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| The
Via Crucis of Camille - Crux 2 - Page 17 |
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Camille's
tortured body rested near the mirror, in fact
her head was almost touching the glass. The
image of her marked chest reflected on the
mirror was poetic, to say the least.
There's something poetic about the image
of a beautiful woman laying on the ground
after torture. Why? Because we had been trained
to see it like that in art. Never in reality,
of course. But in art we can idealize pain,
just as it is elevated to a religious experience
by the Catholic Church.
It was early on, when I was first exposed
to religious art at home. A beautiful painting
of Christ standing up, half naked, tied to
post, his back bleeding, was, for me at a
very early age, inspirational.
Images like that formed me, in some way.
Perhaps I was prone to be attracted to those
images. I can't say that they influenced me.
That is not what happened. I was attracted
to them, early on.
Looking down at Camille on the floor, I found
her image inspirational.. |
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Lyvia
drank some water from the flask, the young girl
held her head over her lap so she could rest.
The young slave looked at the girl, grateful
for the water, they smiled to each other, but
they young girl could not hide her deep sadness.
Lyvia raised her
head, trying to say something, the young girl
lower her head to hear what the tortured woman
had to say, but before Lyvia could say anything
two soldiers arrived and pulled the young girl
away.
One of the soldiers
kicked Lyvia on the side to make ger get up,
but the young slave was weak and could not move.
The soldier took his whip and hit the woman
across her chest. "Get up!" he screame,
but Lyvia just move her head to the side and
closed her eyes.
The soldiers could
not make her move their commander ordered them
to grab the wood that was holding her arms an
to drag her back to the city. Two soldiers took
the sides of the wood, near the woman's broken
hands, lifted her and began to walk.
Lyvia was facing
up, her naked body twisted to the side, her
legs open as she was dragged over the dirt road.
The soldiers dragged
Lyvia back into the city, passing the walls,
through the streets back to the piazza where
she was going to suffer her second punishment.
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I
left Camille laying on the cold floor. The
lights warmed up the room but not the floor,
the floor was cold, almost icy cold. This
city is cold, even in summer, and houses are
not insulated so the walls, the floors, are
always cold to the touch.
While Camille lay there I took the camera
to go over her body, with close shots of her
face and chest, admiring that image that I
found inspiring. Again I thought of our crisis.
An old boyfriend popped up a few nights ago,
around the time we were working on the previous
session. He looked so terrible. I met him
before, he seemed so self sufficient. A young
guy from the old Yugoeslavia, in his eyes
I could see the anger, the frustration of
a life that was more struggle than anything.
He's back in town.
When Camille and I were alone, later that
night, the night the old flame showed up at
our door, she said that she felt sorry for
him. They talked for a bit, alone, he was
desperate and apparently he had been abusing
drugs. I wanted to ask her if there was anyone
else but I didn't dare.
For a moment I thought that the cycle had
come full circle. I met Camille when she was
with this guy, I actually saw them together
once. I might have been the cause of their
break, I don't know, but now that we are breaking
up, he shows up, which made me think that
maybe she contacted him. I thought for a moment
that he might be the one taking her away from
me, because I believed and still do, that
there's someone else.
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She
told me what they discussed, money, he wanted
to borrow some, I realized that he was not in
her life at all and actually I learned the sad
truth about the guy. He was truly sick.
It was the beginning of the new year 1996,
31st of January to be exact, when he showed
up. The Christmass before Camille and I were
in our hideway hut in the humid forrest where
we lived so many moments. We had one last session
in the tropics, soon after our return from New
York. It was then that she told me the awful
news. She wanted to break up.
We talked, she cried, we talked some more.
She cried on our way back... but we didn't break
up, officially at least, not yet.
But there was something unpleasant between
us. I was having a hard time tolerating the
situation, I was ready to send her packing...
but I couldn't and there was Maricelli. I saw
her as Maricelli and I needed her for that one
role, if anything else.
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