Marta and Alicia obviously knew each other before coming here. There’s this intimacy that I can’t break. But they seem to be both confortable with me. After a rather varied questioning about my view of life, they seem to relax, and start to get closer one to the other. They look lovely together. I do try to get involved, and I partially manage, althought I feel like I’m destinied to get only the remnants of the banquet. I feel excluded, but still with hope to join them. It’s a funny feeling, that mixes resignation and envy of the intimacy they have. They caress each other. They caress me. There are now three levels in our world: one the one they stand, the second the one I am, the third, far below, the rest of the camp.
The sangria runs out, and we go directly for the wine. Now we are very happy, we live in a bubble that is existing only for us. We sit on a blanket, that I don’t know where it comes from. None of us has a tent. The wine bottle is close to us. We speak about life, what we remember from when we were at the school. The snow, the school trip. That we didn’t do together, but ended up going to the same place. The mountains. The fascination for the palace. Our friends at that time. We ignore the people around us, and they ignore us, and at one point, they melt out, they dissapear, and it’s only us and the fire, that from being shy goes to full thrust, to illuminate us, like wanting to be also a part of it. Like feeling the growing sexual tension.