Among the first row houses in the suburbs, in the darkness of the night lit any, undated, Howard continued to be lulled by the embrace of his city. He gave the first real abandonment of his life, after so many years. As if the instinct that leads everyone to enjoy their own secret place, as home security, "box of secrets" he had not had in the hotel. Had not germinated. Until then.
As a child, he had no knowledge and, just like a child, I enjoyed the instant in which surprised that received low heat invasive and that the warming. Dismissing for a moment his bewilderment. If only for a moment.
" What a strange life, sometimes - he then wrote in his notebook -. It seems that sometimes when you remove and which forces you to land, also gives you the tool to make you stronger ... hope to get up "
While returning home, now in the midst of the spring night, things changed Indeed. Or rather, changed his perception of how everything had changed. In his instinct. Providence was banal that its secret place. The place he had always tried to encircle the real protection, each of which tends towards the same, when it has reason to fear, anger. Need to deal with something that is, after all, true to himself. As a city, a mountain, a house in the woods of the soul.
He felt right at home. The scents were her, roads, fences. Yes, of course changed a lot in Providence was eighteen, twenty years, but it did not matter. His were the sounds, scents and sensations. The same as always. Back then too.
There was at home, his "real" home. And if there was a place where everything could be acceptable, or at least a safeguard, this place was there. A place that has always protected him that he had cemented the memories, forged their deepest essence, witnessed its growth. In any direction it had then developed. There, among the houses lit up at night, in those tidy streets, windy in the silence you speak of that nature reclaims, families for dinner, feeling at home hidden from view of strangers, there could. He could feel a little 'louder, a bit' more resistant to the thrust of what I remember back oppressive, and freed him, made him face, beyond the threshold of his most painful experience. By Howard acknowledged that even more, so he was buried in his soul.
That feeling of pleasant surprise, security was a truce, a truce only explanation. Lovecraft knew it. It was as if, at the beginning of a game, objectives were explained to you but not only to defeat their opponents and the tools available to do so. Since it was the writer had those places, now he was sure, then had his strange courage, "man who can not hear" and had his strength of mind. The other was all there. Everything had to be experienced as throbbing emotions, all the pain, anguish, anger that they had not vent through the years, as a powder hidden under a thick carpet. On the other hand, as ridiculous and mocking opponents, there were also his own anthropomorphic monsters. The same people who had inferred from his illness hidden and drawn on paper, radiant and memorable descriptions.
" It 's true - then resigned, banal - Nothing is created, nothing is lost. He can only change form under a description, if it draws a creativity within us, is based only on our lives. On our emotions. You can not remove the emotion, cancel it, curbed ... "
Maybe that was the time when the truce ended. A crash. And the "game" she said. More surprising and whirling as before.
does not take much, just the instinctive gesture, while achieving all this, to turn off his beatific smile and imperceptibly from the tapered fingers tighten their fists. The perception was that of humidity. Sweat, of emotion that makes your hands moist.
your hands moist. Those who would always accompanied, in moments of emotion in the moment-to-manage.
"Howy go running to wash your hands. Do not let it repeat, or your mother gets angry with me. Then I'll take me with you ... "Aunt Lilian knew how to take Howard. He knew he had weapons important to him and did not disdain to use them. From time to time.
"In two hours, they will all be here. If you hurry up and come back clean, we can play together ... We have agreed to origami "
That afternoon had given him a disheveled hair and a slap on the cheek, then he tried to be serious and was directed to that a twelve year old skinny serentore index.
Howard had been watching for a while, then went up in a hurry. To the bathroom.
was already high enough to easily reach the knobs on the sink, and turn them up under his hands. Then, with a comb of white bone, had wet hair, dividing them on the forehead, like Moses dividing the waters.
It was reorganized as a shirt and came down again.
