The astral body of the indian
Act III of an erotic tale of adolescence.

"Men is a fallen God"
"Who remember Heaven,"
anonimous opinion

"Women is a witch in glory"
"Who comes from Hell."
corollary opinion

Her face is drawn with strange geometrical tattoos starting near the eyes, spreading out on both sides of the wings of her aquiline nose, extending farther in wider and imprecise lines up to her chin. Her hair is minutely worked in two long plaits of a black ink color, mixed with multicolored cords, extending up to the level of her hips, touching, in the passage, her small young bosoms delicately underlined by an earth make-up in ochre color. Her forehead is encircled by intriguing drawings of tutelary animals and surmounted by multicoloured eagles' feathers. She wears at her neck, her ankles, her wrists, over her elbow and up to her armpits, string of pearls, shells, scintillating glass jewellery, feathers of sparrow hawks, bones of birds and wampum's. My body rests sprawled out on the decorated body of the Indian young women. Her small stiff bosoms lean with boldness on my chest, I could feel them through the thick tissue of my battledress. The bottoms of my womb titillate from the contact of a tiny shield of tanned skin, decorated with tightly braided pearls and connected to the waist of my fatal guest: fragile armour hardly protecting the secret refuge of her vulva. Strange spectre, woman from another time, immovable, graceful, dressed and decorated as for a mysterious ritual of initiation. I remain there, sluggish and as a hallucinated necrophorous, I am suddenly invested with an indescribable appetite.

Invective and attacks from the invisible ghosts are more and more oppressive all around me. Then, the eyes of the young squaw opens slowly and livens up, her body stirs slowly under my body, doubtlessly, too heavy to carry. She looks at me through my eyes, with her dark and piercing eyes and which expresses no surprise in front of this Pale face and to see me so close, resting on her fragile body. Then she speaks to me, she speaks to me with a sweet voice, unknown words, sentences in an incomprehensible dialect but that appeases me.

I could feel all her body overlapping my body. She tied me of an almost loving embrace. I suddenly feel lighter; my hard linen clothes, my battledress, my steel helmet, my weapons fainted mysteriously onto the ground. I am light, so light that I feel I could fly as if my astral body escaped from my carnal body. I feel, in a carnal way, the warm contact of her flesh soaking into my flesh. Our two bodies, attached one to the other, move about and rise slowly above the ground while the alarming tumult intensifies itself all around us.

Our slow ascent is accompanied by the more pronounced agitation of the mysterious ghosts, the worrying whistling of arrows on both sides of our strange crew; arrows, lances that hardly avoid us and that come dying slowly to the level of our embraced bodies, before coming down again towards the ground, exhausted.

(attention: large animated image)