The ground vibrated in the country to its every step.
He was the undisputed mayor, the bearer of news, the national betting.
He was Pedro, and now no longer ... At the sound of the bell of the Church, it was 5 o'clock in the afternoon, everything stopped and the silence was broken by a scream, a wail, a lament only that shook the leaves on the trees.
I fully dressed, as befits a woman of my rank, I went home after hearing the news, given by wide-eyed and busy hands ...
legs were shaking and the wobble already difficult to wear high heels ... Another scream and another moan came from her home ...
Not true, not true, not true.
's still stir, and the stunned faces of the people. And tears. And it was all true and the song Mother's death that he felt in the air and enveloped us all in his unnatural transparent surface, the same song sung a thousand times, in a thousand homes and thousands more Paesi.E 'seen it all so sad from down here, not being able to shake people and can not say everything will be fine, there will be no peace from now on. Now that death has taken tutto.Il funeral was set by Priest, cold and distant as ever, tells us to abandon emotions and pregare.Pregare is not it an emotion? Mother and needless to throw down, touch your toes and shaking his face in his hands, slaps you, you can do apart, he does not stand by that cold scenderà.Tante his words and the smell of incense in the nostrils and eyes already clouded by grief, because everyone benefits from a death to mourn his loss. And he remains firm with his expression is the expression of tutti.E then there will be posters, confetti and petals of white roses and there will be those who mourn a love never consumato.Fisso anointed head of the woman in front of me. He stepped down to be the first to shake hands condolences repeat like a robot, moving his head up and down the greasy, disgusting ... In this dance of whores crying, ready to win the race of those who suffer the most.
Goodbye.
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