"Aunt Lilian? Lilian Zia? "
Lilian Zia, the wife of her uncle was something more than a relative experience and something less. Not to mention the similarities, not even the occasional co-existence, but more and more frequently in those years that pervaded the house Lovecraft, Howard had something to do instead of puberty in the first real contact with playful example of the opposite sex, capable of interacting with him, to give you as a friend, a friend and something ill-defined for the members and the feeling of the boy with bony legs. Lilian Zia when he was at home, Howard put a little 'time more and more care in his appearance. The compulsive and energetic combed blond hair, at night, hard to bend, rubbing the face in the morning, care in brushing operations in those months were beginning to have a different meaning. Meaning, a push that was outside the understanding of child quell'adolescente too. At least in appearance. History, even this was as old as you feel that each child a turn toward the direction of healthy manhood, yet close to being spoon. Aunt Lilian, with her ethereal waist, her long skirts, her arms were thin and agile un'apripista only. A pretty face in his dirty blonde with blue eyes, a smiling and graceful in his figure to him. Never over the top in reproach, never below, in the complicity of recreation that the woman gave to that lone grandson, perhaps the embodiment of motherhood still far from torment. Young man who wandered into a world of too big and that would close himself, with his chin jutting out somewhere. There was no room for
Howy else in mind when interacting with Lilian, there was no curiosity, no shame, not even the very idea of \u200b\u200bsomething other than games, cutouts of figures in the paper, the races in the backyard. Nothing for a twelve year old could be understood, accepted and evaluated.
"Aunt Lilian? Lilian Zia? "
That afternoon Howard, with his hands clean and dry, with its central parting, made to toil on hair-covered child playing alone too, turned part of the house more and more curious and breathless, like one who realizes to be taken in the game suddenly, and being called to handle it. As an adult who agrees to hide, but is not hiding.
Howard chose then, that afternoon, the road of silence for the aunt who wanted to play with him. He tried smiling and happy, in silence, like a cat wandered in search of food cues, including the living room and his kitchen cupboards, the two studies and large libraries, the wardrobe and its most hidden, the dusty, dark basement The huge kitchen with its beliefs carved tables heavy and main bathroom. A white light.
was the height of the bathroom that something inevitably changed, as with a rap that envelops the wheel and hairless body of a boy, shook him chills, levitating it rises, it reduces folded makes it instantly for that turgid stream of life that pervades his genitals unaware. And yet in a position now to cry out to life, the essence of carnal, worldly way of announcing and explaining adolescents and tear, only for what you understand of your nature. As a young man, male. Than you are and you can not, I want to, ever change.
took only a half-open door, a triangle of light that flexes and stretches on the floor aged. Two young eyes that go silent, the figure of a shadow which blocks a game. Howard leaned unconsciously, instinctively hiding rather than malice, in the perfumed silence of a woman, her aunt, who was.
Sitting on the edge of the tub with one leg leaning against the white stool, her skirt at the waist and his hands. Tapering to caress her ankles, legs, thighs. To settle his white socks to the pelvis, where the pink flesh of her appeared, like the beach to the sea. Involuntary movement of lightness and whiteness of the mischievous boy who discovered a new world. For the first time conscious. What's a woman, like other men. What to drive, as much as the control.
was a feeling that people know well, as they lived their life and then end up with many dilute the memory, and a hundred bodies a hundred different situations, which are often confused with each other, overlapping indecipherable and casting shadows on their feelings of adults.
Howard was silent image of femininity to address new and urgent, that proclamation of virility to manage emerging and bursting because of a visible result of youthful limbs, flesh, blood, wonderfully new to your perception. Flourish in all its shocking intimacy.
He stood a moment, leaning against the wall with the light that affects the face, eyes shining with desire incomprehensible, her lips moist and the sensation of force to the lower belly. Before you run away with the image of Aunt Lillian in the body, the speed of a field mouse who flees at the sight and his hands. Hands of youth moved by natural and unknown pulse. Hands moist for emotion unmanageable, uncontrollable. Wet hands tightened into fists, so far removed from violence, so close to that kind of love.
that day, Howard had no feelings, no thoughts to play with Aunt Lilian, ignorant, who vainly tried, once out of the bathroom.
Among the houses that night in Providence, Lovecraft only paused a moment, while his pace from minutes already had become a very slow pace, as if to give time to his opponent to take good aim during a duel with pistols. An act of courage, and stupid "horse" incomprehensible for someone like Howard, he knew that it was not over there and that his "enemy", the opponent places from which they could only partially protect it, which was still very scared, annihilate, demolish. He stopped only to look at your hands, slide your finger knowingly on the palms, feeling the moisture contradictory, in that cool windy. It was the sweat of hands to be as excited as her hands that always showed what his mind, his heart, hid sediment. Pile up hysterically. Mani honest with himself. Always and in spite of everything.
