Maria Teresa Liuzzo

Palingenesis of love

Part 1

Story by Maria Teresa Liuzzo

(English translation from the original Italian by Astrit Lulushi)

When she turned twenty, Maria moved to the city. She still had in her eyes and in her heart the meadows and hills that surrounded the city, and she still saw herself as a child, when for fun she followed life in the yard, ran along the paths and looked for nests in the hedges.

And then, summer nights looking and seeing the moon of its mysterious flow! friends,, from her balcony, fixing her gaze on the field that is not in place, goes with her heart beyond the horizon and thinks about something wonderful and mysterious. Who knows when it would be possible for her to cross that sea or leave it on other shores, in other countries?! And now, at twenty, she was older than that, had left the country and was in a city. What struck her, and certainly did not please her, were the huge buildings that choked the streets and spaces, the asphalt, the concrete barriers, the chaotic traffic, the deafening noise of vehicles, the acrid smell of gas and air, the people, either in a hurry or phlegmatic, filling the sidewalks and shop windows. Here… the shop windows attracted and amazed her: elegant and refined clothes that she would never have imagined and in which she deluded herself with a pleasant game of fantasy, of the ability to wearing. 

Then she looked around: everything was very different from where she had been. Where were the gardens, where the scent of orange blossoms and jasmine he had left, where the clear blue sky, where the red sunsets… and the dreams? And the villa, among the olives and oleanders, that had seen her born and grow and that had collected her tears, but also her indescribable joys and enthusiasms? Now, everything was different, everything had changed: this the city suggested to him; she herself had changed, or it seemed to her, if it were possible for one to change from one day to the next, as if one were to change into something else, like a mass of clay which the hands can give different forms, before solidification. She would not have wished to be otherwise, but to banish from her mind and consciousness the feeling of being an orphan, not so much as a creature deprived of affections, but of life itself or of what matters most for the balance of Being. Remove the orphan from yourself… gain faith and hope. The hope that does not die with the night and does not set with the stars, that melts in the blood, becomes the light of the eyes and nourishes the plant of separation and tolerance. Evil, however, prepares its plots, plots deceptions, and tries to destroy you by devouring you, having trapped you.

Maria tried to remove the painful events of her childhood and thought back to the long years of study, amid the deprivations and obstacles imposed by her parents, who could not bear the fact that she could become independent through studies. , and one day soon to leave the country and start a family of her own, with her husband and children. 

They certainly planned to keep her anchored in their family environment, to serve and raise her many brothers, all born after her and who needed every care, as if they were her own children. Despite all the difficulties, Maria completed her studies brilliantly and after some time began to work, partly as a teacher, partly in offices, but after getting married, she left everything in favor of being a mother.

For several years, after her marriage, Maria lived in a state, if not of happiness, at least of relative tranquility, and in the hope of erasing the past, or what was a painful memory of the past. The new family, the new lovers, the birth of the first child… Life seemed to smile at her…

It seemed, because no one can dominate the events and break the plots of perverted minds, the snares of betrayal, the web of evil and, thus, suddenly, the castle he had built turned out to be a fragile illusion and sadly collapsed. The father of her son had shown himself to be a treacherous and deceitful being, and moreover interested and greedy of money, to obtain it he would have done the most degrading acts, beyond all imagination, violating the most sacred affections of those of the husband yesterday to those of his father. And, then, the great tragedy of feeling like something worthless, inert and heartless, with no one to turn to: not the father’s house, which gave rise to shameful anxieties and dangers, not the self that was destroyed. So who can you turn to and who can you rely on? Only prayer and faith remained and sustained him

companionship in the endless nights, embraced by her gentle creature, on whom fell abundant warm tears, calls to the Lady, as a most merciful and helpful Mother. Exhausted, she then fell asleep and the dawn, though in a state of uncertainty and pain, reserved for her a ray of sunshine, a glimmer of hope. The hope that man must nurture himself, gathering every resource, bracing himself against adverse events, trying to build, act, not letting himself be defeated by disbelief and convincing himself that man can emerge victorious. from any situation. 

