Congratulations Marriage Japaense

Sogno n°4

"This is my house!" My father yells at my mother standing in the bedroom.

not have found that listening to them I'm terrified behind squares of frosted glass door.

"But you're dead or alive?" I ask the voice of innocence bursting into the room with the blue pajamas when I was a child.

Dad does not answer. Mutes and disappears where it came from: nowhere.

I find myself in the midst of a patch of clay, like that of our villa di Procida, before dad sow the grass and planted the garden. There are only two orange trees that he planted at our birth and bearing our names. A tall and thin, the other shorter and foliage. Between the two trunks is tied a sage-colored shawl, like a fishing net stretched in the sun to dry. Or as a great catcher. On an old canvas chairs with flowers sits a decrepit old woman with a tennis racket in his hand by way 'of beaters. As soon as I saw it up with surprising agility and a voice that tells me the creeps: "Do you remember me?".

She stares at me with his one good eye from which emerges a beam of green light as the laser of a disco. While repeating the question he pulls out a tennis ball and starts to dribble with his racket to the ground, raising clouds of dust. I would just run away but the ball bounces on the ground to rest petrified as a ruse. The only escape route is closed by a net shawl. I have to deal with it. If you pronounce the name of the witch, but I know that I break the spell of my mouth wide open in terror does not leave a single sound. Scream with all the strength in my body and I wake with a start shouting out loud the name of a woman who does not know or do not remember ever known.