... I don't like to hear the telephone ring, that sound even if sweetened by a pleasant melody makes my heart jump whenever it suddenly rings, breaking the silence of my life, just a few moments that cause me to wonder anxiously “who knows it might be someone who wants me or else some bad news, or maybe a new job, a friend? But no, it's surely just a bother”.
It's certainly not my lover, unfortunately I haven't any lover to make me hope for a gentle thought! So I look at the display to find comfort in a smile, a friendly name, but alas no name appears, no reassuring sign, surely it must be some stranger who has decided to disturb me, but who could it be, and what does he want from me? My curiosity is strong and wants to overcome my good sense. I feel somewhat uncomfortable and decide not to answer, but it keeps on ringing incessantly , why should I respond, I think, but it doesn't stop, and so what can be done?
By now the quiet of this sunny warm afternoon has gone, I decide that's it's best to disconnect the phone and return to enjoying the sunshine that these fresh spring days can bring—a little egoism never hurt anyone.
I take a deep breath…press the red button and finally the telephone is quiet, I have broken the bridges with the world, no one can disturb me anymore until I decide it, I am my own master and will only let the silence be my conqueror. What good is talking on the phone, if not for necessity? One risks exchanging useless words, empty, at times irresponsible and ambiguous, foolish pretexts, sometimes necessarily seductive, other times vulgar comments, usually forgotten and without any value, a silly waste of time. But why go through all this futility? Bah!
By chance that night I turn on my phone for an urgent call, but immediately afterwards it rings again…what the hell there's no peace I think. But this time I see a name, a smile, a fond memory and I'm happy to answer.

Hello? Hi love, but…no…yes…heavens I didn't mean to make you worry about me, I'm so sorry but I don't deserve so much attention. Even though I'm content, even happy, when someone thinks about me and makes me feel less alone…and when it's you then my heart is full of joy, your words do me good, but even if my heart beats with joy I am still a bit worried to have stirred up that desire, which I would like to share in but which I haven't yet found the courage to face.
Yes! I know that sooner or later you'll get tired of me, many others have done so, but they were playing with me, you instead are different…yes…no…oh God! How can I hope to escape unharmed from your marvellous courtship. You cover me with gentle wishes, you provoke me on purpose, you make me feel important and your words cause me to smile with pleasure. In this way you make me live in a different and unreal world, where I am finally the one I should be. Comforted by your words I seem to live in an impossible reality and I am thankful to you with all my heart and would like this game to go on forever.
You make me feel more like a woman than I actually am and so I fool myself into thinking that it's true, but how could I ever get past the thought-- I ache with the desire to love you, but how could I love you when I am so undefined, and even though I try in my way to live and love like a real woman, I would only cause you pain..
I am forced to be elusive, to hide my obsession as best I can, being so unsure of my destiny that I cannot dare to make a decisive choice, and in this way I strangle my heart to avoid hurting us. It makes me suffer enormously to live a life of sacrifice, by closing my heart to love I am able to put up with the daily ambiguity, keeping myself apart from the world and refusing any chance of happiness. Almost as if there were a divine punishment inflicted upon me by destiny that I cannot possibly fight against, so I live my life until there's a spark of hope, a ray of sunlight in my soul, after which it will all be useless…and so why suffer! “I am not…that which I would like to be…that woman…that I will never be”
Even though my body is pretty, and my shape draws attention and envy, admired and petted, I am only a bizarre surrogate, a trick of nature, a defective clone, unfortunately this is the reality that I am so painfully aware of.

This “gender dysphoria" makes me restless and causes me to behave ambiguously with the thought of living within a body that I don't recognize in its most intimate part, a part that I hide as much as possible but that I cannot eliminate without going through a devastating operation. It would be nice to sunbathe on a beach among people without fear of causing whispers and hostile attention. I try to walk on the shore with my delicious bikini, be sure that after a few seconds I feel observed like a freak, an oddity, something to talk about, I become the curiosity of the place, analyzed and x-rayed to show the differences—I become the brunt of irony.
Taking a swim is absolutely out of the question—it would emphasize my shape! And I who want to spend a peaceful day become the object of a morbid curiosity, and so what can be done? Is it better to show yourself and accept all of this, enjoying yourself, or else hide somewhere and sunbathe in total solitude where there is truly someone who accepts me for what I am? Unfortunately maybe because I'm alone, I don't have the courage to show myself and so I choose sacrifice and solitude.
And would you take a walk with me on the beach? But why live like this, when life is hostile , all this destroys me and breaks my heart, what's the use of our ephemeral love when reality is so different, living a pretence and reciting a part, how much longer will the desire to stay together make us overcome the obstacles? It's for sure that when you get tired of me I'll become just a nuisance and you'll leave me, remembering me as only an extravagant memory and an unusual, exciting adventure. And what shall I do? Don't you think about me, with a broken heart and a love splintered in pieces like a broken mirror, surely I'd go back to oblivion, that oblivion so deep that it is the worst of all the saddest solitudes. Like an old rag, I'd be forced to beg for love, to search for new attractions, and to wait for another chance, but time passes inexorably and would continue to leave it signs on my heart and on my body.

