...the magical beauty that is waking up every morning in a different place and then resume the journey to unknown places and instinctively decreed. His life, however, and Santo is painfully aware of it, has always despised the surprise: it was predictable and scientifically neat. Thus the incipient sense of guilt for a "thrown" lifetime gets bigger and bigger and so unbearable that the Santo's old body starts to slowly lose (but relentlessly) his own strenght. The nipping guilt prevents him from thoroughly enjoy the country house where, in anticipation, he would have to spend a happy old age, absolutely devoted to repose and tranquility. But no: his life as a retired is a real disaster. It is so disastrous that his body becomes almost skeletal: he is no longer able to eat to how powerful the sense of guilt is. So, after hundred, thousand sufferings, he holds a knife with ardor and with blazing speed, as if he would perform the act in the fastest way possible, he pierces his heart and then he waits for death as if it was a winged peacemker angel. But it, the death, is slow in coming. From the mouth of the heart ... [continues »]