" Howy're hurt right? ... Lean on me. All of this will help, I believe. It will be our secret ... "
Howard in those years believed that the heart of all men of the world was equal to his. He thought that the intense heat coming from her, climbing those emotions that surrounded the throat and at moments that take your breath away and the one they were born, were the same for every human being. For this he had respect for this court that any person was, profoundly, equal dignity. For their belief, love, emotions. He was convinced enough to be considered part of the mass. One among many, with no distinction in it and find rest, peace as a consolation at the thought of not being unique.
was so young, so different dall'allampanato man who hated, now, the different by itself 'and that he considered himself a radical one, especially. Without thought of better. Simply alien. At the joint hearing, the general act.
He had wanted it that way, it was built in this way to protect their talent wrong to give the roots of true originality to his writing, to erase the pain, anger, anxiety.
" What horrible mess I made of me, what I have private life that I lived? If Charlie, you could see me now, what would you feel? Would you love me? You'd want to put your head on my chest? Because I have this condition. I trashed what I was. I sacrificed my soul .. I want to ask forgiveness. Forgiveness. Forgiveness. "
Yes, forgiveness. In front of the house with two floors of Winthorpe, Now not far from her, standing in the middle of the street to observe the lawn that Abram dad has always cared for with meticulous attention, Howard took another step back, beating himself, this time with the hair shirt of his imaginary monsters, slimy and smelly of those figures that emerged from his unconscious and encircled, without touching it. Almost putribondo recognize in him the father who had designed. ".. Can not be a monster, however cruel and horrible, and can be slippery, devour his father, to do those bits of meat from the seed of which was generated .. Can not. By virtue of this I I must not fear. This must be my way ... From here I continue my journey ... "
His long sweaty hands, his eyes fixed on the porch of the crazed and Winthorpe, a veranda in any any evening, they announced the arrival of the undulating horrid creature.
Despite his writing, his fears, his always and continuously generate, Lovecraft did not know that this appearance would have had to gasp softly, that mesmerizing eyes. He only knew where it came from. The expectations that, as expected something inevitable, because the wheels and you know now where to look.
would come from a white rocking chair on a white porch, in the midst flower pots in front of a house that had nothing to do but it seemed so much to an infinite number of years before. And then she saw him with his form of Saving Silverman octopus, its tentacles slippery and shiny, his eyes as the darkness of blacks after certain gestures of anger, such as yellow iris in a horrible chemical sludge. His snorting gasp of disgusting effluvia took his breath, made him dying in a sigh of disgust and anger ... His kraken was, then. The sea was Providence, its bad, if you brought in and the foul creature was there for that. Drawn by him, raised him.
Howard Phillips Lovecraft was not afraid but that dream with open eyes the monstrous belt with its offshoots jelly, and his body stiffened and stood lonely in the night and his hands were sweating it sheds. Again and again.
was not afraid. Prevailed the feeling of being "father" and "mother", the certainty of having so much wrong until then, he had hidden, concealed. You have fed her every gesture of hypocrisy in the profound folly of his rational soul. "Take me then "
that nights there was no consolation for Howard, there were no words, or guess. Only his lost look, his body barely able to eat, to move with mnemonic and repetitive movements. Get out of bed, crawl to the bathroom, out of the bathroom, dressing, have breakfast, rest on the hammock on the porch, close your eyes, let yourself. With that faint squeak that seems so much of spring, even when it's winter inside. The winter was cold and the absence of Charlie disappearing floor, still too slow to allow it in those days to return to normal life, at least in appearance. This was the beginning of a journey for the young Lovecraft returned from the hospital after the death of his wife, a long way of errors, unplugged, of vital current that flows more or flowing, but is channeled to where they need live. The time at which the face of the young Ripple plane disappeared, settling in his heart, leaving only an empty and a perennial lack of energy and a lost look.
only three days had passed since his return to Howard and was given this strange attitude, by virtue of that pain that bore printed in the gestures, rather than in a sometimes strange and absent. No question was conveyed to him by the female presence, invasive in that house. No one who could open the doors of a confidence that was not there and there would never have been. Deep affection for his mother, his aunts. Because if you do not sow that when there is a peaceful, you can not really pick up when the sky turns dark and hail began to hit everything.
