Book: Give me your name. Page 3

- For God's sake, open the door, ' cried the poet the owner of a book. - We'll be choked, - Mr. wenga pulled out a small wooden wedge and stuck between a wall and a bronze frame.
Is that better? - respectfully he asked.
- No. But now, at least we know that the door is open.

On the train I told him about the day when we decided that he drowned. I was determined to force the father to raise all fishermen in the area looking for him, and when they found him, to light the pyre on our side. I'd pulled a kitchen knife from Mafalda and cut out his heart, because his heart and his shirt was all that I wanted to see in my life. His heart wrapped in a wet shirt, like a fish Anise.

I was happy that the room gets back to me. In my room it will be easier to remember our night. No, better to stay in my current bedroom. Then, at least, I can imagine that he's still there, in the next room behind the wall, but if not, he still had not returned from a night walk, and I can count the minutes, hours, sounds...

But I also liked that in the superstitious world of Mafalda waiting was the worst way to avoid it.

And, Yes, there was a strange glitter in his eyes, I was forced to look to the side. When I looked at him again, his gaze has not wavered, he was still focused on my face, as if to say: "so you looked to the side and back whether you look to the side again?" That's why I turned away again as if lost in thought, still trying to cling to something to say. So the fish is fighting for the water drying up from the heat the pond.

Or the presence of those yesterday morning felt like an unwelcome visitor, it becomes absolutely necessary, because it shelters us from our own hell - so if one and the same person who confuses you, the night gives you a release?

I decided not to count the days. At first, because I didn't want to think how long I have to endure it; later, because I didn't want to know how few days are left.

What is it about this expectation that it begins to resemble torture?

"If he doesn't show within ten minutes, I'll do it." Ten minutes later I was overtaken by a sense of helplessness and hatred for this feeling, I realized I was waiting for the next in-this-time-seriously ten minutes.

I liked it when I was looking, until my eyes were closed.

Father joked: I'm too old to not to accept people for who they are.

His gaze was like a tiny photo of a loved one, the soldier takes on the battlefield, not only to remember all the good of this life and believe in future happiness, but also to remember that this is a favorite face will not forgive if he comes back in a body bag.

It was they, heritage of youth, two of the talisman of my life, hunger and fear.

I'm not wise. I told you. I don't know anything. I know books and I know how to connect words together - it doesn't mean I know how to talk about things most important to me.