20 Every cloud has a silver lining

What's my place? (il mio posto qual'e`?- Italian song)

Photo by Miguel Bruna on Unsplash

Dear readers, this is one of the most intimate chapters and, I’m sorry, the longest. After this, there’s only one more to go. Thank you.

Egildo’s staying at the Ospedale Civile hadn’t involved any surgical intervention: thanks to Sergio, and the quick arrival of the paramedics, the damage following the heart attack had been contained and after two days in hospital Egildo was transferred to the rehabilitation unit in Gussago.

-He needs rest- This was the mantra that followed the two women. Obviously everyone was aware of who the patient was: some journalists had stationed outside the clinic only to be greeted by a wall of ‘No Comment’.

Far from preventing his family from visiting him, the doctors could only recommend the use of common sense, so as to avoid further complications with possible repercussions on his health.

From the initial check ups, it appeared that the heart attack had been brought about by a dangerous cocktail of hypertension, poor diet and stress. The doctor raised an eyebrow when Sabrina told him that as far as she knew, her husband had no medical issues:

-Our doctor didn’t mention anything, not that I see him often, but Egildo goes there, they’re good friends, I’m sure that if the doctor had had any suspicions he would have told me...-

Yet, as she pronounced those words Sabrina couldn’t help but think back to her husband’s stubbornness which, combined with his total trust in prayer, probably led him to ignore all alarm bells.

Their visits to Egildo’s bedside had resulted in what could be summed up as moments of long silence weighed down by a heavy sense of unease. To the point that often, to break the awkwardness, Egildo had found himself pretending to have fallen asleep. Better this way: close his eyes and pretend, rather than having to put up with his wife looking at him. Why did she do that? Sense of guilt? Request for forgiveness? Genuine concern for his health? No, better close his eyes: inevitably after a few minutes one of the two would comment with a: -He has fallen asleep-, they would have had a chat with one other and, if all went well, they would live, to the relief of all present. Until the next visit.

The night before, however, instead of granting him that amnesty by leaving, they had remained beside him. He had heard Luisa, whispering so as not to disturb him, say to her mum: -Dad is still a handsome man, isn’t him?- Her voice was near, as if Luisa had bent down to take a better look at his face.

-He has always been. You should have seen him when he was younger. I had to get my nails out to claim my prey! Not that he noticed it, for him it as all about football. To think that I even quarrelled over him with my best friend, Elena. Since then we haven’t spoken to each other again: she had dared to say that dad liked her better. How cheeky!-

Sabrina had smiled remembering those teenage scuffles. She instinctively put her hand on the bed, caressing the blankets where they covered her husband’s knee. Egildo turned his back to his wife, making it easier to pretend to be asleep.

He hadn’t failed to notice that despite Sabrina’s revelations, mum and daughter seemed to have absorbed the potential repercussions without too many issues.

“Did Luisa know already? Had they kept this secret hidden from him?” He had wondered about that, several times lying in that hospital bed. But no, he had gone back to that moment in the square and remembered the expression on Luisa’s face: surprise, anger and pain. It was the last thing he’d seen before he had rolled his eyes, felt the patter of raindrops, and slumped to the ground with that fierce pain in his chest.

Then while he was there pretending to sleep other fragments of conversation had confirmed that Luisa, just like him, had been in the dark about everything. So how was it that the two acted like nothing had happened? Why did Luisa seem to have accepted this lie as if it were nothing but a detail? Did she really care so little that he wasn’t her father?

And yet, every time Luisa talked about him, the word -Dad- came out naturally, as if nothing had changed: -It seems that dad is getting better. Dad is asleep. What will happen with dad?...-

The latter, in different versions, was a recurring question to which it seemed Sabrina was unable to give an answer, often limiting herself to an uncommitted: -We’ll see...-

The night before, however, after going over that old quarrel with her best friend, Sabrina had lingered on her feelings:

-Who would have thought that it would have ended up like this? Huh? In a hospital bed and I put him there-

-Mum...-

-What?-

-Enough now with: I put him there, it’s all my fault, if I had done this instead of that. No? That’s the way it went and we can’t change it. Then you heard what the doctor said: dad wasn’t in good shape, it happened in the square, but it seems that sooner or later it would have happened anyway, at least he wasn’t alone and was looked after immediately. Imagine, maybe you even did him a favour!-

It was the first time that Luisa had considered the events from this point of view. Thinking about it, it was precisely the public nature of the heart attack that had limited the damage.

Egildo, listening with his eyes closed, found himself in the strange situation of having to agree with his daughter. It had been a few months now that he had felt small pains in his chest, he didn’t want to pay too much attention to it, adding just another ‘Our Father’ to the evening repertoire; just for preventive purposes.

