DETENUTO N°8496

2년 전


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(ITA)
Giorno dieci.
Mio adorato, non riesco a smettere di scriverti perché avverto che queste lettere sono l’unico filo che ci lega ancora, attraverso lo spazio e il tempo; anche se non posso stringerti tra le mie braccia, anche se mi è impossibile toccare le forme del tuo volto, scrivendo continuo a ricordarmi di te, delle tue sembianze e dei forti sentimenti che sempre provo nei tuoi confronti. Desidero che tu non smetta mai di rispondere alle mie lettere, perché le tue parole aumentano il mio coraggio che mi aiuta a superare ancora una volta la giornata.
Ruben mi ha fatto partecipe delle storie della sua infanzia; so che è sbagliato riferirti ciò che mi racconta, la morale di un confidente dovrebbe essere rispettare la fiducia della persona che si confida con te, ma sai che non sono mai stato bravo a tenere segreti; il mio comportamento mi porterà all’inferno, sono già sulla buona strada in quanto sodomita, mi auguro solo che il mio contrappasso sia quello meno doloroso. Come ti ho anticipato nella mia lettera precedente Ruben ha passato la sua infanzia in un’enorme fattoria che si estende per ettari ed ettari. È secondogenito in una famiglia numerosa, ha un fratello maggiore e tre sorelle minori; per tutta la sua vita è stato circondato da donne, gli uomini della famiglia erano in minoranza. Sua madre lo viziava con cibo e piccoli regali, suo padre lo raddrizzava con il duro lavoro di campagna e la cinghia. Fin dall’infanzia è stato abituato ad avere fiducia nelle donne e temere le figure autoritarie. Il resto della sua famiglia era solidale con lui, soprattutto il fratello maggiore con cui aveva un legame speciale perché viveva lo stesso destino, amato dalla madre e piegato dal padre. Crescendo il loro corpo si irrobustiva mentre quello del loro padre diventava decrepito, tanto che non avevano neanche il gusto di poter prendersi una rivalsa. Nutriva gli animali, arava il campo e raccoglieva le colture quando mature, trasportava gli attrezzi e il concime avanti e indietro dalla rimessa, e quando suo fratello era assente o indisposto abbatteva gli animali e li spellava; da lì nacque la sua rabbrividente passione per la macellazione. Appena compiuta la maggiore età suo fratello venne chiamato sotto le armi, mentre lui rimase a casa ad occuparsi dell’attività di famiglia. Il più triste giorno della sua vita venne d’inverno, quando il ghiaccio gelò tutte le piante da frutti che morirono e qualcuno bussò alla sua porta. Aprendo la porta vide d’innanzi a sé un gruppetto di uomini, militari, portavoce della dolente notizia che suo fratello era morto durante il servizio. In quell’istante qualcosa in lui si guastò, cadde in mesi di mutismo e tristezza, portando al fallimento dell’attività di famiglia; la fattoria venne comprata da un’azienda produttrice di carne di ottima qualità, e gli venne proposto di lavorare come macellaio per loro. Accettò il lavoro solo per potersi allontanare dalla nube di ricordi che aleggiava sulla sua fattoria.
Ad un certo puntò si è messo a singhiozzare molto forte, così tanto che gli altri detenuti si girarono a vedere quale preda stesse cedendo per poterne assaporare le interiora. Allora l’ho coperto facendo forti rumori per attirare l’attenzione su di me, finché le sue lacrime non si sono placate. Mi ha detto di non avere forza di continuare a raccontare, allora l’ho rassicurato. Mi ha coinvolto così tanto la sua storia da non accorgermi che era già arrivata l’ora di dormire. Lui si è addormentato di sasso, stanco per il turbine di sentimenti che lo ha travolto oggi, io sto scrivendo la lettera giusto in anticipo sulla ronda notturna del corriere. Vorrei che il nostro fosse un dialogo, ma sono obbligato ad aspettare per ascoltare la tua voce che mi dice che non ha interesse ad ascoltare i pettegolezzi su un’altra persona. Ho una bocca larga, ma tu ami questa bocca.
Il mio cuore ti appartiene, DG.

(ENG)
Day ten.
My beloved, I can't stop writing to you because I feel that these letters are the only thread that still binds us, through space and time; even if I can't hold you in my arms, even if it is impossible for me to touch the shapes of your face, writing I keep reminding you of your appearance and the strong feelings that I always feel towards you. I wish you never stop answering my letters, because your words increase my courage which helps me to get through the day once again.
Ruben made me share the stories of his childhood; I know it is wrong to tell you what he tells me, the moral of a confidant should be to respect the trust of the person who confides in you, but you know that I have never been good at keeping secrets; my behavior will lead me to hell, I am already on the right track as sodomite, I just hope that my retaliation is the least painful one. As I mentioned in my previous letter, Ruben spent his childhood on a huge farm that extends over hectares and hectares. He is the second son of a large family, has an older brother and three younger sisters; throughout his life he was surrounded by women, the men in the family were in the minority. His mother spoiled him with food and small gifts, his father straightened him with hard country work and the belt. Since childhood he has been accustomed to trusting women and fearing authoritarian figures. The rest of his family was in solidarity with him, especially his older brother with whom he had a special bond because he lived the same fate, loved by his mother and folded by his father. As their bodies grew larger, their father's body became decrepit, so much so that they did not even have the taste of being able to take revenge. He fed the animals, plowed the field and collected the crops when ripe, transported the tools and manure back and forth from the shed, and when his brother was absent or unwell he would cut the animals and peel them; from there arose his shivering passion for slaughter. As soon as he came of age his brother was called into the arms while he stayed at home to take care of the family business. The saddest day of his life came in the winter, when the ice froze all the fruit trees that died and someone knocked on his door. Opening the door he saw in front of him a small group of men, soldiers, spokesmen for the painful news that his brother had died during the service. In that moment something in him failed, fell in months of mutism and sadness, leading to the failure of the family business; the farm was bought by a company of excellent quality meat, and was offered to work as a butcher for them. He accepted the job only to be able to get away from the cloud of memories that hovered over his farm.
At one point he started sobbing very loudly, so much that the other inmates turned to see which prey he was giving in to be able to savor the entrails. So I covered it by making loud noises to draw attention to me, until her tears subsided. He told me he had no strength to continue telling, so I reassured him. I was so involved with her story that I didn't realize that the time for sleep had already come. He fell asleep stone, tired from the whirlwind of feelings that swept him today, I am writing the letter just ahead of time on the courier's night patrol. I wish ours was a dialogue, but I am forced to wait to listen to your voice which tells me that it has no interest in listening to gossip about another person. I have a wide mouth, but you love this mouth.
My heart belongs to you, DG.

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Mah, sono fottutamente eterosessuale, ma questa credenza che un sodomita debba andare all'inferno è indecente, in problema è che in tante parti del mondo l'omosessualità è addirittura punita come un reato, persino con la pena di morte, e noi dovremmo accettare questi stati?!?!

Sarebbero da boicottare fortemente, i malati da curare e da reprimere sono loro...

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