Il cimitero
I left the perimeter of the castle and the usual way imboccai Castle rising and crossing the last houses of the old town. The castrum of the fountain was the only sound that accompanied me down the road. I let myself slowly behind the center of the village. Come on the road took a deep breath and looked back. Below me the town emerged as the day before the sea of \u200b\u200bfog, dark and steep roofs looked like the limbs of a corpse floating suddenly emerged from the Deep. And under the roofs of uncertainty I could see the outlines of the gray houses, buildings and decrepit perdutisi dark oblivion of the mountains. I felt terribly alone, as if behind me there was nothing. In a way it was così. Avanzai moribondo per la mancanza di fiato. Attraversai la strada asfaltata e proseguii lungo un sentiero ripido e scivoloso. Vi salii alla meglio sforzandomi di non scivolare come un pollo. Certamente non era la strada principale per giungere al cimitero, ma era sicuramente la più diretta e la sola che conoscessi. Dopo cinque minuti di arrampicata libera sul percorso accidentato arrivai alle mura di quello che un tempo era stata una fortezza. Mura a secco, antiche, fatte con blocchi di pietra e sassi, si alternavano a tratti più recenti e a rattoppi vari, dando al luogo un aspetto inquietante. Il camposanto pareva una corona di pietra posta sul cranio nudo del monte delle Forche rassomigliante a un teschio. -Un luogo ideale per un prendere il sole o per andare Camporella-making me courage in thought and pushing the heavy iron gate that creaked horribly like a script. I received a quite unrealistic, perhaps even worse than that breathed in the country. I did not expect a rave-based tablets, loud music and free sex, they are my favorites. I noticed that the burials were placed within the former parade ground in no particular order, but scattered here and there. Tombstones corroded and worn by time, cracked and sunken crosses in the ground moist and crumbly, but also the tombs of the cemetery were recent Triora. Fiutai plagued the air smells sweet, intense and nauseating in places. Had to be that bunches of flowers soaked in water and dripping wet. The chrysanthemums in pots were drowned in the water of the same and almost rotten. Always accompanied with Tuscan in the mouth, locked in my bomber, took his first steps sinking feeling the steps on the layer of fat and green grass that covered the ground rotting around the plates. The oldest headstones were removed, sucked in by climbing plants whose branches looked like the tenacious tentacles of dozens of giant squids. It was as if the plants would like to erase the sight of the old inscriptions, almost keep a secret destined to remain so. A gust of wind stronger than others I had to slam the gate behind a blasphemy for suggesting the scare. I apologized to the Virgin for my intemperance due to the contingencies of place. I continued reading the names of the dead and losing myself in the faces of the dead part of Triora faded. There were people born and buried in the nineteenth century. I was facing the very soul of Triora, the sight of dozens of eyes that pierced me like a hot knife through butter making me feel extremely uncomfortable. The discomfort turned into an electric thrill when the corner of my eye, to my right, next to an old cypress sick, I saw a dark figure move and sway with a flutter of wings. I was certain that he had been until then by himself, but perhaps not excluded that there were any other visitor. I turned with a jerk. I was just a perception of something that was just before and just after it was dissolved. I felt an instinctive thrill a second. I felt a breath on my neck shaved, at first light as a faint whisper, then the cold air in a gust of wind hit me, forcing me to shiver with cold. The cemetery, not being an underground place, was beginning to close andarmi. Stepped along the walls that surround it and who still had an air of bleachers from which to defend themselves from any attack or siege based on arrows and musket-shots. The number of burials was disproportionate. They had crammed everywhere there was the dead of the place, as if afraid to bury them in another place. At the center of the cemetery stood a building like a truncated tower, above which was built a kind of mortuary chapel or modern, frosted glass and raw concrete. I made some steps and arrived in a glass door locked. I laid my face against the glass in the vain hope of being able to see anything inside anyway. Approaching saw reflected in the opaque surface expanse of graves behind me. At that brief, but clear, I saw a multitude of people crowded behind me. The faces deformed and grotesque contours are twisted into bizarre expressions showing mouth instead of teeth and sockets filled with a cosmic void. I screamed like a madman in the grip of mad visions. Indeed I was. I cursed for the second volta girandomi e fronteggiando le tombe. Ero nuovamente solo. Il cuore prese a tamburellarmi come un ossesso mentre il sigaro mi cadde dalle labbra. Mai prima di quel giorno il Campari mattutino aveva avuto effetti così deleteri sulla mia immaginazione. Sudai freddo mentre una fitta di dolore mi colpiva alla schiena ricordandomi insieme che ero vivo e terrorizzato. Come in una sorta di incubo feci i gradini tornando sui miei passi pronto a fuggire al minimo rumore sospetto. La nebbia sembrava aver preso la consistenza del pane, solida, impenetrabile. Arrivai al cancello che spinsi come se stessi spingendo l’uscita di sicurezza di una discoteca in fiamme e traboccante di persone. Nella foga inciampi in una nel pietrame viscido e per poco non piroettai nell’aria esibendomi in a flip, in name and fact. I kept in balance by a miracle and continued the descent at breakneck speed along the path from which I had climbed. I did the slalom between holes, bushes and rocks until I found myself on the road. I had the feeling to come back to reality, to wake from a bad dream. That language seemed asphalt lifeline of a civilization that until a few moments before had seemed distant. I wondered if the cemetery was only a deposit of bones moldy or something I did not want to know anything.
Excerpt from "The nights Triora Gothic" by Edmondo Ippolito Ferrario, Frilli Publisher
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