A fox in the desert

By Luigi Savagnone

Normally at age 25, a man has any prospect for the future. The protagonist of this story no. He is brutalized by the life he leads and everything seems futile, unnecessary and unhealthy. Receives an unexpected communication recruitment in the bank; reluctant, knowing his character, he starts to work, because even aware that a job in the bank is coveted by many of his peers. Can resist only a few days; gets sick and he takes a vacation in the near Sahara Desert. There, a series of tragicomic adventures reduce him dying. He returned to work battered, he resists this time only one day ...  

• Language: English
• Publisher: Luigi Savagnone
• Release date: Apr 15, 2014
• ISBN: 9781519981936

Luigi Savagnone

Luigi Savagnone è uno scrittore indipendente. Scrive romanzi d’amore e di fantasia adatti ad un pubblico di tutte le età. In questi romanzi avvincenti e di facile lettura, sono tuttavia inseriti dei contenuti culturali e scientifici.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Prologue

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     When I was little, old people of my country me constantly told that everyone, sooner or later, reach their ideal status and are able to live happy, or at least with equanimity, the rest of life before death will overtake. It is with this knowledge and certainty, for the fact that I have always considered wise and infallible, the older me have educated that I have lived my youth, but ... up to now, as I, for my part, I could not to accomplish and achieve anything ....... !!

     I'm twenty-five years, so mid-twenties, and I think that more than a quarter of a century I have lived. The whole world around me I got bored. It seems almost a giant leech sucking every day all that is good in me: my youth, my thoughtlessness, my love. I see it all gray and dreary, entirely mechanical. Each step in the road seems like a rite, a rite usual too. Where did, I think, that inspiration that makes us unlike the beasts: where's the taste of knowledge that has elevated the status of barbarians in which our ancestors lived in caves. Everything seems static, automatic, remote controlled. Where is the friendship that has allowed us to come together in the city? Where is the love, so sacred two thousand years ago, and now so profane, that gave us an interest in survival? The big factories on the horizon, and blacks chimneys spewing poisons into the atmosphere. That made us the nature to repay with such money? The coasts are now polluted by harmful debris smelly that we produce. That made us, that sea so benign, that cleanses us from our fetid sweat every summer, to be repaid in this way? Often I get close to people to listen to their speeches: all logical and seemingly ideal, but looking up and crossing it with them, I realize the treachery that release those eyes. Then I look at myself and think. Why this stupid meat needs of food and liquids if he expels them all! So it is unnecessary to give it if he does not bear good fruit! But the survival instinct overrides any logic. We all seem as automata, animals lacking any imagination and intelligence! And the women then, to me alone and abandoned, like I am, they seem to me UFO ... so much I am unable for seek one girl! And, as a consequence of my state of mind, every time a girl smiles at me with kindness, I am convinced that in reality hides a monster ready to devour me! I need sex, sex without limits! But then I do not want to get trapped! I know that in Haiti invoke Erzulia, the ancient Egyptians and then the Romans also invoked Isis, the goddess of sex!

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     I went very often to prostitutes, available only women to want to make love with me, and I was humiliated, hoping in bottom of my heart, that they were hiding a goddess, who finally grant me her graces, though, for a fee, and I did not dare ask them anything else, that the permission to lick their feet, although some of them wanted a tariff supplement for grant me the opportunity even to smell them, as they were smelly, and when they allowed me to lick their vagina, it was only to use my tongue to wipe off the sperm left by previous clients. I remember going to some ground floor studios, marked by a red light in the bell outside the front door. I entered and sat down in a dirty couch, where I often found some men who, like me, were waiting for their turn to fuck with the whore. I tried to hide my embarrassed face, but I still managed to wait patiently for my turn. When the bitch had finished with the previous client, she appeared, almost always bare-breasted, in the living room, where I and the other visitors waited patiently. Then, if she was too ugly, someone would go away, but whoever was contented would come with her into the bedroom, if it was his turn, of course. As soon as I undressed, after having washed my private parts of my body, she put the timer at 10 minutes, the maximum time within which I had to enjoy the orgasm; if I could not, she would give me the opportunity, or to continue doubling her rate, or dress and leave. For example I escaped once, and it is a memory that I will never be able to erase from my memory when, bothered by a drunken customer, she scarred him with a revolving kick using his stiletto heel as a blade.

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      For these and other reasons that I am not here to enumerate, I have depleted all my hard-earned cash and I bought an old fishing shack located on a small pier near my house. I bought it for two hundred thousand lire, and I must say that I'm quite happy that I did this thing. To tell the truth, I only paid a little 'peace of mind, because the building is not worth even a quarter of that money: it is rectangular, six meters by two, all wood, rotten because corroded by salt, soiled by mold, because abandoned to itself for some time. I have not touched or clean anything, I like the smell of ancient! I only brought a small table, a gas lamp, a small stove and a sofa for my meditations. 

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     There, then, I spent most of my time studying a book that has given me a fisherman. I