Maria resumed work, partly because she found it abhorrent to depend on others and ensured a state of relative peace for herself and her young son. Later she started a family again. It had not been difficult for her, since nature had given her beauty, grace and delicacy, patience and sweetness, femininity, and, therefore, she was accompanied by a crowd of admirers and left broken hearts wherever she went: whoever knew. he couldn’t help but appreciate her talent and intelligence, her kindness. However, not everything pleased him; not everything, although she did not complain about it, erased the inner emptiness, the emotional lack, the desire for a strong, true love that would conquer her soul, penetrate her veins and be the strength of moving truth of her life. In a sense, Mary had built up an ideal of herself, which was nevertheless a mysterious, intangible, and perhaps only spiritual being, which she felt within herself, even if she was sure that it came and acted from without: a kind of Daimon, from which she felt possessed, which directed her actions, ordered her ideas, made her formulate her thoughts, made her melancholy and happy at the same time. A mysterious creature who kept him company and comforted him, gave him courage in moments of discouragement, which were frequent, even after the new family arrangement, even after the birth of the second child, which for some time had given him new interests . incentives to live, but which had also been the cause of new disagreements and had imprinted in his soul the certainty of indifference and ill will, even of those who should have been closer to him. Now, after some years, she became aware of their actions and recalled, often disturbingly, the long hours spent in a semi-conscious state and almost constantly pervaded by a kind of drowsiness which made her almost unable to act and, however, to react to any form of pressure and violence. She was then unaware of what was happening to her: whether her condition was due to some strange pathology or whether it was the result of drugs administered to her without her knowledge to reduce her to the will power of her own people. 

She later realized that the second hypothesis was the truth: with great difficulty she managed to free herself from her inner enemies, to take control of her will, even if tranquility was not satisfactorily secured and the memories clear. or perplexed, remained to trouble him with the days of past anxiety, and refusal to enter places or rooms, without being greatly disturbed by them, accompanied others with a kind of melancholy and sweet nostalgia. And then, as was said, Daimon… Poetry, voices, signs, writing came from her and within her: but who dictated them? Behind the voices and signs, impulses, visions, messages was a body: Mary almost felt the physical presence of this being, and when she transcribed her lines to paper it seemed to her that an invisible hand accompanied her, and a mysterious mind shared the emotions that aroused in her the word. Despite all obstacles to overcome, stealing time for rest and every other opportunity of recreation, All her resources were used for poetry, so that pages were added to pages and books followed books… In them was the life of san e past and present, but also the future, in an escape in time and space, whatever it was. not an absence from reality, but a way to indelibly fix her life and life in general, consisting of actions, events, stories, news, people and peoples, which she received from the most distant places and lands , permeating her word with humanity. , with the sharing of pains and joys, with the exaltation of universal values, with the tension towards the divine and transcendent. But then, as we know, life is something else too… it’s a trap, conspiracies that try to destroy you, that attack your honor, that try to muddy the clear waters of your soul and mind and make it muddy . . And, then, you are forced to protect yourself… but who can help you? Unconsciously you think of the Daimon…

Part 2

Someone, perhaps, had told you about Jonah, a lawyer who had a reputation for great intelligence and professional wisdom, as well as (you would have found) just as much humanity. It was this gift of his, more than his intelligence, more than his eloquence and brilliance of expression, that struck you and gave you the feeling that you had always known him: Jonah, the great lawyer, was not a being unknown to you: it was the Daimon that had accompanied you for years, the fantastic creature that today had a body, a face, a name. From the first moment, it seemed to her that she had always loved, and it would certainly have been a crazy thought if love had not been incomprehensible and often exceeded the bounds of rationality. She felt irresistibly drawn to him, and, listening and watching him, an embarrassing but pleasant uneasiness ran through her: when he reached out to her to say good-bye, she felt something like a message in her hand of Jonah, but immediately made up his mind. away from himself, stupid and meaningless until once.

