Miserable as I was I realized all her spell after I felt in love with her. Then I saw the things that others did not see and I was feeling the force that held her and was blazing from her inside. With Tita “I lived” for a month. In fact “I lived” is a matter of saying. The reality is bitterer. Her flat was decorated by a studied guy in the erotic psychology matters, in the greatness of the colors effect on the psychic. The flat was painted with funky colors: purple, ultramarine, cherry, and other keys alike …
You, the chosen one … were left in the living room, in an arm chair. Maybe that room was soundless, but you had the feeling that “it gets on your nerves”. While you were smoking a cigarette a discrepant atmosphere would wrap up your being, also helped by the light given by luster that with its electron beam lights was tearing all the room into striations. If you weren’t able to hear any other noises you simply had the feeling you were being wedged in the chair …
The sounds that came from Tita, her quality voice seemed to allow you a dispensation from that armchair and it gave you a sort of a release in which you were allowed to be yourself. In that moment and space that she had given, you became from a man fasten on an armchair, a controlled man, as an authentic puppet. Through this “alley” that her voice “would open” for you or not … And then, in those moments, you could be with her, worn, enthralled and used by her…
There were nights when the invitation was for one night, but there were many nights when … you were forgotten in your armchair.
While I was with her I felt dragged into the most humiliating circumstances, that would offend any person … mostly a man … and lady’s man, how I considered myself to be.
To all there humiliations was added the fact that I was almost being hit by a car, of which driver was in love with Tita and he heard “that I was being her lover”.
When she was going out with me for a walk I was feeling as a walking stick… her walking stick …I couldn’t bear anymore, I had to run. Now I see that after so many years …her shadows carry me back on these lands, again.
– You told me you loved her, but I see that you still love her.
– You are right. She is the curse of my life. After I’ve been with her I couldn’t understand myself with any other woman.

I could not get married. Anywhere I see an unknown woman her face appears, her body, her look. The look that was unknown to everyone. Nobody knew her and most of all; nobody knew how far she was able to see, and what she was seeing. Then my heart became weak … By the way, can I take some water, to take some medicine?
– Of course. Go ahead in the kitchen.
Viky entered the kitchen where a woman with the back at the door was standing.
– Can I have a glass of water!
– In a moment. Takes a glass and fills it with water, and Tita (because it was she) gives the glass to Viky … When Viky sees her he “gets the wind up” …he fells down. Tita throws the water at him, she opens his neckband …
– Unbelievable! Sir, he could have died! You were talking about love and he was getting close to death. Listen, Mister Buia, forgive me if I am wrong, the teacher was teasing him, but earlier we were talking about working men, about their way of being and about their rooting out. It seemed to me that you don’t really like them, or am I wrong?!
– Hmm … I have learned something else too. In fact, even in that boy’s event, that was going at work in that rainy day is given this advice: if you cannot finish something you are given or a word, its better you don’t start it! We were talking about working men and we moved on to other stories, so let’s continue.
No, I don’t hate working men, not only because I myself have over 20 years worked at the baths, so being a part of them, you still must have noticed something that I hate. That something is the false life of the working men.
For example, I think of a working man that has claustrophobia. He goes to work in his workshop, factory, mine. So, in barred places, vicious atmosphere … He is coming home – apartment house – again a barred place, phonic pollution and all kinds … Even if he “goes out” at a restaurant, movie, theatre, still in barred and man-made places they are.
Nowadays, my gentleman, this human kind, people, that had the biggest thirst for freedom from all the world species, managed to live only in barred places, degenerating that beauty and great dream of freedom. Let’s say that if he travels, he’s still going in a train „cabin”, car or airplane.

You may say that what I just told you is of no interest. Maybe, but I see in a working man an educated man, to only answer to orders. I don’t know if the expression of controlled man is correct, but for many times you cannot make the difference between a robot and a working man: the alarm rings (first command) after which the sound of the siren for entering to work, then the other siren for breaking work (eating time), the siren calls, he gets back to work, the siren again, and he can get back home.
At the restaurant a romance was playing, you could eat, sing disco, dance. When the night news ended he goes to sleep, the alarm clock in the morning …
Maybe it’s not how I see it, their life, they might have got used to it and this ethics seems to be a modern man behavior! But these words don’t worm me up. Let’s take a man from the city and take him to the village, were no knowledge is being asked for a single handicraft, the same he was taught at the craft school from the city, nor it is asked to know thousands of handicrafts. Wouldn’t he die from starvation?
Does he still know those ancestral occupations of our grandparents through which he can built a home, a farm, what does he have to do with a cow that has eaten clover, so it won’t die, what does he do with a pig that doesn’t want to eat? Does he know how to treat affection with what he has in his house?
You see, under the quotation that I have lightened him, I have the feeling that in fact he has fallen into decay from the ancestral activities of man! Of course that some of them do these things better or worse. That every man has his capacities, but there were know and there were being done. On the same time the fact that are few left from those who still knew how to read a calendar, terrifies me. For many people the calendar is a sequence of numbers, an accumulation of days. Few are those who know that a calendar, and I refer at the orthodox calendar, means the history of ancestry, the time as a date and as a form of ethically and spiritually manifestation of a Christian’s life.
These seem to be just some palliative enumerations, but any interpreted calendar can a remarkable accumulation of knowledge for each one and that are a dispose to all of us.
Well, my gentleman, a working man is not aware of these things, further more with a few days ago or years, on this road these wagons with working men were not passing, but some carcasses with canvas and I will explain to you how this working men carriage was being done in those times: