The black of the night sky turns to blue, then to cobalt. It is 5.10 am and the world around us is enriched with details. I distinguish the abandoned plow under the oak which a short time ago was only a great shadow; I see the vineyard up there on the right. The magical dimple between the field and the knoll where elves usually like to appear…. "There's a roe?!”Vincenzo's whispered sentence is halfway between affirmation and question. With binoculars you can guess its presence. From the optics my eye confirms. And it is he too! The contemplative calm of a few minutes earlier is already a distant memory. That roe deer over there makes my heart leap!
Spend a few minutes with your eye in theoctave, I zoomed in to 16 to study the stage. I have no doubt this is my boss. His step is majestic, his chest broad, he tears the grass with voracity, one after the other, convulsive mouthfuls. He seems to be hungry. Or haste. "He's your boss, what are you doing? Shooting?”Vincenzo asks me, after not a short time in which I have been looking at the roe deer in the optics. Of course I shoot! The problem is to stop the breath, the heart and the legs, everything is shaking! The red dot of the optics, turned on to the minimum, traces the trails of red light while aiming at the roe deer. Vincenzo watches me out of the corner of my eye while I am in shooting position, the binoculars fixed on the roe deer ready to interpret the reaction to the shot. I feel his sometimes worried look on the back of my neck. I've been in position for more than 2 minutes, but I can't find the right calm. For a moment I wish that it was all over, that the blow was gone and how it goes, it goes! But it lasts a moment, I come back to me. Hands off the rifle, a sigh, all the air out. I turn for a second to look for Vincenzo's gaze, who knows me and knows perfectly well what I feel. He smiles at me, I have some sort of facial paresis and I can't reciprocate.
Here it is. Again in range. The slender and strong body of my handsome male is like a postcard and has a faint red dot just above and just behind the front leg. He's slowed down his bite rate, chews longer now, but he won't stay there much longer. Armo la Blaser. I put the viewfinder back on the right spot. The index finger caresses the trigger, brushing it with the joint between the first two phalanges. My breath wants to come back panting, but I control it with an effort of will. "Why am I killing you?”A voice inside my head makes my stomach squeeze. "You are not mine, yet I take your life". When the "hunters" claim the right to call the hunters grim assassins they have no idea what they are feeling right now. A life is there in front of you and you, by touching the trigger, appropriate it. A sense of inadequacy and bewilderment assails you. "Who am I to do this?" But then the reason fortunately restarts, after the initial emotion. The love and passion for nature and its balance passes (also) through the collection and management of the species. To love a species it is sometimes necessary to kill some specimens. Between my finger and the roe's waist there is a small lead ball that flies away, at the speed of light, spat out by the thunderous roar of the R8. Fortunately, the ball does not follow the course of my thoughts, but the right trajectory that the support, the rifle and the skill give it.
"It disappeared as if sucked from the earth!”Vincenzo's first comment. Not even rearming. "You hit it very well, good! But how come you didn't make up your mind to shoot? He was well placed. I didn't know where to look, I was ready to plug my ears for several minutes!".
I do not answer. I sit next to him, a tear falls down my cheek. I don't have to explain anything to him. Basically what I feel is what all the (real) feel hunters: a finger on the trigger can take a life, and this is a great responsibility. The meaning of life also passes through death, and also in this fundamental teaching Nature is our great teacher!
@Photo by Vincenzo Frascino