Oh my, I'm not really like that, but I must convince myself to grab those miserable chances, exploiting today what nature has given me, becoming the object of perverse desires, I could no doubt become your whore without damaging or taking away anything from your world, your life.
This would save the heart, and our love would calm down and dissolve without hurting anyone. So then why do I fool myself, I should take it all as a game, an outlet, only a moment of alterative sex for you. Like an inflatable doll, I'd live briefly only to be replaced in a box and hidden away, and so I would certainly accept that invitation in the car, to go to a secluded spot and give you all my attention until you offer me the gift of your semen…after which just like that doll I would return to my secret place, well hidden from your world. When I was in Boston, I lived with a man for six months, a big aggressive type, very muscular and well hung, no drugs, very clean, an athlete no doubt, he was healthy and quite rich.
At the time I had stopped working as a room maid in hotels. We lived together happily as husband and wife, obviously, both of us working and coming home at night making love immediately without even having dinner. With his athletic strength he would twist my small body like a reed, making me assume whatever position he wanted, he squeezed my breasts until I screamed, the same with my rear end and then he'd spank me, here and there on my body he left purplish red welts. A very exhausting relationship, very macho, but rich and full of pleasure.

Like a little slave, quite like a good little wife, I did all the housework, cooked dinner and washed his clothes, in fact, it was almost a normal union. Great sexual satisfaction, he would always let me do whatever I wanted for my fulfilment. But he had one serious defect in his dealings with people, being that every time we went to a pub he liked to start a fight with someone and finish up with punches. He used me as bait asking me to show off myself, pretending to be a whore, until someone came up to fix an appointment—so I'd let him touch me, and kiss me, and get really close. When the poor thing was at the right point and ready to go, my boyfriend would grab him and begin beating him up.
After the first few times when I was upset and scared, I then began to enjoy it a bit, I liked being fondled and I liked to touch the unfortunate guy while my boyfriend looked on.
After six months of love and sex, I was really in love with him, until one evening I see him come home angry as hell, he slams the door like never before, he doesn't say hello but he approaches me full of rage, a horrible look on his face, all his muscles tense, I felt my heart beating fast and thought “what have I done “ In the meantime I started blushing like I was really guilty, he comes up to me and I think “now he'll kill me, he'll break my bones” .
Then I screamed “what have I done so bad—why are you so mad at me” I insist again but he doesn't answer, with one hand he grabs me by the hair and gives me two big slaps, I faint from fear and he takes advantage of me like never before. I don't want to tell you about what happened then, but afterwards I found myself out on the street in tears, terribly upset and bruised, once again alone. After a few minutes, I had started to go down the steps when he threw down my bag with all my clothes, cursing, then I left that house forever.
So I found myself on the street again, my street, a place that was by now very familiar and recurring, crying my heart out in the midst of the people, and seeking help from my prostitute friend.

I've never found out the reason for his fit of rage and I've never seen him again.
Strange experience, when two people want to leave each other forever there's no need for violence but maybe it's exactly this that definitely destroys a love, without useless discussions, and without the possibility of ever going back. Still it's not fair that I took all the blows.

My bad points and my good points:

lunatic…alas, I know it and sense it right in the morning
melancholy….almost always, in winter it's worse, but I think it can also be a good point
sentimental…sometimes, for sure in a less cruel world
fluctuating…it's true unfortunately, but maybe it's my luck
inconclusive…it's necessary because of all the things I want to do
asshole…(excuse the expression) everybody says so, I don't know why but maybe they're right
lover of submission…it's an almost masochistic pleasure, maybe feminine
unable to react…a question of fear
uncertain…a crossroads kills me because I'm sure I'll choose the wrong one
artist…a good defect
creative…a superb quality that makes me live well
extravagant…it's what I love best about myself
unpredictable…my best weapon of defence
different…in everything I do and think, out of line, I'm terribly diverse!
And I am also, blah blah blah, more elaborations, but they're not really useless talk
Self-respect…it's maximum, reaching over into the illogical, even when I submit I feel superior.

