Velut Luna
Sibilla Cumana
The events described actually happened two weeks ago.
The characters belong to the real world.
The names have been changed except my.
Only the nightmare is a dramatization of probable facts.
This nightmare will never leave me, it keeps coming back like a ghost, haunting my spirit even now, on this fresh spring day, in this land so far away from where I was born, as I walk along this path by the fence of the old farmhouse between the wildflower meadows, and immerse myself in the fragrance of sweet smelling bushes, and even when I get up in the night and watch the moon come out from behind the dark curtain over the tips of the cypresses.
I ran, I ran in agony, until my heart was about to break, until my breath broke in my throat, then I fell against the fence. They came to get me, carry me away, so exhausted I could not stand. They… they beat me with gnarled sticks and almost broke my poor bones, and drove me into the cold prison, without food or water, in that small space where I could not even lie down.
My limbs were num because of the impossibility of managing even the slightest movement, along with the night chill that nearly froze the blood in my veins. Then someone took pity, a dry crust, a stinking mess of green waste, some bones already gnawed with another’s teeth. I looked at the outside world from behind the rusty bars of the grating that closed off the narrow passage, alone, waiting for any event to come and break my lonely despair. Hunger was devouring me from within, I was screaming like a beast as I suffered, feeling my body growing weaker, feeling my life flowing away. Maybe I could catch just one of those little mice as, towards morning, they crept back to their den after a night in search of food and adventures. But no, not even the one time when one of them, attracted by some scent, had come to a point where I could catch him, no, a weasel grabbed him first, stealing my meagre reward for the long wait. I waited only for death.
Then one day that burly man came along, the one with reddish hair and a strong voice, and took me away, trembling with fear. Only his holding me with his rough, heavy hands, calmed me a little. He fed me, I recovered my strength a little, but still I was locked, in another prison, chained up to prevent escape.
They took me out one day with a collar around my throat, they told me to keep my head up, to pose myself for photographs so that they could see the whole of my body. Then it was time to leave for an unknown destination, loaded on this wagon, inside a cage worse than the one I had lived in before. The acrid smell of urine made me realize that there were other souls imprisoned with me. The rhythmic noise of the railway penetrated my mind like a knife, like an instrument of torture.
A strange, furious barking of dogs, I stiffen, quivering.
I move to join in the race. I stand. The hunting dogs go on barking. A shot, a signal. Two steps more, two more shots in sequence, I run faster down the path, beyond the wild cherry bush in bloom, among the grasses of the flowery meadow, through the clods of a ploughed field. With a I jump over a ditch, beyond the bushes of a hedge, down into the woods.
The hounds are approaching, sniffing around excited, the male sees me, he’s getting close…
Here it is! Stupid weasel, who did you think you were fooling? Just those wimps of hounds who can’t do anything but smell? With a leap, I clamp my jaws behind the head of the thief, a tug, and the neck-bone’s broken like a dry branch, the body sags.
I must hurry, before those hounds reach me. I run quick and lightly along the gravel path with my prey ...
You’re there, my sweet angel with your black hair, my lovely Luna, supple and elegant as I am!
I approach her, trotting, with my trophy in my jaws, with my head held high, my ears up, exulting in triumph. The hounds are running towards me, they’re snapping at the poor dangling body of the weasel, but not trying to rip it away from me, it’s just they want to join the party, as if they’d won it too!
Swaying, twisting, I open my jaws and lay my trophy at her feet, panting fast. She leans down, strokes my muscular body, my chest, to calm me. Her leg comes near me, I press against her, rubbing on the fabric, my long neck bows.
'Stella! Stella! Love!'Stella, you're back! But what have you ...?
Oh, Stella that’s so good!'
A sound of heavy footsteps on the gravel path makes me look back, two dim shapes in the shadows of the trees are advancing towards me, two men, one’s carrying a stick in his hand and a sack, the other’s wielding a rifle. Fuck! What are they going to do?
The hounds stop competing for the meagre spoils, they turn towards the approaching men, sniffing and looking excited. The men look at me amazed.
'Lapo, look at the dog ...'
'She caught it! Cino, she got it! '
'What?...'
'The weasel!'
'Cazz ...'
These two don’t seem threatening.
'Is that a dog?'
’Blimey, I've never seen a dog like that! What kind of dog is it? '
'A greyhound... come here love, so I can clean you up a bit, you’re all bedraggled, you’ve got blood on your mouth.. '
'A what?'
'A Veltro, a Greyhound.'
' AVeltro? But aren’t Veltros extinct? Are Veltros dogs? '
'Racing levriere (greyhounds).'
'You breed racing levrieri (greyhounds)? But isn’t it illegal?'
'Why should it be? But I don’t breed dogs, I adopted her.’
'Now they adopt dogs too!'
'I lost my dog, we heard shots and she flew off... she vanished! I was stupid, they’d warned me not to let her free too soon, she’s not yet accustomed to obeying, to stopping and coming back to me – she wasn’t trained as a hunting dog.
