Tags

, , , , , , ,

Gustave Doré. “Dantes’s Purgatory”

Gustave Doré. “Dantes’s Purgatory”

I feel spiders on my brain. I can sense their legs’ tiny filaments moving around on the membrane that cover the surface of my gray matter. They run to and fro haphazardly, sometimes slowly, sometimes boiling up in a rush, multiplying the distressing sensation of sting and deafening swarming. It has always been like this. Since I have a memory. Or it’s just I can’t remember anything else, anymore, in my life. Spiders running across my brain, nesting here and there, the feeling of their little limbs and bodies covered by minuscule hairs, monstrously amplified by the nerve endings of my encephalic mass.
Yet I learned how to quiet them down. At least for some stretch of time. At the beginning it was almost a natural response; when their maddening hustle of hairy legs crawling inside my head became already unbearable, the only thing I could think about was kill them. And I did it. One by one I searched them in house’s corners, throughout the park, between slits of old abandoned dwellings -and I killed them, first with insane despair, later in a slower pace according as their unceasing come and go started to decrease beneath my skull, till they finally were quieted down. As most I managed to kill, longest was the truce space I had to keep going with my ordinary life. But it wasn’t enough. It never is. It’s just seems that they come back angrier and stronger every time, rummaging throughout my brain’s corners. So the dosage must be increased. But there’s never enough spiders to kill. Nor in the entire house, nor in every park, nor in the abandoned houses of whole neighborhood, no matter how old they are.
Here was when cats came into play. I figured it out by mere coincidence the day that I was so frenzied by the disgusting touch of their pins drilling my head -and not even one spider to turn to. The cat came out from nowhere, virtually he jumped near me on the alley where I had entered, stone in hand, battering every time I saw come out one of them. I hit him in the middle of the head, and there he ended, with a red cleft and a thread of blood pouring from it over his dead body, or trembling at verge of death at least. The spiders were paralyzed on my brain immediately. It was like if they would’ve halted to watch, through my eyes, the work of my (their) hands, the little animal body giving their last death rattles and that reddish form, shapeless, that was taking the small pool of blood that flowed and flowed. The soothing effect lasted over a week. It was great. I could go to school, give my lessons and come back home like any human being that the only thing have to keep in mind are ordinary issues, instead of spiders gnawing it with their endless furry prickles.
But not even the whole world is full of cats either. And once means nothing to the voracious ones. Nothing does. Everything is multiplied when it comes to them, as though their raids over there, noisier, faster, more maddening, more, always more. A dog, for instance. It ranks as quite a lot of cats. At the beginning at least. A month of quietness is a happiness’ island after such amount of arachnids spreading inside there, more violently every time. If two, better. How many dogs do you need to three, four months of relative calm? I bet you can’t guess, doctor. Hundreds. Because the more are, the more is the resistance they put to be quieted. It’s like the migraine and the drugs. After a time the same amount of pills don’t work anymore and you have to double, triple, quadruple. Reached a point they become ineffective. Then you have to raise the range. But what does exist bigger than a dog, that you can find daily over there and that is fairly easy to vanish without drawing too much attention? A horse, an elephant? Quite awkward. Not to mention that soon they would have to be two, or three, and there the thing does takes a spider turn.
Yet such a crazy lot of people living in the city, don’t they? Lots. Too much I’d say. Mainly in schools. I have nearly forty students in a single classroom, and there are more than twenty grades, not counting the tutors and the families broadly. Don’t stare at me like that, doctor, if I wouldn’t dare to go so far, ever. Besides, you never lack material supply in a big city. And who would miss a couple of annoying beings for the very society, the kind who are always draining the others’ blood? I don’t know. Lawyers, politicians… ¿Doctors maybe? Come on, an axe blow is painless, doc, really… or I think so, at least. Yes, look, just stay quiet and don’t shout. That’s it. Quiet. Now. See? Did it hurt? It doesn’t hurt me anymore. The spiders, I mean, and I think a good doctor ranks as… how much would you say?… if you could still speak, of course. Six or seven months? Probably a year. How about that? Didn’t you feel glad being useful to your patient? I bet you did.

Advertisements