I know a lot of terribly hypocritical people who trust blindly in their self-respect, believing to be who knows who, they walk over the corpse of their own dead mother without knowing it, perfect idiots, despicable beings, insects without hearts, me no!
At times I like to joke and gamble on myself, putting my defects on the table and willingly submitting myself to the pillory, accepting the most negative criticism and judgements, for what they're worth (practically nothing) and so then everything ends there. Those who criticize me wind up loving me, because they realize they are dealing with a different sort of person and they become curious about me, taking time to analyze me, insisting on giving me advice, and so it happens that from an interest there grows affection-- this is my own philosophical thought that certain feminists consider despicable and they usually end up by hating me.
Who knows why women in general are hostile towards me…I love them though and will defend them to the death.
Right now I am at my desk with a cup of hot tea and some cookies to tell you about something I remember that's quite clean and that relates to your last and marvellous e-mail…that fireplace…that dress…that place so intriguing…your hands so audacious, my compliments---you made me dream and wish for much more.

Many years ago I was in Poland when there were still soldiers all over the place, I took a plane from Paris to Krakow, and at the landing I see loads of military vehicles lined up on the edge of the runway and I can assure you I was kind of scared, I get off the plane, take my suitcase and walk toward the airport building.
I enter the building and see only soldiers at the custom control, they ask for my passport, they open my suitcase, the check everything, they ask me how much money I have, all in an impossible and incomprehensible English.
I was dressed as a male but my face was well made-up and my hair was long and tinted which caused quite a bit of ironic looks (if I had worn female clothes I think I would have ended up in jail).
At customs they ask me strange suspicious questions, sneering, they observe me, they look again at my passport, then ask to see my driver's license, which has a photo of other times, I am afraid to give a wrong answer but finally they let me pass and I enter Poland. I exchange dollars for Sloti and take a broken down bus to the city, a 45 minute trip of badly paved roads, full of holes, passing only a few trucks with the old style long hoods.
Finally in the city I go to the best hotel, where I had also reserved a car, a rather decent skoda. Instead the five-star hotel compared in price to a two-star hotel in Italy but was a sumptuous mansion, a large marbled hall, full of sofas and arm-chairs from the early 1900's. There were many porters and maids, an enormous reception desk in carved walnut, with several pretty and sweet young girls who spoke very good, refined English. I felt reborn in the presence of these polish girls, really lovely and so helpful. Wow!
The next day I put on my female attire, leave the hotel and finally take the wheel to drive towards the Tatra mountains , famous for being so dear to the Holy Father, where he skied in his youth. But my destination wasn't only the mountains and rivers but also the concentration camps which were for me sacrosanct, a moment of meditation and prayer, even though I'm not Jewish I felt the need to visit those places and understand the suffering for the terrible things that happened in there. A rightful respect for those who suffered so much and those murdered without any blame, for those children and their mothers, for the women, for the homosexuals, and for the ordinary people with the star of David on their chests.

I did though begin my trip by going to the Tatra mountains because nearby there is a beautiful castle, from 1300 that was known for its strange paranormal and ghostly phenomena. Stuff for the easily duped but still very fascinating I can assure you.
I paid a long visit to the castle, I was the only tourist and so I spent the whole day with the custodians who improvised as tour guides. I ate in the restaurant next to the castle (onion soup, and beets with sour cream, grilled steak, salame and vegetables, roasted potatoes) all in all a delicious meal, I also drank a light and tasty Czech beer ( I drank a little at the time), finishing up with Turkish coffee and a shot of iced vodka. During the whole meal the castle custodian kept me company, a big, friendly woman who knew Italy well, she spoke some Italian since she wanted to find a serious position, as governess or maid to the girls in the next town, a very poor town , with wooden one-story houses, all crooked and surrounded by a low fence, white edged windows and lots of flower pots, just a few bicycles, several long narrow wagons pulled by mules or horses, unpaved streets, a small orthodox church, this too in wood and copper with a cemetery around it.
A world which stopped a hundred years ago, a very simple rural world, an altogether attractive town but definitely difficult to live in.
We talked a lot about the castle and she told me infinite stories of real facts and imaginary ones, hah! Yet those tales fascinated me very much and even if they were invented they intrigued me and I began to feel the desire to visit thoroughly every part of the castle, I started to want to remain there for a while, to understand, to feel, to take in the smells and sounds, I was in search of emotion, I needed to capture them on film. Alone and always alone, there wasn't anything else but photography to help me describe the charm of those places, the movement of light and shadow, the stronger contrasts of dawn and the paler ones of sunset. I paid a ridiculous price for a decidedly superb meal.
At the end of the meal I asked the custodians if there was a chance of staying overnight in the castle, but they told me no, saying that the castle was closed at night and there was no one to watch it. I was utterly convinced that I wanted to spend some days in the castle, an emotion that I had never felt and could not lose, so I tried to convince them, using the force of my tears and desperation to win their understanding and consent.
After some hours of bargaining and following several telephone calls to who knows who, I finally got permission to sleep in that fascinating castle for at least 20 days in exchange for the promise that I would try to find safe and decent jobs for some of the village girls. I wanted to immediately live up to the commitment I'd made, to show my loyalty towards these two very kind and understanding persons.
Ipso facto, with a few shameless telephone calls I manage to convince some friends in the business world to give a good factory job to two of the girls, plus a third one who was a little older, a widow with a little daughter, would take care of my house full-time. In fact I needed it and the cost was decidedly reasonable. Today I must admit with absolute tranquillity that it was an excellent solution and I'm very happy for making that decision. So we made an agreement for the rent of the castle, which was such a good bargain that I paid everything in advance, restaurant included. And then, seeing the fairness of the request, and all the trouble they had taken, I gave the custodians a very generous tip, probably equal to six months salary. But don't forget that we are in Poland where the salaries are really low, ten or maybe twenty times lower than ours.
Money is truly the way to win, and moreover if it's given from the heart to one who needs it, you can't help receiving affection and collaboration.

