Lily And there appeared a story that ran around a braided thread that seemed a distant memory, like when you make the knots we tie a handkerchief or small piece of string to a finger, do not forget anything. Someone. And the story that broke up before the eyes of Lily told you so: was the hour of dusk. Light and darkness met on a boundary line which gave the impression of being a larger territory, an intersection where the characteristics do not blend. As in the paintings of Caravaggio. There are creatures that live only at night and say they are nocturnal animals. Other living creatures, however, only during the day and sleep at night to retrieve vital energy, who with his head on the pillow, one with the head under the wing, whoever he can. Then there are strange creatures whose existence we realize only in the twilight, strange hybrid creatures day-night in which the features do not bind and remain for all to see, mainly, strange beings. She came out of the house when the garden began to be covered with a light powder that quickly transformed the flowers and things from the outline into something less defined, more three-dimensional shadows darker.
She was a silk cloth and yellow light that the sun consumes. She had a harmony within themselves that no one could hear, like a musical score without a key. She was a colorful painting in a dark room. She was wearing a name as the title of a story. His name Moondawn.
Moondawn was a girl with hair the color of dawn, the pale skin of the face was fine and clear, it was a doll of tissue paper, a fragile doll that does not play with anyone for fear that it can crumble at the first touch, turning in one thousand confetti that even a slight wind could carry away. The eyes were the color of a tear that reflects the sky and the slight squint was well hidden by thick white eyebrows. The room where
Moondawn spent most of the day had a window that was opened only when the child was elsewhere, the light source in his presence had only tenuous and artificial spread by the many lamps that her grandmother had started collecting since Moondawn was photophobic recognized. The grandmother had a sister Moondawn albino that when he went out to defend himself was to cover the sunlight with large dark glasses and the whole country, rather small in any direction you percorresse, had taken very soon to hold up like a phenomenon a circus. So Moondawn, which had been entrusted to her grandmother since birth for a long series of unfortunate events, was grown and kept within the walls of the house, in those rooms where the sun never came for years for more than half an hour a day and light was made only by the switches.
Moondawn received the only visit by a teacher who visited her in the afternoon to pursue his education and is easy to count, the teacher was the only person who knew Moondawn addition to some old grandmother and aunt. Moondawn had never seen children looking in the mirror and had made the strange idea that the human race changed color growing up, the children were small and unripe fruits, past the time needed to mature, she would have to be very long brown hair such as the teacher. No one had ever taken the task to remove this belief, even the teacher, no one had ever told the reality of the matter, saying that children do not mature and that the human species has a unique color. That children, men and women are equal only as children, men and women. That equality is measured by equality and respect for human rights and dignity and that the color is just one element that enriches the beauty of nature. That light, then, should not frighten anyone, because the light is beauty because it contains all the colors of the world. That the sunrise and the moon have a color and light and that she, too, Moondawn, had his and that for no reason at all should have hope to change it.
Then one day it happened that the arrival of the teacher, Moondawn saw something smaller that followed in the hallway while the woman went to meet the wishes of the grandmother, above the lights in the room where she was waiting for alabaster. Something smaller stopped on entry of Moondawn room and looked straight into my eyes and gaping mouth of a fish out of water spat out a low voice of fear that arose only on the last word: "Who are you, a ghost?". Moondawn him almost choir 'Who are you? ", Already responding to itself a thousand thoughts that maybe this was a very small adult or a child who had already changed color. Two fish had met out of the water, because water there in the room with the lights in alabaster, was not there. "My name is Bruno and I am a child," he said. "I am Moondawn," she said a bit 'of time after. Just as long as a fish takes to learn to talk. Bruno went soon with the teacher that day nor did his lesson. The grandmother took them to the door and when he came into the room Moondawn thought it was off to a very cold, because her grandmother was shaking. The lesson of the teacher was not there, or maybe yes. Moondawn now knew that there were children of another color and it was nice to look in the eyes of children, because it seems to understand each other without saying anything. After that night, the teacher came back, but always alone. And since then Moondawn often thought to Bruno and spoke as if he had next to an invisible friend, but not imaginary. Bruno was there an invisible friend in the rooms of the great grandmother's house, but to make it visible, he thought one day Moondawn not then you had to go too far.
