Lyvia was on the ground, facing up, her head almost on top of the crossbar, her body full of bloody whipping marks, her skin shredded by the lead tipped whips. Rachel, the young girls was at the front of the crowds, watching her, crying.

Lyvia wasa not moving, most people hoped she was dead. The executioner placed the second croosbar near her feet. He took one of her ankles and pressed it against one end of the cross bar, he then place the nail on the side of her ankle facing him, her foot twisted. He raised the hammer and hit the nail with force, driiving it into her ankle.
Lyvia raised her head in pain, moaning but unable to scream. Her arms were stretched to far apart for her to be able to raise more than just a little.

After hammering her right foot to the crossbar, he moved to do the same with the left foot, placing it in the same manner in the other extreme of the crossbar. He hammered again, making Lyvia moan in pain. She opened her mouth wide but little sound came from her. Her eyes were wide open, looking at nothing, expressing the intense pain.

When the executioner was done with his job, a soldier pulled the rope to tie it to the middle of the crossbar holding Lyvias feet. Another soldier pulled the other end of the rope and began to raise Lyvia up, by her legs.

Lyvia was hanging upside down, by the nailed ankles. She was moaning in pain tring to raise her head that was hanging down, her arms pulled down by the weight of the crossbar holding her hands.

The two men with whips positioned themselves again in front and behind the hanging woman. They were going to lash her 50 times each, as they were commanded. Some of the people in the crowd could not take it anymore so they began to walk away, but most stayed on. In front of them, Rachel, the young girl and the old man were standing as if they were made out of stone. The old man could not hide his guilt as he saw the young woman he accuded of stealing, hanging upside down, nailed hands and feet, naked and beaten.

I changed the position of the camera to get a different angle of the nailing, this time from the side, with a good view of Csmille's hands, her face and the cross..

The nailing of Camille continued, the view from the side was almost the same for me as it was for the blind camera. I call Camera Ciega, the technique of making a movie without a camera man. It's not the best but it works for me. The point is to make sure to have plenty of good angles arranged before hand.

I was feeling very good. This session was coming out better than expected. It was better than the previous one, the camera work was good, within its limits, and Camille was fantastic.

I hit the nail with the hammer and Camille raised her body in pain.

Again I changed the angle of the camera to get a closer view of Camille's hand, bleeding, moving. I was done with the first hand and reado to move to the next.

I was making sure I had plenty of shots, covering the details of the action. Camille never stopped suffering, but the kind of suffering that is called for the martyrs of old. They can take a lot of pain, we are told, so Camille must resist.

Maricelli was becoming more real in the body of Camille. Camille was making her possible, and still, I had to convey Maricelli's mind to Camille and that was more difficult.

Maricelli's mind was closer to my own. It was my fantasies that Maricelli lived. It was my view of the church that Maricelli had, it was my experience in the world of old colonial catholicism that created Maricelli.

I think that my generation was the last to have the old colonial catholicism as part of their life experience. It all began to change after I got to 5th grade in grammar school. We no longer had nuns and priests for teachers, they were all civilians now, regular people with regular lives.

I wonder now if there are many like me who are younger than me.