Unrepentaint. Impenitenti

With a shoulder-was placed at the begi

shirt under the vest of wool were the typical clothing of the children of dad went to the campus.

Not I would have given him more than thirty-five years, but it was this that leave me puzzled. The posture of the imperial suggested grace, even in those clothes, not quite formal; with the ankles crossed and the hands in the pockets of the pants seemed to be totally at ease. Brown hair were snakes of Medusa on his head, but the face of the moon, the first thing I noticed were the eyes.

A different one from the other. One green as malachite, the other liquid gold. I felt ashamed for a moment of the uniform that I was wearing, I look like a schoolgirl by four money with skirt pleats, the parisian and a pair of Mary Jane. Fortunately, the sweater dark gray covered at least the logo of the university on my blouse.

So I gave up on the book and I turned fully towards him. "No

, I've never read" I confessed. I had read a few classics in my life, for th most part plays an american or british. Shakespeare and Beckett, in particular: with Hewitt, who was studying for the course of the theatre, I found myself sitting several times to help him with his jokes.

"It should," the man snapped his position, and he stepped forward, he took a couple of steps to get a few inches of distance. His lips were curled upwards into a smile restrained, and the eyebrows were arched in an expression of cu

He looked at me in the face, mante

He leafed through and then in front of my eyes, sliding your fingers between the pages steeped in ink. "Psyche was so beautiful and the envy of Venus, so Eros was the one in charge to make her fall in love with a monster". He remained with the look between the pages flipped through it slowly and started to speak. "But Eros he aimed and stabbed in the foot with his own arrow." He lowered his tone of voice, probably for fear of being shot by someone who , like us, lived in the library. Even breathing made her feel guilty in that silence taught.

"How many chances there were that could go wrong mira?" I asked, in my time whispering.

He stopped his movements and looked at me. "Not many, to tell the truth." I was ecstatic to hear it. His words were a note carried by the wind, hovered as the foliage and wheeling around me in a storm in slow motion. "It was his job and hardly wrong".

"I don't know how to continue the story, but I'm sure that if it ends with a dead man he could have his share of sins. Not to mention that trying to hit someone with an arrow is attempted murder."

"She likes to analyze everything?" I asked with a breath of ecstasy to imbrattargli the voice, and a sudden reflection of the ink that was on the book rested on his irises opposite.

"I would like to understand why Eros is struck by only one, it is evident that the act was intentional."

"Not everything has a reason," I replied. "Maybe he really is wrong. Everything can arise from an error in the bottom of Eros represents the instinct".

"Continue..." I would. He closed the book, leaving his index finger inside to keep the sign. "The psyche is brought to the top of a cliff and left alone because of a prophecy of an oracle, according to which he will soon be in the hands of a monster; then Eros saves. In the palace, Psyche is taken care of and will be able to marry Eros, on one condition: that their meetings will take place in the dark, and that she will never try to see it or know the name of it".

"Let me guess I interrupted him. "It does, doesn't it?"

The man smiled. "Definitely. Driven by envy of her sisters, in the darkness, Psyche's weapon, a dagger, and a candle, as she is convinced that her husband is a monster. But when the wax dripping alarm Eros discovers that he is anything but a monster.

Unfortunately, there is no way to go back."

I let myself be carried away by his ability to narrate and I thought of the girl that I was before those two weeks, probably the Kerys then she would never have listened to with so much interest that it seemed all the effects a remote history of a kidnapping. Her perfume woody spread in my direction, and then I realized that it was done closer, just a little, but enough to wrap myself with the shadow of her statuesque body.

"And this is how he interprets it?" he asked me. "She would have done the same?"

"I am not courageous as the Psyche" ammisi to myself. "But as I see it, this is a real kidnapping. In the end, this is really the beauty of Eros, which may distort the morality of his conduct?"

I knew that there was no point in discussing ethics for a tale of old time, which was analyzed according to the rules of his time, and which could not be rationalized. But it was inevitable for me to perceive a red wire I tied to the Psyche, even though she was happy to fall into that trap. Maybe I was his version unfortunate.

"He's right," he said. "But often, victims fall in love with their executioners".

"Stockholm syndrome is only the result of a need, when the horror is all that you know is difficult to distinguish between love and attachment caused by the need to remain in life. She knows how to take care of a little bird?" My question was rhetorical.

"You have to feed him only when he is with his master, so he will learn not to fly away, because the only way he knows how to eat, and then to live, it is through the person that feeds him".

"Remarkable..." A strange understanding popped between our

eyes and I, enchanted, I was fixed on him, wondering what he thought of me. A poor girl who is in the section classic in a panic.

"It seems that she knows quite well what he speaks."

My irises are enchanted once again on him, just as a sigh, a deep thrust of air that is shaking the chest. "I know a few things, actually. For example, this fairy tale, and this book is not them I knew if you do not hear-say".

"Nothing that can not be remedied". Note sensual, his voice pressed on my face in flames like so many small needles ready to traforarmi. "Maybe he just needs someone to teach, someone with more experience than her."

"And you?" "No," he confessed with a

half-smile. "To be honest no, I also have a lot to learn. But there are stories that we are told as children that we remain impressed, for one reason or another". He lowered his face to look at the fingers, plunged it between the pages of the book half open, and without lifting the chin and he returned his eyes on me, once again charmer. "This is one of those, for me."

For a moment it seemed to me to have vertigo, while his irises are twins, but so different, I examined. I did not have time to respond, because we were interrupted soon by a third person.