My dream was coming true, to spend some time in the castle and to sleep in the prince's room was becoming my scope in life. I was immensely happy with the opportunity, by now it was late afternoon with the sun almost setting, just another couple of hours of light—so I grab my suitcase from the car, pass over the drawbridge, and go into the castle—an indescribable emotion, even now while I write to you about it I feel quite moved remembering it.
I see the castle courtyard with a grand stairway in the middle and wooden balconies, I lift my eyes upward and see some windows overlooking the inner court, and still higher the towers with dark battlements that stand out in contrast with the sky beyond, the suns still illuminates the towers, exalting the design of the battlements and the stone reliefs, while a dark shadow begins to cover the courtyard by now cold and obscure.
Here I am ready for my first day of life in the castle, I walk alone down the corridors, a little afraid and worried, I don't want to lose my way and so I listen for every sound, I hesitantly open the doors and enter the rooms with awe, my heart beating faster and faster.
Slowly I gain confidence and just like a castle keeper I wind my way through the narrow passages and go up to the towers, I walk along the wall and go into the look-out posts, observing the horizon through the fissures, down below the countryside extends as far as the eye can see, a fantastic and thrilling view.
I go back inside since it's very cold and the wind that blows through the fissures is freezing my face, I go down to the ground floor and look around, over there are the doors leading to the dungeons, no, I'm not going in there it's too scary, there are lots of closed doors, those of the stables, those of the soldiers quarters, the kitchen and the pantry. There are many strange smells and a terrifying silence. In the meanwhile it's growing dark, it's time to go upstairs, so I light the torches in the hallways, I also light the candelabrum in the bedroom, then I go to the dining room where the custodian has prepared my dinner.
She asks me with a smile “are you sure you won't be afraid to stay here? Do you want to sleep all alone? I can't keep you company, now I must leave, I'll see you tomorrow morning, but if you are frightened in the night you can only run away, you can't call anyone, if you scream no one can hear you.
I reassure her that I won't be afraid and am determined to risk it, then I tell her that you don't die of fright, at the most you only suffer and I was used to much worse. We said good night with a hug, then she repeats all the advice about not touching anything and not ruining the furnishings, etc. She said that she had lighted the fireplace and prepared my bed, that there was enough wood to keep me warm until tomorrow, then she left the hall but soon after she reappeared, whispering that I should stay calm because the Madonna would protect me, I hear her going down the stairs and presently I hear the door close.

From that moment I am aware that my legs are weak, everything in the room moves and the shadows dance with the flickering candlelight, I sit down and try to reason it out, my heart is beating fast, there aren't any noises so I try to eat something. The emotion and fear are getting the best of me, I look around me almost sure that someone is there.
But yes! There is someone, by now I'm convinced…I have chills down my back…I'm cold…but no it's just my imagination, I must keep calm and try to reason.
If I succeed in eating the hot soup I'll beat my fear and get back to normal, so I take the soup spoon and calmly taste the soup, it's a bit strong but tasty, very hot and smells of spices. It's good and warms my stomach, I notice that it makes my cheeks rosy, probably the spices.
Keeping my eyes on the table and the bowl while I eat, I realize that my fear disappears and my stomach stops trembling. Now my thoughts fly, I, the lady of the castle, await my prince who returns safe and sound from the war, proudly astride his horse in bright shining armour, I see him on the horizon followed by his faithful troops. At one point the light in the room changed, I raise my eyes and look toward the part of the room that is dark, I reflect and think “but before it was lighted by the candle, now it's dark, why? “ I look around and again see the shadows dancing in the light of the flame.
Help, here we go again, mamma mia, fear grips me, I have goose bumps, shivers in my neck and shoulders make me feel bad, then I try to concentrate, breathing deeply and trying to be as rational as possible, but it isn't easy to be rational, my thoughts fly and my eyes see things that aren't there, the imagination invents new things, terrible, strange and sometimes perverse.
I can't bear it any longer and so I gather my courage, and also the candlelabrum that was on the table and quickly leave the dining room, I go up the stairway, walk along the torchlit corridors, and finally reach the prince's bedroom, a real and proper apartment.

