Even at at this late hour of the day, the many, many people who are still hanging out in the streets and going to their favourite gambling places, watch in amazement as this handsome young monk with long brown hair scream out so many atrocities.
In this place far from everything, where violence prevails over all established laws, gambling is one of the most popular forms of entertainment.
During these evenings when the cards pa.s.s from hand to hand, it is not uncommon for some partic.i.p.ants accused of cheating to lose limbs.
Around the tables specially set up for these frenzied games, each player keeps a sword, an axe, or even a simple, sharp machete close by.
Remembering the tender tongue of his Rhea wrapping around the old piece of expired meat of this ugly b.a.s.t.a.r.d, Dimitry, still angry, kicks in a pile of rubbish.
He's much better looking than that Louis whose patched up clothes make him look like a hillbilly.
He's much younger than that old a.s.s and his s.e.x must be much more vigorous than the soft thing that hangs between that peasant's flabby white legs, so why did his Rhea choose him?
"Hey handsome, would you like to come and have fun with us?"
What was he thinking again? Why a moment ago, was he angry?
In front of the two pretty brunettes dressed in light dresses, Dimitry feels his mouth unwind.
Relaxed by the thin lace dress that allows him to guess the erect nipples of the older of the two pretty girls, he quickly calms down and where everyone could read a deep anger, the most charming smile emerges.
When he was still a lecherous pre-teenager, one of his brothers, who had joined their little community late, had told him about these holy communions where a man mixes his body and mind with two saints women.
He doesn't remember exactly of the entire contents of this highly spiritual conversation, but Dimitry knows one thing.
How many evenings did he caress his s.e.x by dreaming of a threesome? Was it not in dreaming of such communions that he hid in the women's dressing rooms when once a year the nuns honoured the brothers with their divine presence?
Sister Maria, Sister Lydia, how many times did the young man secretly love them?
Moreover, it was with these two holy women that, locked up in his little grey cell, during those long and boring evenings, lying on his hard but more than sufficient bed for a man of G.o.d, the young scholar so often tried to guess what the Promised Land could look like.
"Yeah, I come. I'm too hot to turn down an opportunity like this."
...
Although pure, Dimitry was not unaware that vice is part of every man. Yet he who had always kept away from evil, now follows with his eyes three small green and yellow cups that go from right to left and from left to right so quickly, that he has just lost the one that will make him a rich man.
Surrounded by the two beautiful young women whom he had previously met, the naive young monk, who is merely observing the cups, is more out of breath than the swindler who officiates as a croupier.
"The one on the right, my six silver coins on the one on the right."
Exhilarated by this highly addictive game and encouraged by the two pretty young women who don't miss an opportunity to stick their tempting bodies against his own, the young monk doesn't react much when he sees that these are the last coins he has slowly saved since he was six years old.
The grey-haired man puts his finger on the cup designated by this boy who for him is a hen with golden eggs, and without a word, with a slight pressure, he unveils its contents.
"Still lost young man, but don't be so disappointed because I feel that the luck is about to turn in your favour. You can believe in my predictions. I've been doing this great and glorious job of entertaining crowds for more than 30 years, so if I tell you, you can be sure of it."
When he opens his surprisingly light little leather purse, Dimitry feels his heart crack. How did he end up in that little bar located in the bas.e.m.e.nt of a gun shop again?
So much hard-earned money, spent so stupidly in less than thirty minutes. His brothers would certainly laugh at him if they saw him now. As for his elders... Thinking of them, the young monk, ashamed of himself, closes his eyes.
"You are our Hero. Go ahead, be the bravest and get back all the money stolen by that wicked bandit."
"Yes handsome, the actions of villains people should not go unpunished."
It's so soft, so warm and even slightly damp. Those two pairs of lips on Dimitry's cheeks awaken the brave fighter who lurked since too long in the depths of himself.
With a supple and ample gesture, he directs his valiant right hand to his left and without the slightest hesitation, the one who in the s.p.a.ce of a second is born again as a warrior, reaches his weapon towards the croupier.
The gray-haired man studies the beautiful gold ring. The young monk's small coins actually only half interested him. Although he doesn't spit on these little sc.r.a.p metal piece, his real goal has always been to get this jewel back so that he can resell it at the best price.
The swindler knows from experience how precious this ring is for this kind of person, so without wasting a second, he throws the small piece of cork under the central cup.
These hands are much too fast for Dimitry to grasp the move.
They come and go at such a fast pace that his tired eyes can't help blinking.
The dance of the cups continues and before offering a choice to the young monk, the man with grey hair performs a discreet movement that only he can perceive.
"To you, little one. This time I feel your luck will be good."
In a state of deep trance caused by the extremely rapid movements of the cups and by the two succubae moving their hands along his body, without even taking the time to think about it, Dimitry points to the left cup.
"Get ready to take out your change, old man, for my fortune lies beneath this one."
The man looks at the game board for a moment with some anxiety. As if he doubts himself, he nervously scratches his nose, then, after shaking his head bitterly, he begins to bite his upper lip frantically.
His tired, blue-rimmed eyes slowly move towards a Dimitry whose confident smile encourages his two supporters to applaud him.
Yet when his finger uncovers the designated cup, as a subtle smile slips over his dry lips, he witnesses a spectacle he can never tire of.
Sadness, tears, anguish, ..., what a pleasure it is to contemplate the life of someone who is collapsing.
...
How could this happen? This man seemed almost distraught so he a.s.sumed that...
This ring, a testament to his commitment to the G.o.d of everything... He can't lose it. If he were to part with it willingly now, it would be no different than giving up his destiny.
"My ring... Sir, please, can I have it back?"
The grey-haired man takes a quick look at the two girls. Seeing them smiling at him, nodding their heads towards him and making easily understandable gestures, as if overcome by the naive young man's purity, he tilts his shoulders slightly and sighs theatrical.
"Like depriving a young monk of his ring without giving him a chance to get it back would prevent me from sleeping properly, well, I can only bow. However, the stakes to recuperate such a jewel will be very high and I doubt that a poor boy like you can satisfy the wager that has to be engaged."
The young fool should have quietly stayed to pray in his abbey. Nice little fellows like him have no place in a town like Vinos.
In all the years he's been trapping these pigeons, the pleasure he derives from the misfortune of others is still as enjoyable as ever.
"Listen to me, little monk. I am aware that you don't have the necessary money, however, something tells me that a beautiful woman often stands not far from you. Bet with me the property deed of that woman and then, who knows, tonight you could go to bed without being ashamed to pray."
