#amenabar

Hypatia brushed her dark hair from her eyes. The warm wind blew as if it would never end. She was tired, thirsty and bored. She should not have come to the market with her father, not today. Hypatia was missing revising the maps of Ptolemy's geography. At last her father had brought them from the Library.

The old slave Metellus was sick, but he had managed to bring her the scrolls. When Hypatia saw him coming in the morning she felt ashamed. As now when she saw him. Theon climbed the steep stairs. He walked almost as slowly as the old man next to him. Metelus was coming with him again.

What were the slaves really? Was it fair to give them that deal?" -Hypatia was uncomfortable. The slave was too much old. Hypatia watched the blue, weary eyes of old Metellus.

-Metellus -Yes, Lady. -Take a little of my water, please. The slave dennied. -Please, Metellus

The old man finally did it. He took a little of her water, brought for herself of the great fountain of the same market in her personal canteen.

-Father! Hypatia yelled, approaching him slowly. Metellus took his place after his masters, lowering his head.

-Why did you bring him, father? He´s enough old-whispered Hypatia in his father´s ears.

Theon smiled.

-Are you contemplating the significance of slaves? Hypatia shook her head, taking his father for impossible.

But Theon stopped in silence. -Yes, you're doing it -his smile grew more and more- you feel sorry for Metellus. -So it is-she said -It is good to know that there is some subject on which you reflect besides Ptolemy, my daughter. - You have not taught me to look like that?

-That's right, I did, so I beg you to take a slave for you. That's why we're here, Hypatia.

-But...-Hypatia looked around. She saw the merchants lower the dresses to the slaves to show the buyers their breasts, and to these as if they were statues without feeling anything. Hypatia also saw the men, exposed as if they were horses, with their mouths open, and their backs gleaming.

The slaves were treated like animals.

-I couldn´t -she concluded denning with her head, shaking it like if she would be horrified.

-This is not a map, Hypatia. I understand that disrespectful must seem to you. But you're already old enough to know that there's also stargazing, daughter.

-I know, father, but it's ... inhuman.

-It is what is expected of us, what we need, Hypatia. Tell me how old are you?

She fixed her eyes on him, asking the same question. -I'm old -Not philosophized now, Hypatia -I'm seventeen, father. -And what is expected of you?

-To buy an assistant.

-Then do it. That´s all.

Theon shook her daughter's shoulders under her red dress, and her headdress fell apart.

-Excuse me, daughter- said his father, giving her the bag with the coins. Then he saw the fatigue of Metellus. Even he had a heart.

-I will wait for you at the fountain -All right, father

Hypatia went to the slave station.

A woman was screaming disconsolately. She was a woman from Syria or some nearby province because of her olive skin and her accent. She was overweight and was holding on to a little boy who, without moving except for the pulls of the woman and the foreman, drowned silently under great tears.

- Leave him , witch! You have already been sold-the merchant ordered the foreman to be removed from there.

-No Please! Do not turn me away from my son! Davus, Davus!

The little Davus was silent, crying.

Hypatia watched the scene as if she wanted to dispel the moment in one of her rolls. As if she wanted to write everything she had seen, felt, heard. And then she would read it and reflect on it. Surely it was written in heaven.

Hypatia watched the boy turn around, and cling helplessly to the bars of his wooden cage.

As if it were a dream, she passed by slowly, determined to put an end to the spell that that dramatic scene had hypnotized her.

He felt the boy's big eyes climb up the bars.

-No, gods. Do not look at me, do not look at me- thought Hypatia with terror. She was afraid that if he did it would be too late.

Her heart broke as her coins fell to the floor of her bag when the child looked at her.

Hypatia felt all the pain retained by the boy in his face, in the tremor of his little arms, his small legs.

Hypatia bent down to pick up her coins awkwardly. She felt the interested look of the child on her. It was obvious that her brief clumsiness had distracted him from his pain.

Hypatia went to the cage. -What is your name? -Davus-said the boy looking at the woman with a sweet look. He cleaned his tears slowly. All was so sad, intriguing and disturbing at same time. He seemed an old guy, broken and defeated for live.

He felt how she was scrutinizing him, looking for something he did not recognize. But he knew that she was a good woman. Her long, loose, disheveled black hair was so different from her mother's ... Davus tried to find in her that momentary replacement that every child would have sought, slave or not. Hypatia knew it. But it was late for that.