was therefore the time of dusk and Moondawn started down the dark corridor to the door that opened onto the garden. It was his grandmother to open the door. The shadows fell from the garden had just opened the window to her perfume, Moondawn greeted the roses that had crumpled the heat of the day and then came out of the gate, which itself had never crossed before.
"Come on, Bruno must not be too far from here," said Moondawn herself as an explorer who must find the courage to take the first step towards an unknown location where, however, is sure to find a great treasure. The road was straight to the country and skirted the woods, when he began to fall il buio Albaluna si accorse che il coraggio restava qualche passo indietro. La notte che ormai riempiva tutto quello che le stava intorno, poiché intorno tutto era nero e irriconoscibile nell'assenza di luce, la faceva procedere con cautela. E la faceva pensare. Era una notte senza luna e le stelle erano troppo lontane per illuminarle ogni mondo, esterno o interiore che fosse. Eppure, se qualcuno avesse potuto essere lì per vederla, si sarebbe accorto che Albaluna aveva una luce propria, era un'ombra più chiara sul bordo dell'asfalto e gli occhi le brillavano come se due stelle da lassù le fossero scese sul viso, tra la fronte e le guance, ai lati del naso. Da qualche parte doveva esserci la strada che percorrono le macchine, dove di notte si snodano and tie long streamers of fog blown by speed. The road, where there were colored lights of the shop signs that call you to eat ice cream, to buy shoes and new clothes, to go to the cinemas and to find the noise of cups and glasses in the bar. The house of Bruno had to have a light that would call her to enter. A light to peek through the window, the light of a family that consumes around a dinner table in a corner while shining a TV on. The light of a teacher reading a book in his slippers and Bruno, who plays on the couch. A light that goes off just before bedtime. Instead, Moondawn now felt the light of a little more heart pounding, a weak light, almost as distant stars. She ran inside, rather than the blood and fear.
The malaise that darkness gave her physical pain was different from that provided her with the dazzling light of day. It was the discomfort of the unknown. The light gives visibility. Light is knowledge. If there was also only the moonlight to illuminate his path, Moondawn would not have lost the determination that she felt when she left. Now, however, wondered "Where am I," "How far is it from here Bruno ',' How long will I walk again 'and, finally," Why did not I was in my garden? "And" Why am I not enough to be alone with the roses? ".
Suddenly, as if by magic, it seemed that a star falls from the sky to get in front of the nose Moondawn. But it was not a star. It was a firefly, which Moondawn began to follow almost running, then running and laughing with his heart stopped beating for fear. And the firefly was his guide, first toward the road where they were running the lights and signs final color at night, which was no longer dark, then to a house that had illuminated the entrance and a light to peek through the window, the light of a family that consumes around a dinner table in a corner while shining a TV on. The light of a teacher reading a book in his slippers and Bruno, who plays on the couch.
There was also the name of the teacher in the white light of the bell che Albaluna arrivò a suonare mettendosi in punta di piedi. Quando la porta si aprì, l’accolsero stupore e abbracci. E quando la luce si spense, nella camera di Bruno, si accese un soffitto di stelle fosforescenti molto più vicine di quelle che stavano fuori nel cielo. Era arrivata l’ora di dormire e di accendere la luce bellissima dei sogni di due bambini che non avrebbero smesso di giocare insieme mai più, lì sotto le stelle fosforescenti o nella stanza delle luci d’alabastro a casa di Albaluna. Non avrebbero smesso di giocare neppure ad occhi chiusi nel buio della notte.
Poi Lily calò come la luna in un pozzo e tornò invisibile. Non si sa per quanto.
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