The reason that had led her to turn to Jonah was very serious, a situation in which she had been involved against herself and without any responsibility, but which was in danger of disturbing her life and her family.

For a certain period they met in the professional’s office, both because Jonah needed to know various details of the affair, and because a sweet and tormenting thought had entered him, at first and then, always. more clearly: in love with Mary.., but was unaware that the same thing had happened to her. Whatever he did and wherever he was, the woman’s image followed him, he heard her voice, her breathing, he felt her near him: in every face and in every body; in all the people he met or who were close to him. He would wake suddenly in the night and, madly, hope that she was lying beside him; sometimes, while speaking in the courtroom, turning to the judge, he would see her at the table.

She, therefore, was the judge of his condition, of his feelings, of his love, which permeated his entire being, and he was as if awaiting punishment. Then he recovered and came back to himself, resumed the thread of conversation… What was happening to him? He was not aware that Maria was experiencing the same state as him, only that she transcribed her fantasies, illusions, visions on paper, making poems out of them.

Poetry, now, was the supreme gift that had allowed her to continue living, and now that she had identified and personified her Daimon, she did not want to lose it, she did not want it to crumble like all the dreams of her life. who had left him alone and defenseless, at the mercy of the wickedness of others.

Both tried in every way to communicate: even the most banal excuses were considered important for them to meet. Jonah was in the habit of calling her at any time of the day and, when time allowed, engaged in long conversations. He asked her about details of her past life, of her childhood, of her recent events in time: so it seemed to her that he was entering her life, as if he had always been there. One day, when they could love each other, he burst outntence: “We have always been together, our love has held us from the beginning, and we, without knowing it, have loved each other, but we have not been . aware of this, because there were impenetrable curtains between us, which had been raised by those who influenced our will and drowned our dreams, but, now, nothing can hinder us, nothing can erase our love…”.

Mary listened in surprise, as the same thought had crossed her mind. She hugged Jonah gently, but with so much strength, as if to understand that that wonderful being was hers, that that body was real. Then they devoted themselves completely to their love; they met at any time and in any place: as if the world existed only for them and nothing and no one existed outside of them.

For the first time in their lives they knew what true love was, that which unites hearts and minds, that speaks with one mouth, unites thoughts, beats with one heart: the love that makes equal those who love each other- the other. and unites their beings into one. They were like two unconscious people who were allowed everything and who thought only to satisfy their desires of supporting nature which stirred their blood and released their senses, but in a strange way which increased their spirituality of born intense. Then all around was a lighting of colors, an expansion of sounds, a blowing of winds that had within them hidden messages of distant times and past lives, which now reappeared to give concreteness to that which is eternal, and expressed in the song of ‘spirt.

Mary often thought about their first love meeting.

That year, the summer had been particularly hot, almost scorching, and July had been its peak. Mary had to go to Jonas’s office late in the morning, which was located on the sixth floor of a modern building, to give him some documents, which were very important to the ongoing case. As soon as he got out of the elevator, he saw Jonah waiting for him at the door of the apartment, in jeans and a T-shirt: leaning against the doorframe and with a cigarette in his mouth, watching him with an intense, meaningful look. Before letting her into the apartment, he opened his arms and holding her close to him, to Mary’s surprise, but naturally, as if everything between them had been clarified, in the sense that their love was evident and mutually accepted, he said : “Here, my poetess, here is my only love, here is the true meaning of my life…”. And, saying this, he first touched her face with a delicate kiss, then kissed her on the lips, passionately, but delicately, so as not to spoil the petals of that wonderful, fragrant rose. In his arms Maria felt like a small baby, protected and safe, then she felt the call of the senses: they both forgot the purpose of the visit and on the sofa in front of Jonas’s table, realized their wonderful dream of love.