The door is open and without meaning to I slam it shut, causing a loud noise to echo through the castle, bouncing back and forth in all directions. Quite impressive! I put the candlelabrum on the mantel of the fireplace and light a smaller one near the bed. The room is filled with dark wooden furniture, drapes, oriental rugs, divans and armchairs with silk and brocade cushions, huge wall tapestries, an enormous fireplace, big enough to sit inside, five windows with round glass and sealed with lead, wooden window seats, the bathroom ( a hole in the floor), the dressing room with historic garments that I was absolutely forbidden to touch, the prayer room full of icons and an orthodox crucifix.
Everything seems so magical, I'm so taken by it all that I realize that I'm no longer afraid, now that I'm alone in a more comfortable situation, my curiosity gets the best of my fears. I'm calm and I look around at everything without touching anything, lots of dark objects that I'll be able to understand and admire by the light of day.
But the candlelight continues to create floating shadows, light and shade and false images, the glare from the candles seems at times excessive, and at times almost gone, insufficient. I change for the night, wash off my make-up as well as possible, a face cream here and there to repair the damage of time, by now inexorable and cruel. I look at the canopied bed, draw back the cover and fresh sheets and I get ready to climb into that uncomfortable bag of feathers and straw. Before getting in I go to the grand fireplace to try to revive the flame, I add more wood but nothing happens , the fire is almost out, so I give up.
I warm myself a little by moving back and forth, then I run for the bed, jump under the rather cold covers and fix the pillow (French type) that I really find very comfortable. Exhausted, I finally stretch out on the lumpy mattress, full of bumps and knots that pierce my back, but I resist and remain very still. I'm not very happy with my foolish decision but try not to think about it and let the candle flicker and die in the hopes of falling to sleep.

Still awake, afraid and excited, I find myself in the perfect darkness with the candle spent, but from the windows I can see the moonlight, the yellow round glasses are the brightest, they light up the boards on the floor, the shadows are finally immobile, the fireplace only glimmers and stops crackling. I close my eyes and silence falls all around me, then I begin to hear noises, lots of noises, the wind makes the windows vibrate as it blows through the cracks, nocturnal animals utter their cries, the coffered ceiling creaks, maybe it's some mouse moving around.
Now I even hear faraway sounds coming from who knows where, and they come nearer, sinister noises…here comes the fear again and the shivers on my skin make my stomach queasy, I feel something moving on my skin, I feel with my hand but there's nothing, yet I feel animals crawling on me, spiders or roaches or something else I don't know, they crawl on my face, I feel the tickle…I open my eyes and everything vanishes. There's nothing on me, it's just a figment of my imagination.
I pass through some horrible moments, a nightmare, but then the fatigue as usual takes hold and I finally fall asleep.
The next morning I wake up rather early, the light of dawn enters through the windows and illuminates the whole room, but it's cold and my nose is icy and I don't have the courage to get out of bed to wash my face, just the thought makes me tremble like a leaf. With a great effort I get near the fireplace to warm myself, I stir the warm embers and put some dry twigs on top, I blow on it vigorously and it bursts into a sputtering flame. It's time to get dressed and make myself up a bit, I put on suitable clothes and get my camera ready, I feel very calm and rested so I leave the room with confidence.

It's very early and I don't know what to do while I wait to see the custodians for my breakfast, so I begin walking around the hallways that are brightened by the light entering the windows, I discover some beautiful suits of armour, arms and banners along the way, other suits of armour in the alcoves, stairs going up and stairs going down creating a real labyrinth. I see many pictures, some are very pretty representing the glorious history of famous warriors, perhaps the lords of the castle. Behind an archway I discover a massive door, I open it and enter a grand drawing room where I am impressed by the absolute emptiness contrasted by columns as in a church, no furnishing and no carpet, only a dark wooden floor certainly geometrical which impresses me immensely, I raise my eyes and see a large wrought-iron chandelier in the centre of the coffered ceiling, then numerous paintings hanging on the walls. I set my camera and begin documenting every interesting detail, studying and alternating the geometrical effects with the play of the light. A really enormous room that I just barely get to enter my lens, and then those columns that separate the central part from the walls creating a sort of portico all around.
Wanting to know more about the history of the family, I walk along the walls and look at the pictures one by one, I've even counted them, 146 in all, some of them appealed to me even though they weren't well done, others were really bad. A gallery of pictures and tapestries representing the history of the castle from 1300 to the beginning of 1800, where one could recognize many similarities among the persons in the portraits, there were lots of beautiful women in fine garments and knights in shining armour, in fact it was a classic, perfectly conserved and well kept.
I felt quite curious and admired each picture trying to understand the history it depicted, looking at the scenes surrounding the people and noting even the smallest detail. At the end of one wall I am captivated by the disturbing look of two characters in a very small picture almost hidden by the larger frames around it.
The longer I watched those two figures the more anxious I became but I couldn't take my eyes off of those strange characters, a pleasant-looking woman dressed sparingly and a young boy standing by her side, both with intense looks on theirs faces, almost diabolical.