Sabrina, on the other hand, no, she didn’t seem to want to leave her guilt behind, thinking that, considering things from that angle was like allowing herself some extenuating circumstances:

-Come on now!... It seems a bit silly to me- she reproached her daughter.

-Think of it as you like, but that’s how it went. Anyway, what do we do with dad now? Sooner or later we have to talk about it...- Luisa and her mother had continued to speak in a low voice, even this little quarrel was recited in a whisper.

-You heard the doctors, didn’t you? Dad has to rest, I don’t think we need to go over it here, in the clinic- Sabrina had replied, her hand still resting on her husband’s leg.

-Yes, I know, but we can’t continue to visit him without saying a word, I have the impression that he would prefer if we didn’t come at all. At least try to break the ice, no?-

Egildo had observed that, once again, his daughter had hit the mark: really, if they didn’t come to visit him, his days would have been better.

More time to think and pray, without that terrible sense of discomfort that came every time the visiting hour approached.

Of course; he couldn’t tell the doctors that he didn’t want to see them: that would be embarrassing. Luckily it was just the two of them: Sabrina, in one of those few moments of conversation, indeed monologues, because he didn’t say a word, had told him that Marta and Macco had come to Brescia and wished him a speedy recovery, but that the doctors had advised her to limit the visitors to herself and Luisa. So the grandparents were at home helping: cooking, cleaning and, in general, trying to cheer her up.

‘I hope they won’t put other strange ideas into your head!’ Egildo thought, having little faith in the two grandparents: they were nice people, but, oh so weird.

Sabrina had replied to Luisa’s argument by pointing out that there was not much they could discuss as their father was refusing to talk to them.

-Can’t you see it’s up to him?” If he doesn’t want to speak to us, there’s not much we can do about it. Poor thing...- she added that ‘poor thing’ trying to put herself in her husband’s shoes, but Egildo hated it. If there was one thing he didn’t like, even less than being deceived, it was being pitied. Continuing to pretend to be asleep he had moved his leg away, as if he had had a cramp.

-For all we know he might decide he doesn’t want anything to do with us any more, at least with me. With you… he didn’t really see it coming... who knows maybe he’ll get around it-, Sabrina got up, Egildo had heard her move the chair: its metal legs had hit the bed producing a high pitched sound that stood out against the muffled noises of the clinic. Then he heard Luisa’s voice, the two women had moved into the corner towards the window and it was difficult to understand what they were saying, but he had managed to catch some fragments: stubborn... let’s hope... what he said in the piazza...

Egildo had opened his eyes, just so that the two women appeared as dark shapes in the corner of the room, two blurred figures embracing.

-Come on, let’s go, I don’t think that he’s going to wake up any time soon- Sabrina’s voice was nearby now. Egildo felt his wife’s lips, warm and dry on his temple. It was the first time Sabrina had said goodbye with a kiss.

-Goodnight darling- she had whispered almost like a mother bent over her son’s cot. Luisa did the same: -Sleep well dad. Bye- and then they had gone.

So Egildo had remained alone in that hospital room, with that large window through which the last light of day entered and the empty armchair that Sabrina, always tidy, had placed next to the wall. He had stayed still, to make sure that the women didn’t come back, a few minutes passed, three to be exact: according to the clock on the opposite wall it was 8:16pm.

He had finally settled back: he raised the pillow against the headboard of the bed, turning it so that it was cool against his head and, leaning with his back on the mattress, he started to look at the ceiling.

Going back to the shreds of conversation between the two women, he had managed to get a vague idea of Luisa’s new life. That her friend (he couldn’t bring himself to think about that young woman as if she were his daughter’s girlfriend, he just couldn’t) was called Teresa, that it had only been a few months since Sabrina had learned of her daughter’s homosexuality and that the grandparents in Turin were the first she had confided in; who else, of course!

Then other news had filtered from the outside: one afternoon he had decided to watch the news from the TV hanging on the wall opposite the bed. It seemed that what had happened was having nationwide repercussions. He had managed to change channel just a moment before the images went to those fateful moments in the square, thus saving himself from the embarrassment of his public humiliation. However, he ended up on an afternoon talk show in which an overweight drag queen and an unfamiliar MP were confronting each other in a crescendo of loud voices that offered viewers few opportunities to follow the debate. Since that afternoon he had avoided the TV and asked a nurse to buy him a crosswords magazine instead.