That was the last evening that the face of Charlotte would have a ripple body, young and desirable. Sano and candid in embraces lying in the memory of Howard. Last night, three days after the death of his partner, who would remember if Howy as it was. Beautiful and strong. In love as in the word.
was a vision that was bad, bad sordid, self-destructive, visceral. It would no longer try. Not because it would or would not want to, because the price you pay for is still with the image of the girl he loved, but because there was something waiting for him.
When they were just after ten o'clock at night. Howy would have waited a few more hours on the rocking chair creaking. Mr. Levy would have seen in the street on his bike and fell from the main, would have known that it was midnight. He would go to sleep. Then he slowly looked
slamming eyelids, as she sat beside him. Feminine puff from gentle motion, like a reed in the wind that bends light, is bending over you. He watched her with the little that remained calm and did not deny that head, leaning on his shoulder, returning the gesture after a few minutes of silence.
"You're hurt right Howy? ... Lean on me. All of this will help, I believe. It will be our secret .... " She said stroking the hair.
He did not answer, he closed his eyes and waited. He waited for that node at the center of the chest that plan was Nestled in the most hidden recess of his soul, finally ascended to the throat by reversing the route. Towards the mouth and eyes. Waiting to cry, he could dissolve copious, to turn all that unnatural hide and cutting. For the future of man.
It was a moment. A simple gesture that he was not given.
Auntie Lilian, the beautiful Lilian of his perceptions of male child that was announced. The aunt of his games and never confessed complicity was there beside him now.
"Do not say anything Howy .. Do not say anything, will be our secret" His hand began to caress him unnaturally. After the hair on the neck, arm, all the way down. To his pelvis.
When the two mouths intersects Howard closed his eyes, staggered buttons, images, Charlie. Confuse her face in grief, in that proclamation of pleasure that was like food without spices, with no pink color. Then dropping his mind and drove in the tool shed, hand in hand. It was like sitting at a table spread if you're not hungry. How to take the naked body in white stockings of a woman who was not his, as acts of abuse in an animal instinct that Charlie did not know, in the rhythmic and loud sighs the woman's blonde, stretched before him with languid eyes and incomprehensible words, begat by mouth who knows what to look feminine in the dark. What to feed their carnal pleasures. Groan in the silence of the Howard he allowed himself to anything that was not love, one block and slash to tears unspoken. And fully enjoyed the beautiful Lilian, never more so ethereal and mysterious as the bathroom years ago, never more so carnal as mare harnessed by the hands and limbs of a man who is not a man. But just off of this project.
When his dense and heavy seed broke the third time on the back of Lilian, Howard moaning for hours already had separated the two ways of nature that are in every man. Running adjacent and parallel, as long as life itself in the absence of a Charlie separates them.
roads that they do not become independent nell'estistenza different courses, only to cross again and become complementary in the most fortunate. In those who are conscious of this and a face, a woman's body with which to tie. Adjacent, parallel and complementary. Again. Deleted
Charlie's face, finally chased him down that effort of liberating tears, Howard became what it was about time. A being maimed. Emotions, life, real drives. Emasculated of passion. Dissociated his body from his heart, his actions, his feelings. In the most delicate moment, for a choice that was not a choice, the beauty of a wanton night. One night with Lilian. A rape of his soul, perpetrated by two bodies coming together, under drives so different, so wrong.
" can two people break in, together, one soul, ignorant and helpless?"
when Lovecraft was realized all this, which the kraken his slimy loosened the loop of the close and left him sprawling as he had found. Standing in the middle of a deserted street in the evening in Providence, before the house of Winthorpe, "twin" of his family home, but without the tool shed, now in its alcove disgusting consciousness, to his new perception of itself.
Sweaty in his breeches, in the grip of the panic low, which speaks to you of errors, mistakes, the nth. A life that was really 36 years have been spent poorly in almost every direction. But was not the bad mistake of hours to beat Howard. It was just the shock of a memory that had surfaced, the more material and concrete, so far from Charlotte, so different from the death that had challenged his face in a chamber pot. A memory error as old as the human drives that someone has given you, but that does not satisfy you, why do you away from yourself.