Taking a better look at the picture that was in shadow, I become amazed to discover that the background in the painting is the place I slept in last night, a gasp, a shock, then I open my eyes wide and try to see it better but a feeling of fear grips me, making my legs weak. I admit I was close to fainting, so great was the emotion at the thought that all this has remained as it was, time had stopped and I slept in the same bed, and I sat on the same divan that is in the painting. For a moment I was afraid to see myself in the picture as if by some strange witchcraft, and yet she resembled me in some way, the way she sat seemed vaguely familiar to me, the position of her hands, and even her eyes were my same colour, green, they expressed something unusual, like the Mona Lisa, something unknown.
But the look of those two characters continues to intrigue me and I stay there for a long time observing their faces, their eyes so implacable, the details of her scanty dress that reveal a small breast soiled with blood, and then the audacity and ardour of he who would appear to have won the cruellest battle.
I remain fixed on the painting, almost wishing to enter into it when all of a sudden I hear a call from far away “irene ... irene...“, then nothing, so I return to my study of the two characters and think what it could mean, so simple yet so disturbing in its colours and postures.
I am again concentrated before this picture and begin to find a series of answers, but one convinced me more than the others, an unnatural sexual relationship, yes, I was convinced, that was the reason for the position and the pride in the looks <but why blood on her small breasts> I am asking myself out loud…<why did you harm her> addressing myself to him…no response but I feel a hand on my shoulder…shivers run through my body, I turn with a scream…luckily it's only the custodian.

The poor thing didn't mean to frighten me so, I, pale and weak, drop down to the ground and lean against a column, I'm in a cold sweat, a my vision is fogged over. I hear the custodian speaking to me but I don't understand what she's saying, then slowly I begin to recover and with her help I get up. She takes me in her arms, she caresses my face and warms my hands, then she excuses herself profusely and invites me to leave the drawing room and go with her to have breakfast in the restaurant. I accept willingly and on the way I relate to her everything that happened to me from yesterday evening to this morning, and what I had, or thought I had, discovered.
At the restaurant I find her husband waiting for us, so after a deep breath and a smile, looking him in the eyes, I ask him to tell me the history of the castle and if possible to let me see any books or documents. I expect a negative answer but instead I realize that they are happy to be useful, in the end they haven't anything to do and maybe my presence makes them feel important. With enthusiasm we prepare a sort of historical itinerary, with the added help of another person, the historian of the town, in order to give my curiosity a definitive answer.
I am overjoyed because I had never before received so much collaboration, after all I was a stranger to them. And too I am very happy to be accepted for what I am, and surely they had noticed that there was something strange about me. In fact, while I'm thinking about this, seated on the steps in the courtyard enjoying the sunshine, I see the custodian coming with a reassuring smile. She has spoken with the town historian who agreed very willingly but who wants first to meet me.