While he was lying there, observing the ceiling, he had returned to those mental images that had stuck with him before the heart attack had switched everything off: the square, Luisa caressing him, introducing him to her friend and Sabrina’s words; -Your brother, not the prayer!-

He went from one revelation to the next, as if trying to gauge which of the two was causing him less pain. He found no consolation. It was even harder to think about what to do next, bearing in mind that there were no valid alternatives: either he remained faithful to what he had fought for in all those years, so losing, or better, removing himself from his wife and daughter or, as Sabrina had told him, he had to admit being wrong.

He had to admit that the time spent with the prayer group had been nothing more than some long wasted years, years spent fighting an enemy who finally had managed to besiege him on all fronts and claimed the final spoils: his family.

Egildo had been watching a small crack that ran from the lampshade on the ceiling towards the window. Very thin, almost a thread, only he, who had studied that ceiling who knows how many times in those few days, could see it, yet this didn’t make it less real. That crack, in that otherwise immaculate ceiling, one day it will have to be repaired before compromising the whole structure, he though. And so, he too had begun to look at the cracks that had opened in his ‘immaculate ceiling’ thinking that in his case, he would have to start patching them up quickly, before it was too late and it collapsed on top of him.

He had put a hand on his chest, placing it there, stroking the spot where his heart was, protected and cared for.

The things he was certain of; he had decided to make an inventory.

First there was the matter of Luisa who, it turned out, there was nothing he could do about it and he knew it. Sure, he could have spent the evening wondering why that had to happen to his daughter, where had he gone wrong? Why had Jesus punished him? And for a while he did.

He had allowed himself to go back to some episodes that, perhaps, could offer explanations: when he took her to the stadium to follow the Brescia team together, wrapped in blue-white scarves to protect themselves from the cold? Or when she was younger and, in an awkward attempt at enlightened parenthood, he had made her understand to be careful, that boys weren’t to be trusted? Or, again, the prayer retreats in the hills, all girls, in the huge house run by nuns?

Who knows, he hadn’t wanted to dwell too much, focusing instead on one point: Jesus had punished him.

Did he really believe it? He wasn’t sure either. And then, punished for what? For the way Luisa was conceived? But he didn’t know anything about it, if anything it was his wife who should have been punished. Instead it didn’t seem that for her, the fact that Luisa was... lesbian..., the first time he could bring himself to think it, was such big a deal.

So? Egildo had moved on to Sabrina, the other half of the inventory, perhaps the most important because it was the one that had caused all the foundations to collapse.

Yes, because if he had to be honest, if that piece that joined the prayer group to Luisa’s birth as an incontrovertible certainty, well, if that piece was removed, everything really collapsed, all his assumptions. And this was terrible to contemplate.

So Egildo had continued to look at the ceiling and at that crack that, the more he looked, the fainter it became, blending into the shadow-play of the evening, almost no longer there, yet he knew that, instead, it was.

Then he had taken the crossword and finally, but only after a few hours, he had fallen asleep. This time for real.

Egildo woke up. His wife was sitting in an armchair next to his bed, her head bent, over a magazine, but she was sleeping, her regular breathing was interrupted by a few light snorts. Luisa, on the other hand, was turning her back to him as she looked out the window through which a greyish light was filtering through.

“What time is it?’ Egildo thought confused, but reassured by the noises of the ward.

Luisa, hearing the rustle of the sheets, the light movements of her father, turned. She walked towards him, stopping at the foot of the bed.

-You are awake...- she noticed the banality of her own words.-It’s two pm-

Two PM; he must have fallen asleep again in the morning.

She seemed tired with two big dark circles around those beautiful eyes. Eyes that were trying to study him, to understand if she could afford to go a little further, push back the border line, that trench that was separating them. Luisa didn’t expect an answer: small confirmation sounds, was all she had managed to get from him up to now.

Egildo pushed on his elbow and raised his torso so that he could lean against the headboard.

-I must have fallen asleep- he replied, echoing the banality with which his daughter had noticed that he had woken up. But it was a step forward, Luisa took note.

The night before, after putting away the crosswords, Egildo had slept badly, a light sleep interrupted by anxious and recurring dreams: he was doing the crossword puzzles, the grid was complete except for the last word, every time he tried to put the letters in the boxes he ended up forgetting the puzzle. When he went to read it, he found an empty, white space, then he looked around surprised and realized that he was sitting on the windowsill of a skyscraper, his legs dangling in the void, the deserted street hundreds of meters below him, he felt trapped, he couldn’t move, terrified of falling into that void. Then he went back to look at the crosswords’ page he had in his hand, the complete grid except for the last word and the dream repeated itself, always the same with that dizziness that assailed him.

In the end it was with relief that, awakening, Egildo welcomed the sounds of the clinic: early morning and he was safe in his bed. So, tired, he had fallen asleep again a few hours later, lulled by those noises, this time diving into a deep sleep that had offered him a respite from a thousand thoughts.

