you with the enthusiasm of a little boy?»

  A quiver the shake the beautiful face. Also she had crossed his/her limits.

  «Because you tremble?» To that it grabbed on Angel to escape.

  But because that quiver had started to spread in him?

  «They frighten me those that don't succeed in falling in love himself/herself/themselves» it admitted her. «But I am not afraid of them, I am afraid for them.»

  Admirable prodigy! It is really possible therefore to love the other from itself?

  «How much void is in your heart, that you have to fill pursuing him/it the miserable ones there?» the churches tenderly.

  «I feel that I could love them with the whole soul. I feel only my able heart of a terrible and unhappy love.»

  «You don't deserve him/it.»

  And it accompanied that breath grazing the face with her fingers. It followed the wave of his/her hair, it removed them behind the ear. That caress dragged him/it away from the words.

  «You have not answered me» quivering Laura brought back him/it. And a loaded look of unexpressed tears turned him. «You have ever spoken of love?»

  "I do him/it for work" he/she thought Angel. But it didn't tell him/it.

  He/she kissed her, instead.

  Its lips had a particular taste. They were lips that had never tasted a cazzo. He/she didn't even remember if you/he/she had ever tasted of of it similar. It is temette to be able to adore her for this.

  It was her to draw away himself/herself/themselves for before, since it needed words.

  «I hoped for there so much» it whispered.

  «Also me» the liar answered.

  Since also that, in reality, it was an unexpected end, that he had not foreseen neither looked for.

  That was one mysterious afternoon, one afternoon from the thousand questions, without any answer.

  In the irresponsibility of that gesture, Angel held narrow to itself his/her blonde demon, whose perfidy resided in the purity, whose it missed of every coercion. Whose beauty didn't accept delays.