I say that's fine with me and that we could all lunch together at the restaurant today, naturally they would be my guests. She smiles, nods her head, and sits next to me on the cold stone steps, we talk about the lovely days that are drawing near and our cold rear ends due to the stone. Then she asks me a personal question, if I have any children, I answer no, so she asks me if I'm married, again I answer no, with hesitation she asks me if I can have children and I calmly and with a smile on my lips shake my head no.
She naively asks me why I can't have children, and I sweetly answer that nature hasn't given me this good luck. Then she looks at me pensively and remains silent for some seconds, by now I realize that she hasn't understood and while I start to explain she asks me some more intimate questions <but what do you mean about having good luck, have you been ill, have you been operated on?> I lower my eyes and starting to blush I explain that I have no uterus.
<But then you have nothing down there, how do you make pi pi> she insists ingenuously and we both break into a loud laugh like two old friends.
Even though it's laughable I'm becoming somewhat embarrassed, I would have gladly done without this conversation, but I try to find the courage to answer with my head bowed in shame <underneath I'm male> She is very surprised, and awkwardly opens her eyes wide, and says < oh no, really?> Nodding my head I say yes. Suspiciously she looks at me from head to toe and then whispers <I thought there was something strange about you, but you're not a man, your hands and fingernails are so well cared for, your face and your eyes, your delicate skin, these aren't like a man's > and then she continues <you have small feet and your are petite, and too I see that you have breasts, small, but you own, no?> I answer by unbuttoning my blouse <oh, Santa Madonna, I can't believe it>
We remain in silence for a few minutes, I am mortified, I shouldn't have told her, how could I ever explain my problems to a woman from the mountains of a certain age, simple and living in another world, I made a mistake, I shouldn't have said anything, in the meanwhile a tear falls from my eyes.
She sees me so upset and caresses my face, but when she dries my eyes she continues to pulverize my feelings saying <poor thing, so you'll never be able to get married? You'll never be happy, you'll never have your own children> then she realizes what a stupid thing she's said and tries to comfort me or perhaps she only wants to unburden herself. <But it's better like that, it's difficult to live with a man, depending on who you wind up with, but they are all alike, they get drunk and become violent, they treat you badly and take advantage of you, it's better to stay single, much better, and then children only make you suffer, when they grow up they leave home. I'm always alone with my sorrow, such little money that you can only eat potatoes and onions, rare trips to the city, I can't even buy myself a nice dress…>
Now I am the one to gaze into her tearful eyes, I squeeze her hands, I don't know what to say and so with my eyes I try to convey a little peace and calmness. In the meantime she begins to talk about the town and its inhabitants, about food and illness, about religion and holidays, until her husband shows up, saying jokingly <what are you two doing here sitting on the steps in the cold, you must have so many things to talk about, who knows how many secrets> <go on, we like being here, it's just women things> she answers, giving me a wink, <then excuse me but I only wanted to tell you that lunch is served, and it would be better to go eat than to remain here in the cold.>
We follow him obediently to the restaurant. I honestly feel better after hearing her say “ women things”.

After lunch the historical tour of the castle begins, place by place, room by room, the entire history of the structure is brought to light, the wars, the restoration and the development of the county, They describe the most important characters in the history of the castle's nobility, then other minor characters who are nevertheless portrayed in the paintings and tapestries throughout the castle.
I hear lots of stories, some very fantastical, transmitted orally, true or false they are equally fascinating. Three days of full immersion, I'm so happy and always more curious, I can't stop asking questions. To temper my curiosity they show me many manuscripts which I don't understand but that they explain to me, then they let me admire ancient books, also written in an unknown language.
By now exhausted from my never-ending questions, they kindly make it clear that they haven't anything more to say, and so I understand that it's time to end the visit and to enjoy my stay. I know practically everything or think I do about the lives of the castle's inhabitants, but I ask them for one last favour and lead them to the reception hall in front of that small painting hidden among the larger ones < who are these two, you haven't ever spoken of them ?>
Silence falls, I see them reflect and then they say that they don't know anything, I realize that they are sincere, why should they lie to me, these are only some minor characters among others.
I explain that whenever I look at these two figures I feel a strong sense of discomfort, and they confess to me that the same thing happens to them and they avoid looking at the painting, so I insist < but is she a courtesan? A princess? A witch? Who is she with such an intense gaze, and who is he, a prince, a vassal why does he look at us that way?>
Once again I don't get a concrete answer but after several minutes the historian turns to me and in Polish explains <she is said to be the last princess who lived in the castle, although no longer very young she was still a virgin, but was attacked and raped by a very cruel person, a vassal possessed by the devil, a vampire thirsty for sex and warm blood> After a short pause to catch his breath, he continued <the strange thing is that the princess kept a terrible secret, and no one knew about it. The princess, not able to reveal her secret, on the day she was raped by the vassal had no other choice but to kill him to avoid revealing the secret, then she killed herself, jumping from the highest tower> Well, believe it or not, I'm rather sceptical but who cares, the story is interesting anyway.
Leaving the hall they relate other stories of ghosts, of obsessive cries in the night, of strange noises, of whispers and melodies, of harrowing screams, in fact they make me feel the shivers, so that's the reason tourists visit this castle, not for it's beauty but for it's mysteries. Those people really believed in ghosts, all of them and they were frightened to stay in the room so they pushed me out quickly, closing the door.