'Don’t worry miss, dogs don’t lose themselves...'
'Yup! But now you tell me why you’re going around armed like big game hunters, are there wild boar about?'
'Wild boars there are, but we were looking for a large weasel ...'
'But don’t weasels only run at night?'
'This is the devil himself, he runs by day. He realised that at night we shut the animals in the sheds and set the high voltage fences. So he waited for the morning when we release the animals ... then he’d turn up, kill four or five animals, sometimes take them away. The dogs didn’t deter him, and the high voltage fence, you know, you can’t keep it on all day, some accident might happen ... '
'Well, it’s the end of the little devil now, we’ll put it here in the bag and then ...'
'Did you see, Bosso? And you ... you got fooled by that bitch...'
The poor hound lowers his muzzle, he seems contrite, a hunter humbled...
'But ... but I know you from somewhere... yes, on ... You are ..?'
'Yes I am - and I'm the grand-daughter of the ...'
‘Well, it’s good to meet you, Miss!’
‘You’re the young lady who lives at The Cypresses! You know, our father bought the farm from your grandmother when they made the new ring road?'
'Yes I know, I came out here to see the new building you’ve done.'
'Father had a stake in a sharecropping farm, but development has reduced the arable land around here so much, he couldn’t make it pay…'
‘But breeding is good business. You know we have a biodynamic farm breeding rabbits and chickens? We breed them to graze freely in pens, without artificial feed….'
'But how is your grandmother? Doesn’t she live here anymore?'
'She’s well - apart from the fact that she’s as thin as a kipper, I’d say she was an oak tree. She lives now in ... , by the sea.'
'Oh yeah! Your grandmother has houses everywhere!'
'But we don’t often see you?'
'I live and work in the city.'
'Work? Ah yes, on ... '
'Miss, come to our house, we must drink something! Our meat’s delicious ... you can have a rabbit ... a chicken, one of our best... a dozen eggs ... '
'Thank you, you’re very kind, but please don’t trouble – it’s been a pleasure meeting you!'
'If you come around again, do call in on us, miss, we’ll welcome you with a glass of Chianti, a good one!'
Stella: a greyhound, rescued as a 'failed' racing dog.
Marten: a weasel.
Luna: Luna , myself.
Bosso: a beagle hound.
Lapo and Cino: two brothers, breeders of chickens and rabbits.
As always I have to thank Eulalia for the help and accurate translation in English
The characters belong to the real world.
The names have been changed except my.
Only the nightmare is a dramatization of probable facts.
Stella
This nightmare will never leave me, it keeps coming back like a ghost, haunting my spirit even now, on this fresh spring day, in this land so far away from where I was born, as I walk along this path by the fence of the old farmhouse between the wildflower meadows, and immerse myself in the fragrance of sweet smelling bushes, and even when I get up in the night and watch the moon come out from behind the dark curtain over the tips of the cypresses.
I ran, I ran in agony, until my heart was about to break, until my breath broke in my throat, then I fell against the fence. They came to get me, carry me away, so exhausted I could not stand. They… they beat me with gnarled sticks and almost broke my poor bones, and drove me into the cold prison, without food or water, in that small space where I could not even lie down.
My limbs were num because of the impossibility of managing even the slightest movement, along with the night chill that nearly froze the blood in my veins. Then someone took pity, a dry crust, a stinking mess of green waste, some bones already gnawed with another’s teeth. I looked at the outside world from behind the rusty bars of the grating that closed off the narrow passage, alone, waiting for any event to come and break my lonely despair. Hunger was devouring me from within, I was screaming like a beast as I suffered, feeling my body growing weaker, feeling my life flowing away. Maybe I could catch just one of those little mice as, towards morning, they crept back to their den after a night in search of food and adventures. But no, not even the one time when one of them, attracted by some scent, had come to a point where I could catch him, no, a weasel grabbed him first, stealing my meagre reward for the long wait. I waited only for death.
Then one day that burly man came along, the one with reddish hair and a strong voice, and took me away, trembling with fear. Only his holding me with his rough, heavy hands, calmed me a little. He fed me, I recovered my strength a little, but still I was locked, in another prison, chained up to prevent escape.
They took me out one day with a collar around my throat, they told me to keep my head up, to pose myself for photographs so that they could see the whole of my body. Then it was time to leave for an unknown destination, loaded on this wagon, inside a cage worse than the one I had lived in before. The acrid smell of urine made me realize that there were other souls imprisoned with me. The rhythmic noise of the railway penetrated my mind like a knife, like an instrument of torture.
A strange, furious barking of dogs, I stiffen, quivering.
I move to join in the race. I stand. The hunting dogs go on barking. A shot, a signal. Two steps more, two more shots in sequence, I run faster down the path, beyond the wild cherry bush in bloom, among the grasses of the flowery meadow, through the clods of a ploughed field. With a I jump over a ditch, beyond the bushes of a hedge, down into the woods.
