Camille's back showed the marks of the whip, bloody marks striking across her pale skin, her loin cloth revealing part of her shapely ass, the top of her garment not quite covering her beautiful breast. Not a very PC situation indeed. She was the personification of the character I was creating, Maricelli. Her youth, her defiance, her beauty, all of which was in Camille.

After finishing the film about Haiti, voodoo, Papa Doc, I toured the world with the film, in festivals, mostly, to great reviews and interesting feed back.

At the very beginning of this tour I met a nice French woman in Cannes. We fell for each other and spent some wonderful days together in the Fench Riviera.. She was the first woman I told the entire story of Maricelli. She loved it and felt that the Italians and the Spanish would love it more. Perhaps she was right. So much talk about saints and martyrs and crucifixions, was not part of French culture. And yet Camille, a French woman, was the personification of the Spanish character of my film...and with a passion.

I lashed Camille's back, my mind rushing with ideas, my heart cascading with feelings, contradictory, confusing feelings of joy mixed with despair. I could not imagine losing her, I could not accept losing Camille. I had fallen in love with her, intensely, and I knew, deep down inside, that I was never going to get over those feelings, that in the years to come I was going to long for her.

And still, I knew I was losing her and that all I could do now was to turn her into Maricelli, I was determined now to make that movie with her, but I needed so much money. It's not a simple film.

Camille was full of questions about the character, who she was, how she was, what was her deepest aspiration. I told her the story, the complete story and to justify Camille's participation in the movie, I made the character half French. I turned Maricelli's all suffering, religious mother into a French woman who escaped the slaves revolt in Haiti and ended marrying a rich Spaniard in Cuba.

Some time had passed since Lyvia had escaped her bonds. She managed to survive and to pass undetected in the large Roman city, mainly because there were so many people and it was so easy to blend in.

She kept hiding from the soldiers who were not looking for her but who could recognize her condition, and from anyone who she believed could be connected to her former owner's house.

One day Lyvia was in the market, looking over the stalls of food, to choose which she was going to 'attack' for her day's meal. She found one that had bread and fruits, which were good enough for her to live on for the day. She approached the chosen stall carefully, the vendor, an old, often distracted man, was busy looking away, there were no soldiers walking by, one woman had just purchased something and left. It was her opportunity.

Lyvia was quick to grab what she needed. She had a bag under her garments where she could easily and speedely hide the stolen food, for she only stole food. She trained herself to do this over time and she was now a very successful thief. It was better than being a slave. She was sure of that.

After grabbing the loaf of bread and some fruit, she walked away, she didn't run, she never did, she walked away confidently, not showing any fear or anxiety.

She was a few steps away from the stall when she noticed a child, a young girl, who was hiding behind a stone column. She was looking at the stalls of food with hungry eyes.

Lyvia went into her bag to take out some fruit to give it to the young girl. It was then, at that moment of distraction, that the old vendor noticed the thief.

He noticed the bag under her garments, the fruits she was taking out, the loaf of bread. "Thief!!!" the vendor screamed and ran after the young slave.