It's night and I'm thinking over those ghost stories, that violent rape, and the hidden secret which was of such vital importance. I can't sleep, I feel a little worried, as though I'd opened a sargophagus and am now expecting the consequences, and there they are in front of me, I see them in the gloom, they flutter in the candlelight, they love, they embrace, they kiss, I see her nod, I hear him gasp, I hear her lament, I hear him enjoy, I hear her refuse, I hear him insist, I hear her cry out, I feel him weaken, her voice stops, I don' hear it any more, she weeps and feels consumed by sorrow, but the door opens suddenly and an icy wind blows out of the room!
I'm in a sweat, more animals crawling over me, the night is long and the shadows move slowly, the room begins to fill up…crowded with thoughts and perhaps with desires…the fire that is still alight under the coals illumines the coffered ceiling with a soft, quivering red glow, the crackling sound in the fireplace startles me, I'm upset and losing my common sense, everything is so strange and I feel that I've intruded morbidly into their past.
I begin to feel frightened in earnest, and I don't feel that I'm alone, I'm afraid of what I saw, my imagination is running away with me, I witnessed them as ghosts in their mortal embrace. And for the first time I feel shivers on my scalp and once again the animals crawling all over me.
Yet they are still here with me, I see them in the shadows, they are coming closer, hand in hand the two of them, naked, come toward me. I'm shivering and sweating, I have cold shivers down my spine, I feel a cold wind blow on my face, my hands are frozen, and my heart? Where is my heart, it's gone into my throat to suffocate me with its beating…all my muscles are cramped, frozen…I feel paralyzed, I'm unable to move or run from the bed. I see them still, they are very close…their gaze is severe, intense, I see the pupils shining…they are right by the bed…I feel their presence on my skin…Oh God forgive me, Holy Mother help me…they reach out for me, I see their fingers clearly, my eyes are wide open and I'm devastated…Madonna help me I pray you…but my vision blurs…I see white dots becoming fog…I see the fog becoming a white light…then I don't see anything…but I feel them still near me…I'm cold, clammy, I feel their hands on my body, I feel my breasts grasped tightly, I scream in pain, then a loud buzz makes my head spin…and then…and then nothing more, I don't remember anymore. Or maybe there wasn't anything else to remember!

I wake up the next morning at the first light of dawn, I have a terrible nauseating taste in my mouth, swollen eyes and a strong headache. I'm uncovered and terribly cold, my breasts hurt and the nipples are hard. I try to cover myself but can't find the covers, so I get up to warm myself by the fire but fall down, my legs don't hold me, so slowly I crawl over. Finally the warm coals give me strength and I begin to reflect. I ask myself, but what could have happened last night, certainly a strong emotion, an impossible encounter, a delirium, an impossible sensation of crossing over, was I going towards death? No, no, no…nothing of the sort, it was only a collapse. White as a ghost, as the saying goes, I try to wash myself and change my sweaty, dirty clothes, I wash my face and look at myself in the mirror, I see myself terrorized, so I look at my breasts and see them reddened and full of bruises.
I leave the room and see the custodian coming toward me, she looks worried to see me so white and scared looking, she tells me she didn't sleep all night because she was anxious about me but didn't know why, she was afraid something was happening to me, so at daybreak she left the house to run to the castle. She hugs me and asks me how I feel <but you're pale, what happened to you, your eyes look terrified, what did you see?> she anxiously asked me thousands of questions.
I told her I needed a hot coffee first, and would then tell her everything.
So sitting down with my Turkish coffee, the custodian asks me abruptly < but are you sure you want to keep on sleeping in the castle?> I think it over a minute and sigh a big sigh and answer her >Yes, I want to stay, now more than ever I have a reason for staying in the castle, I've conquered my fear, I've won over my autosuggestion, I've beat the ghosts!>

My memories are always present and indelible in all their details, because I like having adventures and I haven't any doubts about my survival instinct. In my life I have often looked inside myself as few others have the courage to do, without any futile self-esteem. Because it has to do with courage and not everyone can look oneself in the mirror and recognize one's weak points and virtues, show them openly in public and enjoy both defects and merits. Unlike most people, I go out and look for my adventures, even if I seem to be subjected by them, they are actually most welcome to me, the flavour of my existence.
Dear friend, I too prefer heat to cold, and I especially delight in the spring sunshine, so special in reawakening nature, a warm sun in a blue sky, but so hot with sensations, it is life returning, new goals appearing on the horizon, a horizon to conquer, so many hopes and plans unfold together with the colourful flower buds, nature marvels, the smile that bursts forth and the wish to love and to be loved, the desire to run free with no worries as when we were children, a new world to conquer. But in the absurdity of my contradictions, I also love the fall and its rain, I like the woods in autumn, I like the yellow leafy branches and walking on a carpet of dried leaves, hearing the crackle under my shoes, gathering chestnuts and putting them in my pocket to juggle with, I love walking in the rain, the rain in my hair, I love my wet face. Perhaps it's only melancholy or the result of my solitude but my heart is warm and I am in peace with myself.

I offer a smile willingly to everyone, even those who scorn me,

but I only give a big kiss to the ones who love me.

 

 

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