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The Via Crucis of
Camille - Crux 1 - Page 19
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Camille's head rose up reacting again to the nail
breaking through. Her teeth were clenching,
as if she was trying to fight off the pain. A bit
of defiance in the middle of the inevitable, her head went
back slowly as she let out a loud and raspy moan that passed
through my ears and into my heart.
This moment was very emotional for both of us. To me it
was almost as the final performance of my favorite star
after she announced her retirement.
It was a moment to treasure forever and every move she
made, every face she gave, every contraction she pulled,
it was part of a new poem, The rhythmic expression of an
idea turning into a reality.
If this was to be our final moment, it was going
to be one to remember forever and it was obvious to me that
she was giving it all for me, perhaps with the conviction
that it was her swan song dedicated to me. |
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Leticia's body was not reacting
as before, even if the pain was far more intense, her ordeal
had made her weak. But she still did not faint. The nail was
hammered in slowly and the echo of the strokes travelled to
the slave who was wishing they were done with the tormenting
of her mistress, she was hoping the young woman was going
to be quick in dying so her own ordeal would reach an end
as well.
The first day hanging on her
cross she was lashed at least three times during the long
passing hours, twice she was burnt with hot irons and only
once she was given water.
As the sun reached the middle
of the sky, she tried to hide her face from the heat, but
a soldier went up the ladder, forced her head to face up,
tying her head in that position by placing a chain over
her open mouth. She again the object of bets as the sun
burned her lips and dried up her eyes, almost blinding her.
In the evening, as the chills
of the wind visited her body, they released her head. |
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A few strokes of the hammer were enough to break the layers
of flesh and bone to find the wood under Camille's hand. Her
fingers were again grabbing my hand at each blow and opening
up in reaction to the pain. It was almost like a dance, the
dance of a tortured hand, like a spider that has a pin inserted
through its body while it's still alive. A cruel act by any
standards.
The macabre dance of such small and beautiful hand trapped
by the nail, punished by the hammer.
Poetry of cruelty in motion.
Questions of morals and correctness flooding my
mind. This is the woman I love and yet there she
is suffering the indignities of a cruel practice of
ancient times. There she is, naked for my indulgence,
becoming a goddess of countless nights from the past,
the present and the future.
There she is, the woman who is saying good bye
in the most unusual and poetic way possible. |
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Leticia's screams grew shorter
and softer, a sign that can only mean good news to the struggling
servant who now counts the strokes as they become the markers
of the passing of time as she approaches what she hopes is
the end of suffering.
The
second day on her cross was not better than the first, even
if it started with the tender moment of getting some water.
But this time they actually let
her down from her cross as soon as the light of dawn was
on her.
She was relieved to feel the
ground under her even if the pain became intense at times.
They released her shoulders from the chain holding her against
the wood. She was free of her bonds for a brief moments,
relishing the sensation of being on the ground. Hoping that
now they found some mercy in their hearts and were to cut
off her head.
She didn't expect them to do
that, she just hoped. |
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Camille began to shake again, raising her legs,
opening them up a bit, just to close them again. I had
placed the camera at an angle that might capture exactly that
moment when her legs opened. She wasn't wearing anything
under the loin cloth and this piece of rag had no bottom.
Opening her legs would expose her to the lens.
Once, when I was a student, in my photography
class, I presented one photograph of my naked girlfriend.
She was laying on the floor, her arms open as in
a cross and her legs slightly open.
The professor was a bit prude and felt that it was not
appropriate to show 'my lady' as he put it, in
that pose, showing more of her body that he felt was necessary
to show.
I had to disagree. Every bit of her body
was a beautiful song to nature, to life, to beauty.
The argument did not end. Now it was Camille
who was about to open her legs at a crucial moment of pain
and was to expose more of her body that was perhaps necessary.
I raised the hammer in anticipation. |
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