At the manly voice, different glances were directed at its origin. Discreet and indiscreet, depending on the distance and referrals.
Among the countless men, strong and weak, fat or thin, ironically a young man had stood up whose age could not even be distinguished.
The sun's rays unable to penetrate the leafy branches and leaves, coming from two upright trees, which prevented its passage; producing vast shadow in which ostentatious men took refuge.
Big smiles and feminine hands; Concepts such as "corns" and "deviations" could not exist among such, who maintained white and hydrated skin.
Over the vast fields, polarity breathed. Dirty clothes and new clothes, ailments and sufficiency; but despite this vision, they remained in perpetual balance.
High and humble positions.
But ironically, whoever belonged to the polarity, renounced it and rebelled against it, bringing chaos.
Chaos translated between mocking or indifferent faces, indifferent product of ignorance.
Funny fact, its beginning as well as its ending, finding origin from the same base; silently building the concept of polarity.
"I am only ironic, vast connoisseurs, expounders of virtuous knowledge through ethics and morals." Federick continued his song, null in waves and vibrations.
"Excuse me young man, do you need anything?" Finally asked one of the youngest members of the group.
As he asked, he looked around; uncomfortable about the fact.
"The pleasure is mine... And yes, I need four ethical doctors willing to heal the sick man who cries out." Federick said tactlessly, while looking at the dozens of people who were around him.
Numerous servants, of different names and professions, capable of healing or enjoying meat; innumerable qualities about a few counted heads, who in their possibility were found to be part of the fertile land, but desert was written on the signs that hung.
Scribe product.
Heavy necks, as well as heavy statues; mobile or immobile, vertebrate or invertebrate, with the ability to breathe or vomit.
"Please, young man... Do not make this more complicated than it already is; enough men have already been prepared for this task, qualified and with prestigious names, capable of acting; but at the same root, their ways of operating" . Another of the men commented, who was older than the previous one, but without much difference.
An act that was only being carried out by Federick and the talented young people.
Young people with talent, without experience; young man with talent and experience.
Talent without a cause, experience with a cause.
"Understand, gentlemen: Such inhuman treatment is not possible... You must do something." Federick said, exposing a slightly submissive attitude towards authority.
"Child, do it once and for all... Understand that all our efforts are already falling on the suffering and sick; stop crying, or is it that someone you know is among them?" Another said nonchalantly, reaffirming his position of authority.
"Gentlemen... There isn't even water. Men cry out for it, even if they don't have the strength." Federick gave one last symbolic cry of despair.
"There is someone in charge of this... But if you suffer so much, you go and bring water for the sick; the well is only a modest distance away, towards the northwest." The same man exclaimed with some irritation.
"Well, if that's what the elders of the church decided." Federick said, ending the meeting, leaving the scene with some indifference.
'I suppose imitating others is the path to happiness.' Federick thought sarcastically.
But it was at that moment that he turned his face bitterly; received with indifference, which did not consider innumerable variables.
"Look closely!" He suddenly shouted.
Extreme scream, which was heard across the vast fields.
The attention of different perspectives was directed in his direction; incredulous, humble and ignorant.
The only distinction that made them equal was the hair present on their bodies.
Many bald men thanked their external defense for their anal sphincters.
'Amagatzu, Amagatzu, Amagatzu'.
His steps were directed towards his former comrades.
'"father", dear "father".'
The only trace of distinction was the mark he left on the paths he traveled.
'Today, listen to me "father".'
His face was serious, without hesitation at the sight of countless sick people.
'Allow me the gift, from virtue, of healing without distinction those who suffer from their predisposed misery.'
Rolling up his back, he focused his benevolent face, covered with a loving smile, on an old man with a long, unkempt beard.
Suffering, on the warm grass, suffering silently in its cold reality.
"Listen to me, sick man: You don't need to believe, just be." Federick exclaimed as he crossed to her side.
But his shadow covering who trembled.
"Show your attitude to whoever ails you, if it is not about submission." Federick said addressing a young man who was coughing badly.
"Remember... Desire evil, in order to receive good." Federick finished, with weak hands.
He finished his journey that had only lasted a few minutes, but with fervent results.
They had healed. The breath of life had made an appearance.
But out of innumerable numbers, there were not even a hundred referrals.
Even in the atmosphere, the complaining was audible. There were few who no longer wanted the end, recovering between audible groans.
His shadow had landed, his smile directed, his fingers caressing other people's hair and his fingerprints had touched visible degrading skin.
"Don't say anything, if you want to stay the same." Federick exclaimed, as he serenely collected the buckets among his men, despite his weakness after the strange experience.
In silence he walked, getting lost between steps.
He had healed.
He had confirmed that his father was actually an ancestor.
"Help me..."
Sudden.
A whimper, last audible whimper of despair.
"You're not a stunning blonde." Federick responded stoically.