In addition Davus watched her expression fascinated, lost in the own admiration that the young woman seemed to feel for him.

Davus was silent, crying. Hypatia watched the scene as if she wanted to dispel the moment in one of her rolls. As if he wanted to write everything he had seen, felt, heard. And then I would read it and reflect on it. Surely it was written in heaven.

-How old are you, Davus? -Five- he said-but I'll serve six ..

-He has seven, ma'am- said the merchant-the perfect age to mold him for what your house needs.

-I want an assistant. The person must be obedient, neat and clean -she said- I do not have time to teach anyone, I need someone to obey so alone.

The merchant was an ungainly and unfriendly man. He spat rudely and pushed Davo towards her, until his small face plunged against the bars.

-It's fine, I'll take him! Hypatia said. She paid the merchant, and he let the boy go with the woman.

-Are you ok, boy? -Hypatia touched the boy's shoulder -Davus?

But Davus looked back one last time. Hypatia observed the love of a child for its mother, and its heart to bend. But for some reason Davo was stoic. She bore with only six years what she herself could not bear.

Hypatia would remember that moment every day of her life.

When she got home, she assigned the child a small bed next to her own bed that she improvised on the floor next to Metellus with straw, quilts and a pillow from the slaves.

- Why do you want him to sleep here? Theon looked at the boy, stupefied.

-Because he has lost his mother, father. And he is only six years old.

-I see. He will be your work, Hypatia.

Hypatia then understood the great responsibility. The child's safety would be yours.

-Davus- she said-tell me about your previous owner.

Davus then looked at her, then started talking.

- My mother worked in Sicily for the wife of a Roman legacy, he was my father - said the boy.

- Do you know how to read and write Greek?

-Yes, Lady-said the boy

-Good. Tomorrow we´ll start with my papers about Ptolomy-she said making a gesture to Davus that he knew very well. He helped her take off her sandals.

-You are a talented boy, i can see it-she said, opening the courtains, and going to have her usual meeting with the moon and the stars.

Davus followed her, barefoot like her on the cold marble floor. He look around. Her entire room was reduced to a large bed, the curtains and numerous round and geometric figures. Meters, rules.

The new mistress was a scholar. But also. Why was she so strange?

Davus followed her, not knowing what to do and that was when he saw her. Rolled on the floor, with arms and legs open.

-Come on, Davus-she said The boy approached slowly, looking up.

-You see? Those points that are next to the moon, those of light? -Yes, mistress-said Davus next to her

And then, a question turned on his kid´s mind.

-Is my mother there? -Oh yes, she´s -said Hypatia-and she will be always. All how happens to her, to me, to you is already written in the stars, in the universe.

Davus saw her obsession, the true object of desire that would live inside that young woman all her life. Besides, Hypatia had the sweetest, most kind face Davus had ever seen.

The first thing he remembered about her years later was the kindness with which he treated him that first night in Alexandria.

Davus sat next to the philosopher.

- Your name is Hypatia? -Yes, but you should not pronounce it, boy. You're not here for that-she said-remember your place, Davus. -Yes, mistress.

Hypatia´s voice was the most feminine and beautiful voice that Davus had heard. Hypatia made something as unpleasant as what she had just said to be complacent.

Davus smiled. So slightly that Hypatia did not recognize him.

From then on, the boy's life was easier.

Each day he accompanied his mistress to the great library and held her material in class.

Even when she had to go to class at the house of an unpleasant and lazy child named Orestes, a few years older than Davus, he felt uncomfortable.

He observed the straight and perfect nose of Hypatia lying on the map, showing the places where Aristotle had pointed out the stars, and the other child, Orestes, absorbed in her presence.

As much as Davus. This was terrible for him. With each attention of Hypatia to another kid, deeply inside Davus started to feel a twinge of jealousy She had been like a mother the day she met him, how could she comfort so many if she did not have children? What if the Hypatia would get married and giving birth to more children, would forget him? Would she want more to a spooky husband than to his faithful slave?

Years passed, and Davus began to sleep in the slaves' room. The domus was not his place, but he was next to Hypatia as if he were his shadow. With the confidence that the years gave it was Davus who dried her naked after her bath, who ordered her papers while she slept, who bought her material when she became a teacher, and who went with her to her classes.

The presence of Davus along with Hypatia was known as a kind of shadow in Alexandria. The scholar did nothing without her faithful lapdog according to Orestes. But she felt the devotion of Davus, blindly.

