A Thirst Artist

Born in a small town in Maserata, Italy, since his childhood Renato Cesarini manifested an extremely unseen trait: he had the ability to spend long days without a drop of water, long days that, as the little Renato grew older, became weeks, and finally, past his adolescence, he already knew how to spend months without liquid, at all.

Despite this alarming physiological characteristic, Cesarini ate normally, even abundantly, and his food was usually spiced with whatnots like curry, pepper and mountains of salt, though the complete lack of water didn't affect him in the least.

This formidable anomaly caught the eye of the owner of a circus: "il Circo Caruso Lombardi", who tempted Cesarini with a juicy contract (8 Lire/month) to work as especial attraction in his circus:

Cesarini would become a character, almost a superhero: l'Uomo senza sete (the man without thirst).

They say that in his first public challenge he should spend 90 days without a drop of water in a cage... Cesarini, obviously, accepted, the money was too much to refuse, and by the way, he would build a stellar career in the extremely difficult camp of the dry fasting (still including food though, to make it even harder).

His first professional dry fasting started the day 8 of May of 198... and it became a huge success: 
the circus was visited by a clearly larger amount of families, enthused for this odd phenomenon of the thirst, or the lack of thirst.

Every day and then some roguish kid tempted Cesarini with a cold Coca Cola, or Fanta, perhaps a Gini, introducing a can or small bottle through the bars of the cage

Cesarini, who most of the time was comfortably laid on an improvised bed of straw, not only rejected -with a smile- the precious and fresh drink: he, even, devoured a large amount of salt instead, using a silvery spoon (salt and spoon always were settled ad hoc, over a small table in the cage).

This sort of gentle fanfaronade of Renato Cesarini was warmly appreciated and applauded by the audience, while an assistant took the liquid and canned, or bottled temptation out of the cage, unopened and intact.

As stated above, Cesarini spent most of the day reclined like a Roman god (or sleeping) on a sort of bed of hay or straw, which was periodically renewed for hygienical reasons.
He stayed stolid and indifferent there in the cage, like a tiger, or a black panther, or a sardonic domestic cat, which is more or less the same
a tiger in front of the fervent eyes of the audience, which scrutinized him with astonishment and, even, malice at times.

Uneducated children always existed, their parents are probably uneducated and rude themselves. Stupid people with no empathy or common sense, who never taught their kids how to behave properly in a society:

effectively, every now and again some of these children (boys 95% of times) made fun of Renato Cesarini and his noble profession of entertainer, shouting words of abuse or insult at him, safe and secure in the coward anonymity that the large crowds always provide:

"wooden throat", "freak", "ridiculous", "monster", "dry arse", "tin tongue", "moron", "salt sucker" or simply "sucker" were some of the hurting, unfair and derogatory insults that Renato Cesarini had to hear, sometimes, pretending he didn't hear anything at all, staying always impassive, laid-back and content in his cage of thirst... 
... sadly, some cruel mockery coming from an adult voice was also heard (males 100% of times), though this was rare and exceptional.

And still, sometimes, a little girl -more candid and sweet- stretched her arm with a small bottle of Sprite or Pepsi, inviting Cesarini to drink, with sincere and untempting intention:

Renato Cesarini -who was a clown at heart- accepted the bottle, and pretended to drink with simulated, flamboyant and hyperbolic movements, like a mime or like a belittled giant, or like a huge dwarf, or like a superhero with big chin, or like a silvery cyclop, or like a Sergeant Garcia, or like a Russian robot, or like an orangoutang, or like a Tower of Pisa, or like a Minotaur, though he didn't drink a sip, at all, because the contract and his artistic integrity prohibited it but, at least, the little girl laughed.

Cesarini completed his first challenge cum laude: 
three months without a single drop of water (or any liquid) in his mouth, and he still felt like dry fasting more, though the owner of the circus forced him to cut the fasting right away.

The next challenge, though, would be more ambitious and spectacular: six months without water, and Cesarini accepted with gusto.



Everything happened as planned, though past the third month, some people started getting nervous, especially women started showing hysterical behavior in front of the tenacious dry fasting of Cesarini, mostly those who saw the show for the first time, perhaps because many times Cesarini looked as if he were dead (he was calmly sleeping, of course).

