A HAND IN THE FOG

III

 

After took the picture from his hands secretly – after the half and complete smiles – when they drunk one or two glasses of wine – he explained his feelings about dogs.

Rethinking – could be after two or three glasses – for sure. She was not so expansive without help.

In vino veritas – as the silence theory of the philosopher existentialist – is also another really truth.

He confessed his love for dogs. A sweet person – she thought. Human. Excellent values. He loved animals – dogs. She listened – maybe said congratulations – now she was not sure.

This was the reason she preferred remember with closed eyes. It is like a hallucination. All we want we can create.

Returned to the memory. She said – of course with the blessed help of the wine – you should celebrate because we will never marry. I don’t like dogs at all.

For sure she would never knew what he thought. Not because of her low level of animals love, but because the verb to marry. He looked to her in a mix of surprise plus misunderstanding. There were only one or two hours he gave just a half smile and she conjugated this scary verb. With the wine for companion – she tried to explain to him her theory about growth and progress.

So polite as before – so elegant as before – he invited her to go into the restaurant and …

Outlaw version

No Mr. Policeman, I had not touched the woman, I respect women, more I have fear, they are so clear, at the first time and after few minutes you understand nothing, they change suddenly, I wont only her money, I have a family. Yes Mr. policeman, you know the family I had in the village, all was killed … me? No, no! I was not there. Yes my wife was awful, every day asking for money. I have an alibi, I was at my home in the city, with my true family, with my four kids, my marvelous woman. The woman accused me of sexual violence, it’s not true, you see me, I have an age…   two women, I am not Hercules, please come here: I would do it but I can’t.

It was “he” who has made violence to the woman, for accusing me.

“he”  version

Mr. Policeman, you can’t believe to a horrible outlaw, look, I am a philosopher, well dressed, polite, not freeze as he is. You may hear which vulgar pronunciation he has.

I was linked to a tree, I watched and it was impossible to do anything. And please write, Mr. Policeman, the woman was not really scared, it seems that she was quite happy for the new experience, the whore. I passed years working hard for her pleasure, dressing, colored nails, her expensive wine. At the end the woman choosed this way.

the woman…

The woman…

She opened so big her eyes to look for all: the woman and the policeman, the elegant man – and also the other not elegant. Where they were.

There was nobody. She stood up so fast and her hair covered her face. With the hand tremulous she arranged the hair and looked around. The same as before: people were on the grass reading, talking with a very low voice or listening music with headphones. The silence was only broken for a bird or some pat.

Not so fast as she stood up – but finally she understood. She slept. She dreamed. A “daynightmare” – in the park.

She concluded with a – at this time – half smile. The first thinking it was that the dream was like a film she watched so many years ago. Why “the film was” in the park with a fog now – it was the first question inside her. The second question was why she dreamed with a woman that accused the elegant man of sexual violence. And she could hear – even awake – his voice affirming that “it is not true, you see me, I have an age…   two women, I am not Hercules, please come here: (at low voice) I would do it but I can’t.

Why this dream like that so distant film. It was a question for so much analysis.

For years she went to the psychoanalyst trying to discover what was cover. And vice-versa. Ten years later she had more doubts than before. And said good-bye to the analyst. Not only for this. He was so intelligent and knew kilometers of theory – but couldn’t control his own admiration for her. It was a difficult moment but both said good-bye to the Austrian God and became only friends. He moved to another city. She moved to another city. Nevermore they met each other.

Now she missed him. She could tell him the dream and he could help her. She could tell him about the fight for the time of a hug. At this point – she smiled completed. No. She couldn’t tell this for him. He was a passionate psychoanalyst and for sure would ask not so sweet why he left her alone on the grass. And will hate him forever and ever. Two fights for a hug time instead of one.

Once more she lifted the neck looking for him – like a hope. She wanted so much he had come back – but still only the empty fog.

He invited her to go to a restaurant and she agreed. It was the last memory before begin to sleep and dream that strange dream. It was a wonderful night.

She decided get out from the park. When she was almost outside she saw a policeman speaking with an elegant man. A extravagant woman with a very short dress and colored nails hold with much care a bottle of wine – it seems an expensive wine because of the care she hold.

The elegant man was supposing to explain something important to the policeman – that for his expression wasn’t believe in any one word that the elegant man said.

She went away. It was so much for a fog morning. But different of him – she looked behind on her shoulders.

She was sad. Maybe he would never return. And she would have in her mind only the idea of his hand with soft touch.

But nothing was as expected or regular at that fog morning.

 

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