It seemed that their energies were multiplied immeasurably, while the desire, instead of fading, was fueled more and more by the contact of their bodies and, strangely, by the sweat that flowed on their skin, especially in the eyes and face and it gave them a taste. of lip elevations.

After a few hours, exhausted but happy, they abandoned themselves to a sweet rest and fell asleep despite the passing of time, holding each other tightly by the hand.

Mary often remembered this day that had sanctioned their love… But, as we know, it seems that life wants to take revenge for people’s joys and often blames them for moments of joy: it seemed that for Mary the moment had come. to make it count.

For some time she felt a strange discomfort: at first she was not alarmed by it, thinking it was a muscle pain, but then, as the pain continued, she decided to check the cause.

The result was the outbreak of a tragedy: suddenly he felt the world falling on him; everything that made up his life was about to collapse and, above all, it represented the end of a love that had been the secret of his physical and spiritual rebirth.

A malignant and devious beast had entered her body and was devouring her, a tumor that had formed in her flesh and created the still short time of her life. Her thoughts were all about Jonah: how to tell him, how to reveal this terrible truth?

It would be better to be silent, to keep this secret as long as possible, to disappear from his life, risking being misjudged, being hated, but thus avoiding his further connection with her, so that, losing it, he would not suffer. too much or reveal everything to her and face together, still living together, the life she still has left? 

Maria was trying to make a decision even though in the meantime nothing had been revealed and things between her and Jonah had not changed and she was trying to be what she had always been for him.

She constantly thought of the day she saw her for the first time, in the eyes of that man who had changed her life, who had opened new horizons for her, who had made her forget her past life, freeing her soul. and the mind of every depressing factor and that had returned the smile, not the artificial one, which is like a mask on the face, that hides the inner pain, but the smile in the heart and in the thoughts, in the imagination that elevates and tries to fix in a realm of eternity the bliss of experience. And, then, his decisive speech, that assurance, which arises from strength and balance of character, from a supreme sense of justice, from a constant search for truth, without any fear of being conquered by it, mingled with humanity , which does not allow the humiliation of others in victory, even when the action of others may seem worthy of it.

He had admired still more his ability to delve into her soul, to bring out the most hidden secrets from the darkness, not from sick vanity, but to share with her the weight of pain and present worries.

His delicacy and prudence in observing her, in measuring his words so that, even unintentionally, they did not hurt her, had been an additional reason for her attachment to Jonah.

As Maria underwent new tests and what she feared began to take shape, she felt a frantic desire to do, to operate, in such a way that something memorable remained of herself, not only in her relationships with Jonah, not only with the intensity of the love she offered him, but above all with a project, painful and magnificent at the same time, to entrust the story of their love to poetry, so that nothing could erase and conquer the stigma of eternity. With Jonah she projected herself into the future, made plans as if her life would last many more years, and, immersing herself in what were dreams to her, but which to Jonah were a concrete plan for the future, she forget the drama. When possible, on the beautiful, warm and clear days of our land, they went to the beach: there was nothing more pleasant than watching the sea, than listening to the sound of waves, than watching the flights of seabirds and their dips on the surface of the water, before suddenly rising towards the sky; than to hear the cry, which is singing and crying, at the same time, which it leaves in the air as a trail of sound. Well, that cry was perhaps that of his soul, and that footprint was that of his heart, pointing a way to heaven, but so uncertain…

These moments she had also fixed in verse, had made words and sounds, images and thoughts, reflective imagination, but, although what the eye sees and the ear hears is clear, she was not able to catch the shadows that the light hides. and in the noise of the waves or in the voice of the birds he saved many, but not to lose, but to fix the necessary secret that makes poetry eternal, because it contains the deep values of being.

The poem was enriched with new pages as the days passed, but Maria felt that her strength was weakening; even the ability to concentrate and formulate thoughts weakened, but, miraculously, she regained all her energy when she devoted herself to writing, when the thought of Jonah and their love occupied her mind.