One evening, past the fifth month, and close to the end of the challenge, an indignant man appeared in the big top of the circus, and started walking to the cage of Cesarini, making his way through the crowd rudely, pushing and insulting

once the man was beside the cage, he asked Cesarini why he did what he did

Renato Cesarini was in another world, sleeping like a log

the man asked again, out loud and notoriously angry this time

-"Hey you, why do you do this, who do you think you are?"

The thunderous voice of the angry stranger woke Cesarini up: Renato Cesarini stood up suddenly from his bed of straw, disoriented like someone who is waked by a bombardment

Renato Cesarini looked at the angry man during some congealed and nonsensical seconds:

-"You talkin' to me?"

Cesarini finally answered, with his mouth semi-closed and stupefied stare.


Unexpectedly, something bizarre and inexplicable happened:

with resolute energy the weird stranger walked to the door of the cage -which was open-, entered, and held Cesarini firmly with a hand, extracting an open can of Mirinda, and forcing Renato Cesarini to drink

Cesarini fought and resisted the guy, in genuine wrestling combat... the intruder was very close to make Cesarini drink the infernal beverage by means of brute force

the tip of the can, effectively, rubbed the lips of our hero, but Renato Cesarini could repel the attack in the nick of time, by means of a terrible and precise kick in the balls of the aggressor

the felon fell on the floor of the cage prey of genital pain, when two assistants and two policemen entered, caught him, and carried him shoulder high out of the circus, with the irascible intruder totally out of control, insulting and menacing everybody, as he was taken out by force

considering this impresentable scandal, the perplex families were politely invited to leave the circus, and the show was cancelled for two days, though Cesarini continued dry fasting like a maddened fakir.


Fortunately the rest of the challenge happened in peace, and Renato Cesarini ended his new feat in excellent form:
the owner of "il Circo Caruso Lombardi" would propose Cesarini, then, a superior, an astronomic challenge: 

one year without water.

Renato accepted
in fact he tended to believe that he could stand perfectly without water indefinitely
or during a vague and imprecise amount of time
years maybe? Decades?


Deep inside he wasn't completely sure... many times during the challenges he felt actually thirsty, even very thirsty some times... he could get over it, but... but perhaps, and despite his insanely strange physical traits, he couldn't endure an eternity without water?

A whole life without water?

With these doubts in mind, and after weeks of preparation and -even- psychological training, the brand new and really big challenge started.


The first eight months went by without main problems, with the occasional incident (a man tried to set the cage on fire with gasoline, a millionaire offered 500.000 dollars if Cesarini drank a glass of lemonade):

but just begun the ninth month, Renato Cesarini felt a really unbearable thirst. 
It was the first time in his life he felt unbearable thirst:

Cesarini -whose cage was equipped with a mirror- started noting his skin becoming more and more orange as his body shape was gradually acquiring a... somehow narrower appearance, stick-like 

not exactly thinner, just narrower.


When the last month of his tour de force came, Renato Cesarini looked quite orange skinned, and his appearance was pretty strange:

his shoulders, torso and hips looked rarely squeezed, dare one say, diminished

probably it was due to some unexpected cellular reaction in his -already unusual- physiology: his muscles, organs and bones were, effectively, acquiring a more and more vertically compressed form.



Cesarini ended -with difficulty this time around- his sensational feat
the abnormal and epic exploit was on the newspapers and TV, and he received fantastic offers from diverse medias and countries, though, in that moment, he just wanted to rest and recover, because the effort was considerable:

one only thing was in his mind, deep inside: could he really stay without water endlessly, and never die, just get more and more orange and narrow?

During the months of his repose, drinking liquid normally, his skin regained gradually its natural color, and his body, its natural shape

but still, something obsessed Renato Cesarini
something obsessed him so much that he had constant nightmares



in his noctornal visions, monstrous tongue shaped nymphs teased him with all things sexual and liquid, in mephistophelean combination

woman shaped bottles of mineral water offered Cesarini an unlimited, scary, criminal amount of irresistible and wet wet wet sex, saturated with saliva and vaginal juices exploding in unstoppable orgasmic geysers

massive fuckings with these women bottles under neverending showers that, unavoidably, filled, replenished his stomach with infinite litres of water were beheld by his subconscious during his infernal sleep

an unnaturally erotic universe assaulted him
a world made of easy and wet cunts, butts and boobs that no man in the world could refuse, no one:

Cesarini woke up invariably perturbed, tranced in anguish, sweating, with his mouth flowing with abundant salivary secretion, and his bed sheets and pubes stained, soaked with cum... probably he experienced multiple emissions while sleeping:

the only way to stop this delicious but maddening torture was returning to action
once he felt recovered, Renato considered the phenomenal offers that he received after his last challenge, and chose the biggest of them all: 

he would spend FOUR YEARS without water (or any liquid), recluse in a house, in exclusive contract with the Fox Television, for 1 million dollars/month.

