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» Preludes to Lutin
"... they killed your son, therefore kill me as soon as possible". But the Indian answered: "When I wanted to kill you, I remembered of my son, and took pity of you. I don't tease you: come back to yours, and continue to kill us, if you want". And he left him go.
The priest of the sun loved the ancient fables and she wrote some of them once in a while, when the golden energy began to decrease over lands burned by the full summer.
They entrusted her another hopeless case. They took him chained at night, and now he already found himself in those beautifulst lodgings, to the sure one, we don't known for how many time.
Naturally, like all the foreign hosts, also that one had been put in a position not to harm more nor to the other, nor to himself. Watched closely, hands bound in manner that was able to eat and to drink, and more fulfilling to other useful tasks of the daily life.
He had beheaded various hostages and sent his brother to suicide, stuffed with explosive, within a crowded a cinema with a hated American name.
Every room of the rustic villa, dipped in a tenuous landscape of olive-groves and oats fields, had spacious windows that directly gave on the joyful laboriousness of every known small species flown there. Swallows, sparrows, merlons, doves, turtle-doves, peaks and many others.
Those domestic servants lacked, because they were not enough independent. It was not only this, the soundtrack of the long, wonderful days. A continuous music went out from the walls, very varied resonance.
In the morning and the night it was symphonic, then of every kind and every country of the world. The human voice was heard very rarely and and was silent modest almost immediately.
While the menacing assassin, full load of hate was imagining the death of a boy who flew with the surf over the highest wave, the priest of the sun entered beating, as should shake a zombie.
"You are not the only assassin in the world and also those poor fellows likes of you are not therefore special not even. If you want I take you here close, to a genetics institute where they slaughter the eatable beasts. You would be a little at your ease, but perhaps you would have a waek stomach. You know, they are normal people that make, laughing, an infamous occupation for all the other humen. They are not therefore sugary like you, as you need proclamations and divine justice, in order to arm your hand. And if you believe that to eliminate some of the human race were so important at all, you are a deceived, nice. The life would continue to churn itself happily as usual, raising other terrible Americans and similar, smiling, always in full activity. You are here because you know the minimum necessary and to know what sort of man you are. If you are a delayed you will be cured with generosity, otherwise you will do everything alone".
That one was more and more menacing. Its hatred grew to excess, it almost did not explode from the neck onwards making his head squirt away, like sucked from a funnel.
Her voice was sweet, persuasive like the one of a benevolent siren.
"Even the chief you found for you makes me to laugh: if you knew how was Europe many centuries ago, you would laugh of him and his charisma would be zero. What would make of you a sole show, here they made it across the length and bradth with crowned heads and poor ploughmen. Everytime, every execution was a joyful show as a circus and the public drank around and ate satisfied. Your organization is a spite in the space-time universe, regarding the true warriors of the death, the ones of the times ago. You suddenly scare poor fellows who are licking their ice cream. Those were feared much more and their arrival was imagined directly from the infer to there. Continuous restlessness. Desolation. And with the gas, what do you believe to make? After the crematoriums, the mountains of ashes. I am daughter of this Europe and of the one run away towards the American coast. I could make of you what I want, but it is enough to me that you know you are not the first and the only one of the human history to allow himself to vent his own wickedness. You are a louse of hatred remained bound to the mane of a planet in some places a lot satisfied, in others shaken from scarcities and Biblical tragedies. We cannot allow us to waste time with you too much, then give yourself a balanced style".
You will not believe to us, I know it, but I say the same to you what happened. The body of the assassin, for the anger, first began to tremble, then spewed pieces of meat and bones, one after one. And his head was never found again, as he never had it.