However, she could not fight for long, and when she realized that the end, although not near, told Jonah that she would like to spend a whole day, or rather a weekend, with him.

Jona had a hospitable cottage a few miles from the city, near the sea, in a pleasant bay sheltered from the winds: there they passed the two happiest and most satisfying days of their lives; there their love reached the heights of expression; there they knew that they were indeed a creature. The next day Maria left the city and was received by a beloved relative in a nearby hill town and, preparing to die, she completed the manuscript of the poem, which she placed in an envelope with a letter from long, which he had written. for Jonah, which he gave to Paola, his dear relative, begging her to give it to him after her death.

Jonah got up early that Sunday. On his way out, he stopped at the bar on the corner of the house for a good coffee; he had exchanged a few words with the bartender and some acquaintances, then he said goodbye and in his car he had started towards the hill where the cemetery stood. Once there, he had bought eleven red roses and the same number of carnations to place on Mary’s tomb, located on the third row of a five-story plot. After climbing the stairs and arranging the flowers, he stood in silent prayer for several minutes, looking at Mary’s beautiful face, motionless in the funeral portrait.

Maria was smiling, and it seemed that that smile was directed at him, that it belonged to a person still alive, with an attitude as if he wanted to speak. Jonah wiped the surface of the portrait with a handkerchief and stroked its face.

After descending the stairs, he stopped and looked up, then slowly took out a neatly folded piece of paper from his pocket, unfolded it and read the beginning of a letter:

“Dear Jonah, my love, I’m sorry if…” 

He headed for the exit of the cemetery, and none of the many visitors noticed the tears streaming down his face, in a tangibly human, corporeal way. An evocative love, fragment and segment of a realized past, with the contours and characteristics of a “mystagogy” that did not exclude the charm of an intimate, felt sensuality and of a passion that, in Maria, initially grew from strangeness and modesty. which she overcame by abandoning herself and overcome by strong love for her lover, amidst silences, sometimes impenetrable and unspeakable, while for Jonah it was woven with trembling impulses of desire, without hesitation, but often restrained, so as to preserve the necessary delicacy.

Their love had blossomed, frightened; shyly, but not casually. And nothing happens by chance: there had to be a reason for a “why” in Jonah, not even deliberately investigated, since love, that truth, does not and cannot have a why, escaping all logic and reason, on the contrary approaching the desires.. , for the phantasies they both knew or imagined, already experienced in a distant past and which had found a secret home in the heart; in that heart that Jonah now knew was also full of love for Mary, who had one day, unexpectedly, opened her doors to him.

He had explored and crossed all the paths that led to love for Mary: sympathy, passion, love, friendship, until he experienced falling in love and mature love, which, perhaps, at a certain age, can be expressed with madness, when it becomes conscious and real, in the enjoyment of peak emotions.

Because that’s what Jonah felt about Mary in terms of emotions: the thrill of the peaks; and not only for its extraordinary and transparent beauty full of poetic wonder, but also for the harmony that was created, alongside the reciprocity of interests and goals.

All this was signified by the flowers which Jonah had brought to Mary, who, with death surrendered to love, or love surrendered to death, extended, in a manner even more eloquent in silence, during the moments of waiting for his presence, the words many unspoken, which Jonah waited patiently and which prompted in a perhaps irritating, but always manly and subtle way, filled with emotional tension. A love lived “in bites”, as Jonah himself said many times to Mary, to whom he once again whispered the desire for a “suspended” kiss, bringing his lips closer to the photo that portrays that enchanting nē. Surprise that passes the years; a kiss, given to the wind of eternity in which they know they will find each other at last, forever. The love of Jonah and Mary still travels in the heart of the spirit of the age, becoming the breath of life.

Maria Teresa Liuzzo

Edited and published by Md. Sadiqur Rahman Rumen.

Editor In chief Pencraft Literary Magazine Bangladesh.