The hounds are approaching, sniffing around excited, the male sees me, he’s getting close…
Here it is! Stupid weasel, who did you think you were fooling? Just those wimps of hounds who can’t do anything but smell? With a leap, I clamp my jaws behind the head of the thief, a tug, and the neck-bone’s broken like a dry branch, the body sags.
I must hurry, before those hounds reach me. I run quick and lightly along the gravel path with my prey ...
You’re there, my sweet angel with your black hair, my lovely Luna, supple and elegant as I am!
I approach her, trotting, with my trophy in my jaws, with my head held high, my ears up, exulting in triumph. The hounds are running towards me, they’re snapping at the poor dangling body of the weasel, but not trying to rip it away from me, it’s just they want to join the party, as if they’d won it too!
Swaying, twisting, I open my jaws and lay my trophy at her feet, panting fast. She leans down, strokes my muscular body, my chest, to calm me. Her leg comes near me, I press against her, rubbing on the fabric, my long neck bows.
'Stella! Stella! Love!'Stella, you're back! But what have you ...?
Oh, Stella that’s so good!'
A sound of heavy footsteps on the gravel path makes me look back, two dim shapes in the shadows of the trees are advancing towards me, two men, one’s carrying a stick in his hand and a sack, the other’s wielding a rifle. Fuck! What are they going to do?
The hounds stop competing for the meagre spoils, they turn towards the approaching men, sniffing and looking excited. The men look at me amazed.
'Lapo, look at the dog ...'
'She caught it! Cino, she got it! '
'What?...'
'The weasel!'
'Cazz ...'
These two don’t seem threatening.
'Is that a dog?'
’Blimey, I've never seen a dog like that! What kind of dog is it? '
'A greyhound... come here love, so I can clean you up a bit, you’re all bedraggled, you’ve got blood on your mouth.. '
'A what?'
'A Veltro, a Greyhound.'
' AVeltro? But aren’t Veltros extinct? Are Veltros dogs? '
'Racing levriere (greyhounds).'
'You breed racing levrieri (greyhounds)? But isn’t it illegal?'
'Why should it be? But I don’t breed dogs, I adopted her.’
'Now they adopt dogs too!'
'I lost my dog, we heard shots and she flew off... she vanished! I was stupid, they’d warned me not to let her free too soon, she’s not yet accustomed to obeying, to stopping and coming back to me – she wasn’t trained as a hunting dog.
'Don’t worry miss, dogs don’t lose themselves...'
'Yup! But now you tell me why you’re going around armed like big game hunters, are there wild boar about?'
'Wild boars there are, but we were looking for a large weasel ...'
'But don’t weasels only run at night?'
'This is the devil himself, he runs by day. He realised that at night we shut the animals in the sheds and set the high voltage fences. So he waited for the morning when we release the animals ... then he’d turn up, kill four or five animals, sometimes take them away. The dogs didn’t deter him, and the high voltage fence, you know, you can’t keep it on all day, some accident might happen ... '
'Well, it’s the end of the little devil now, we’ll put it here in the bag and then ...'
'Did you see, Bosso? And you ... you got fooled by that bitch...'
The poor hound lowers his muzzle, he seems contrite, a hunter humbled...
'But ... but I know you from somewhere... yes, on ... You are ..?'
'Yes I am - and I'm the grand-daughter of the ...'
‘Well, it’s good to meet you, Miss!’
‘You’re the young lady who lives at The Cypresses! You know, our father bought the farm from your grandmother when they made the new ring road?'
'Yes I know, I came out here to see the new building you’ve done.'
'Father had a stake in a sharecropping farm, but development has reduced the arable land around here so much, he couldn’t make it pay…'
‘But breeding is good business. You know we have a biodynamic farm breeding rabbits and chickens? We breed them to graze freely in pens, without artificial feed….'
'But how is your grandmother? Doesn’t she live here anymore?'
'She’s well - apart from the fact that she’s as thin as a kipper, I’d say she was an oak tree. She lives now in ... , by the sea.'
'Oh yeah! Your grandmother has houses everywhere!'
'But we don’t often see you?'
'I live and work in the city.'
'Work? Ah yes, on ... '
'Miss, come to our house, we must drink something! Our meat’s delicious ... you can have a rabbit ... a chicken, one of our best... a dozen eggs ... '
'Thank you, you’re very kind, but please don’t trouble – it’s been a pleasure meeting you!'
'If you come around again, do call in on us, miss, we’ll welcome you with a glass of Chianti, a good one!'
Stella: a greyhound, rescued as a 'failed' racing dog.
Marten: a weasel.
Luna: Luna , myself.
Bosso: a beagle hound.
Lapo and Cino: two brothers, breeders of chickens and rabbits.
As always I have to thank Eulalia for the help and accurate translation in English
, a greyhound.