Hypatia did not feel what this devotion had become. In the fire within the heart of the quiet young man, who listened to each of her theories in the classes as if he were deaf to any other sound, and watched her for hours and hours without stopping while she wrote and he pretended to sleep.

Inside Davus the girl had disappeared, to be only the mistress Hypatia.

Outside, the Christians in the parables were the only ones who stole his attention from their mistress. They talked about a good man, who dressed like Hypatia and who taught all kinds of men without discriminating against anyone because of their position. Was Jesus like Hypatia?

For Davus, yes, that's why he saw in her that blinding divinity that gave her beauty, the figure of her body that now that he was sixteen years old seemed like the work of an artist. Something to touch, something to be desired.

Hypatia was his teacher, his mentor, his guide. Without her there was nothing for Davus. For that he would hate Orestes or any man who could have her, take her pretty far, letting Davus without a work, a company, a relative. His friendship with the other slaves, with Master Theon did not matter. Only her.

But there was no place in her except for her objects, her theories that even slept repeated, when Davus escaped to touch it as if it were a relic during the night. For Ptolomy´s ideas.

El día de hoy vi la película española de Alejandro Amenabar, Tesis, me encantó, es un claro ejemplo de que una película no necesita una gran producción, si se tiene un buen guión y buenos actores. 

Amenabar rodó este largometraje que se llevó 6 premios goya con tan sólo 22 años de edad, aunque la creó siendo muy joven, la peli es muy buena, completa, te mantiene en suspenso e intrigado, en cierto punto sospechas de todos los personajes.

La trama de la película: Angela esta haciendo su tesis sobre la violencia en los medios y su profesor de cátedra la ayuda a buscar imágenes violentas en la videoteca de la universidad, pero el profesor muere, a raíz de su muerte Angela investiga junto con su compañero Chema la desaparición de una chica de su misma universidad, todo se sale de sus manos y se ve arrastrada a un mundo de suspenso y peligro.

La historia esta muy bien armada, en cierto punto Chema cuenta el cuento de la princesa y el enano de Oscar Wilde para demostrar los sentimientos que está teniendo, es un gran manejo en el diálogo con la combinación visual, el trabajo que hicieron con el sonido ambiental pone en alerta al espectador en escenas cruciales que nos permiten sentir lo que siente el personaje, por ejemplo hay una escena donde estan atrapados Angela y Chema en un pasillo oscuro, solo tienen encendedores para alumbrar y el sonido va creciendo en agudos lo que a mí me hizo sentir ansiedad, miedo de que algo malo iba a pasar e impotencia, todo lo que la escena describía.

Una cosa que se me hizo muy cool es como se manejó la imagen de las películas dentro de la película, es decir los filmes que hacían con cámaras los personajes, su imagen era en azules y negros con granulados, me gusto like like :)

El estilo de Chema estuvo muy cool, sus lentes like, en una escena se rompen y vemos como son aplastados, entonces la cámar se desenfoca todoa y podemos sentir la impotencia que vive Chema sin sus lentes y que obviamente no puede ver bien y lo vulnerable que es. Pero estaba hablando de vestuario, estilo, la ropa de Angela es holgada y relajada, con colores oscuros, como negro y en ocaciones fuertes como rojo cuando se encuentra en peligro, una escena de ejemplo es cuando esta siendo asechada en la oficina del profesor y azul proyecta que se enfoca en estudiar y terminar la tesis, por el contrario con la novia de Bosco, que no recuerdo su nombre jejeje sorry, que busca la atracción de Bosco su ropa es más pegada y en tonos ocres es opuesta a Angela. En el caso de Chema su ropa es super relajada con playeras que tienen imágenes, una chamarra verde tipo olivo, pienso que ese tono verde es el que nos hace dudar si es bueno o malo, porque puede ser verde de putrefacción o verde de esperanza, es lo que me da vueltas en la cabeza mientras veía la película. Todo diferente a Bosco que utiliza siempre negro, dando la apariencia de chico malo seductor.

¡Hola Rinconeros! Estamos en octubre y ya es costumbre escribir sobre temas de miedo para celebrar las brujas, fantasmas, duendes, elfos y otros espíritus malignos. No me gusta leer libros de miedo, lo que es muy raro porque me encantan las películas de miedo. Los únicos libros de miedo que he leído son la excelente trilogía The Witching Hour de Ann Rice (puedes leer mi reseña en Lasher o la voz…