In order to that an exclusive programme would be created: "The Renato Cesarini Show", sort of "Big Brother" of thirst.


The producer and creator of this show was, in fact, an unbalanced psychotic called Pompeyo Audivert, at this stage of the game Cesarini was quite an unhinged loopy, anyway, so he was decided to take the endeavor to the limit.

The show started the 6 of January of 199... in the morning, it was announced with a lot of publicity and hype, and already in the first weeks, surpassed any other show of the Fox in popularity and audience.

One year went by with undiminished interest: "The Renato Cesarini Show" was reporting obese economic profits for the network, by means of the multiple companies which sponsored the event, paying obscene sums per minute... but, on the other hand, the health of Renato Cesarini started decaying again, after the long time without water:

at the 18th month, his skin was notoriously orange and his body looked considerably squeezed

when these details were too evident, the production considered hiding it with make up and loose clothes, but this idea was abandoned when Pompeyo Audivert realized that the audience actually liked to see this insane and progressive transfiguration of Cesarini "live".

When the second year of the show started, the body of Renato Cesarini, especially his shoulders and torso, were reduced and compacted alarmingly, and his skin looked deep-fluo orange, so that that it could be seen in the dark like the jacket of a fireman.


Cesarini knew that this was a point of no return, and he couldn't quit the challenge, notwithstanding he knew that it went too far, but his professional prestige was more important than his thirst and health

how would the posterity remember him?

"Here lies Renato Cesarini, a quitter"

no, no! Listen?

NO

Renato Cesarini wasn't a quitter, he would go on and on, til the very end, hasta las últimas consecuencias, because...

... because only the sons of bitch quit.







Pompeyo Audivert, who, besides sick in the brain was, actually, a colossal son of bitch, he could have forced Renato Cesarini to stop... HE COULD

but he didn't, and Cesarini never would stop on his own, because his ego was too much

an Italian ego, in fact, brusque and intemperant, but hey: he was getting lean and dried

dehydrated, dessicated alive

it was a mutually assisted suicide, but... 

... but the millionaire incomes and the commercial success were too much for Audivert to do something.


One month before the third year of the show would arrive, Renato Cesarini looked like an alien

his skin already turned into intense purple, like the color of the beetroot, as his body was so squeezed, shrunk and constricted, that the size of his hips barely reached the 30 cm.


The show was denounced by diverse associations as a veiled suicide, but nothing could be done because, according to the legislation of the small town where the show was produced (Taps, Texas), impeding or even interrupting a suicide, is illegal.




Finally, five months before the feat was completed, Renato Cesarini, as expected, died

otherwise, dear reader, my Judas Iscariot: 
what did you expect? A saving miracle? Magic? Ho ho.

I never would write anything which may include, or even suggest something supernatural, incoherent, illogical or irrational, NEVER.



Renato Cesarini received a brief and modest funeral paid by the Fox Channel, which was sponsored, ironically, by Schweppes

violet his skin was, violet
dare one say, dark solferino

juiceless, parched his body was, belittled like an orange dildo
like those that the amoral ladies use to fuck their maidservants.


His last words were?
Who knows... "I'm thirsty", probably, or not.

The great men haven't last words, just eternal words.


Maybe Renato Cesarini, in his last second of life, comprehended finally the scope of his resistance, therefore, his whole essence and life?

Did somebody, at least, give him a fresh Teem when he was dying?


Questions, questions.




Despite Cesarini hadn't a family in this world, his body was sent back to Italy

he was buried with honors in his town of Maserata
in front of emotioned audience which attended the exequies, with fanfare and all


instead of coffin, a tube was used
because Renato fitted alright.



In the nights when Mars is cathodic orgy over the decrepit Europe
under this fraudulent diluvium of today
the bread handed goddess waters the inviolable terrain of the tomb
hydraulic maybe: woman, lamia or machine.



*Painting: "Thirst" by Neil Breebart