Howard had succumbed to the luxurious beauty of his aunt, he had profaned his work untouched until then, had retracted with forceps delivery of her libido those two streets that were held parallel and adjacent healthy love, infinite in Charlie. Had happened, he was only eighteen, only eighteen.
No, it would not never forgave him, he had no excuses, but he did not care. Embraces those perpetrated in quell'incesto, those were not the thick hammer beating on its already weak certainty. Charlie was just the offense that had gone to her reflection in his own blood, betrayal, yet another, his last words. The glimpse of its "talent" that was not the writing, creating, telling. But the feel, the feel, the instinct to love as the soul united to carnal desire. Ripple
Charlotte for her young man would have wanted that life goes on, there were other women like her love of the same "talent", a precious gift to those who can spend without limits for what he loves and wants. Identical object of the same act. Not so, not in a tool shed to allow the meat absorb everything. The face of his first and only love and emotions past and future, as the expression of the sensitivity of what would become a common man. For better of his immense potential in its real bad cold.
That long walk one afternoon and evening a whole has not yet ended. There was a final stage, caked on that path now decipherable. Led straight to his house, now close at night. Howard arrived there tired, he opened the door, not before you clean your shoes on doormat, and then went into his study that was almost midnight. He sat at his desk and turned around, back to the door, toward the window in the garden. From the crack of the tent, watched the streetlights a piece of lawn, fence, road and beyond. The houses in front, now with very few lights on. Like that of his oil lamp. He waited, and felt determined. She heard his footsteps unmistakable. Heard hundreds of times over the years, the nights of insomnia.
"Howard, are you?"
"It's me, Aunt Lilian ..."
"Are you hungry? .. Have you been out all day, where you been?" Aunt Lillian was now a shriveled old woman, even more severe in appearance, since she lost her own husband. Nothing to do with the simple beauty and intrigue of its thirty years, tonics and enveloping.
"Sit down, Aunt Lilian. Here, in front of me .. "Lilian extinguished his lamp and sat in the chair opposite the desk of Lovecraft. A little 'surprise, already restless.
"Zia is now that we talk about it ..." Howard added, looking at her with calm air.
"What Howard? Tell me ... "His voice betrayed only an imperceptible quiver.
The writer drew a heavy sigh and then: "The toolshed aunt .. Eighteen years ago. " He said.
"I do not understand Howy" His eyes became glassy, \u200b\u200bhis mouth was tense.
"You know well, Aunt Lilian. I just want to know what motivated you. Why did you do this? "
" Howard, I do not like this. I do not understand what you mean "He sketched an air of compassion
worried" Do not you see, Aunt Lilian? "
" No, Howard, do not really understand "
" I understand aunt Lilian - argued calmly, in appearance only - I understand your in the stomach around the navel and ... "
" Howard Phillips Lovecraft! The woman-in robe stood up abruptly, raising his voice - that smut stories? "
"smut? It 's your body Aunt Lilian. You want to deny? "
" I ... You've been drinking or have Howard lost his mind! "With a shot went around the desk and walked toward the door.
"You deny, but there were two that evening .. Just tell me why?"
"I have nothing to say to Howard. You are an abomination ... Just me, I've always loved and defended. Your writing Howard. I have also defended the ... Now this offense foul. I will pray for you God, for this part of your imagination "
" Pray Aunt Lilian? "
" Yes, pray! Pray! Pray! "She had stopped at the door of the study, shaking his head in that cry softly.
"There is nothing and no one to pray. I needed, you gave me. But it was not what I was looking ... You have the wrong Aunt Lilian, you hurt me. Also I have wrong
"I'M NOT WRONG. I'M NOT DONE NOTHING WITH YOU "cry of rage, leaving the study, while the stairs leading to the second floor could be heard sobbing the first hidden from view.
Howard remained alone in his dimly lit studio. He stayed there with all its wonder. So intense, so naive. In front of the path that day.
It was said that the hypocrisy stupid Aunt Lilian was a worthy conclusion. Like a circle which was closed about him and would allow, perhaps, to see its reality in new ways. No matter the pain. It did not matter really. That thought was not simply his "consolation prize".
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