The story of Mr Winningoes - 11

My studies would get a great advantage from this new decisive financial impulse. But why didn't I feel any sorrow for my father’s death? Yet I had loved him, in the cheerful days of the infancy; and he had loved me.

Thinking about the years of my infancy and the coasts of beloved and distant Cornwall, I finished to consume my poor meal, then I returned downstairs.

I immediately noticed that something strange had happened during my brief absence.

In the test-tube the brain of the cat had dried, acquiring a grey and pale color.

I extracted it with the pliers: it seemed a dry sponge without neither weight nor smell. What devil had it happened?

 It was a gust of wind which answered to me.

In that underground where I secretly developed my experiments, I had not left but a small window, that I wanted surfaced to the level of the ground.

It had slightly disclosed, quiet enough to allow the passage of a provident ray of sun which, intruding the optic circuit of the microscope, had poured in with all its mighty energy, dehydrating completely the object of my experiments.

But my light, initial disappointment had soon to be transformed in high exultation, when I closer observed the test-tube that had served like furnace to that unforeseen experiment. On its fund rested some drops of a dense and glimmering liquid! I had a lightning, an intuition that afterwards had to be exactly revealed.

Admirably exact, my friends! I had found the way to extract from the muscle that includes our life, from the brain that contains all the knowledge of a human being,  its own essence. An extract, a summary, that is the same, but free from the physical brain’s encumbrance, from the grey mash that comprises it. Free from the flesh as a soul is free from its body as an idea from his thinker,  as a thought from its action!

11. to be continued...
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The story of Mr Winningoes - 4

The burst of the second world war caught me surprised on this walk of studies and searches.

Bitterly I was forced to consider that human beings pursued their premature end, rather than search for the truth.

But at that time I hadn't yet understood that every human action, even the most iniquitous and bestial, has however its own reason to be done and for me, that war, would have been another fundamental step on the way of comprehension.

When Germany, violating the international agreements formerly undersigned, moved war to England, attacking London, I realized that the right moment had come for me to show that the Parnells loved to fight for freedom, under any flag and against whoever oppressed its exercise. I went to England and enlisted, as a volunteer,  in the Royal Air Force, despite I have to confess you that, after the betrayal of my father, I felt more Irish than English, also considering that in those days, as it is today, Ireland was divided in two parts, with a part still under the British dominion.

4. to be continued...
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The story of Mr Winningoes - 2

He recommended himself to my comprehension, since he had acted for my own goodness, leaving me out, considering also my youth age, from the clamors and from the shame of the scandal that had overwhelmed our honorable name, and he finally, remembered me, that only God can judge men’s operates .That atrocious contradiction induced me to hate also “his” God. If only Him, could judge men’s behaviors, why did he denounce my mother to a Court of men?!? - “

That regrettable question concluded the monologue of our guest, to which we had assisted in religious silence but with long live share.

While evoking his memoirs, that I imagined remote for forgetful time in his mind; above all speaking of his mother, in his voice a veiled tone of emotion had appeared.

And I don't know if I really perceived a mist in his eyes, ‘cause it  lasted only for a bit: after pouring a glass of water and drinking it with avarice, he fleetingly passed a candid napkin on his face, with which he suddenly cancelled any trace of it. Then he stayed immovably, absorbed in his sad memoirs, or perhaps picking up ideas to continue his story. George had followed him for the whole time with the chin supported  by the closed fists on the edge of the table. Without proffering a word he lit a cigarette and soon after pushed the packet to me. With peaceful and indifferent tone, Mr Winningoes took back on his speech.

-“The same day I knew by my teacher that I was the only heir of my mother’s estates, and that since the day of her death, he had been its honest and prudent administrator, as he would show to me in his detailed account.

That man, I had so much hated and blamed, now that his ungrateful charge had come to end, seemed to me good and comprehensive, and his words calmed for a few time my incurable pain. By now, however, I had also to think about my life, and in those places I would never succeeded in shaking off  my sad past. I begged the reverend to continue to administer my goods and I departed, to the discovery of the world.

2. to be continued...
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