Sabrina had also slept badly. Indeed, she had slept very little since Egildo had been hospitalized, staying awake in their big bed contemplating all the possible scenarios, always expecting the worst outcome. Hers was a nightmare that didn’t require sleep. Finally, there, in the clinic, in that uncomfortable chair, she had relaxed, the article in the magazine had begun to blur under the weight of her eyelids that didn’t want to stay open and in the end she had given in, also allowing herself a break from all thoughts.

Luisa sat on the bed, leaning just a little so as not to slide on the floor, but also ready to jump up in case her dad didn’t want her there.

Egildo didn’t react, he didn’t even move his foot that now almost touched his daughter through the sheets. Then he coughed, he coughed again, shaking Sabrina from her torpor. She raised her head, confused, for a moment not sure where she was and surprised to see Luisa and Egildo on the same bed. They seemed to be studying each other. They reminded her of Tommy and Lelly the dog and the cat she had as a girl, they got along very well except when it came to the sofa where the truce gave way and the two watched each other cautiously waiting for the first one to give up.

-I must have fallen asleep-

It seemed that the Belluomo family could communicate only by stating the obvious. Sabrina gave a small yawn as she buttoned up the cardigan she had put on her shoulders.

-Can you leave us alone for a moment?- It was a request that sounded like an order. Egildo hadn’t been rude, but firm in tone, enough for Sabrina to ask nothing more, get up from the armchair and leave the room. She only added, turning to Luisa:

-I’ll go to the cafeteria, when you’re done you can find me there-

Father and daughter were left alone, Sabrina had closed the door behind her so that the only sound to enter the room was that of a tractor trudging into a field not far from the clinic.

Luisa got up and sat on the chair where her mother had been sitting, she brought it closer to the bed, took her father’s hands and asked him uncertainly:

-What do you want me to tell you?-

Egildo left his hands there, in the warmth of his daughter’s. It looked like a contradiction, he noticed, that it was Luisa, with those slender fingers , who formed a nest in which his were struggling to find space.

-Start where you want, let me understand-

And so Luisa, after a moment of hesitation, replied.

-So let’s start from the end which perhaps is also the beginning. There are not many ways out, it was a big blow for me too to know that you are not my dad. Actually, that you are not my biological dad: for all that matters you have always been and always will be my dad-

Those words weighed like a boulder and she had wanted to clear it away, immediately, to make a clean sweep. She knew that that was what hurt her father the most; in so many different ways: it hurt him for what it meant in itself, but also because it represented years of lies, it undermined his relationship with mum, it was a straight blow to his pride and, even more so, it brought down everything in which dad he had invested his energies.

Yet Luisa, when she had thought about what she would say to her dad, on this very point she had found a solution that could have worked for him. A solution that might have been able to make sense of all those years.

Dad continued to look at her, leaving his hands in hers, resting on the sheets. He was so frail in that bed, in his faded blue pyjamas that seemed to absorb all the colours and take them away.

- In the end...-, Luisa went on, -In the end mum couldn’t take it any more, I can assure you, it wasn’t easy for her. But the fact remains, like it or not, if she and uncle Alberto hadn’t made that decision, I wouldn’t be here, and if you want to be honest with yourself, there would be no other child. It is useless to beat around the bush, these are the facts-

Egildo turned to look towards the window, he was not offended by his daughter’s words, but the pain he felt had a gravity that almost made him breathless, a pain that weighed on his body, not like the heart attack, that had been acute, aggressive, this time no, it was different, comparable to a mourning that enveloped him with its inevitability.

Luisa, not sure if she had gone too far, decided to continue anyway:

-Listen, Dad, we’ll never know... I don’t believe in this, but who knows, maybe I’m wrong- She paused, -They say that God works in mysterious ways. Maybe your prayers have really been answered. I don’t think the Pope will ever consider this a miracle, but who knows, let’s say that God has found a rather practical way to meet you prayer. Maybe if you and mum hadn’t looked so desperate, uncle Alberto would never have offered to act as a surrogate; instead, seeing you so full of faith, he, in his own way, answered those prayers for you. Maybe not, maybe even without prayer he would have done the same. We will never know, but why can’t you see it this way? It’s not that different from what you’ve always believed in, just less… less conventional-

-Are you making a fool of me? You don’t know what it means to me to know that you aren’t... aren’t...- Egildo couldn’t finish the sentence or maybe he couldn’t afford to do it.

-Look, you are my dad!-, Luisa helped him,

-Being a dad is something more than passing on some genes, which, in our case were the same anyway. Why does it seem so offensive to you to think that God came to help you in this way? You cannot believe only in miracles Padre Pio’s style, there are other, where we help each other and find a solution together, those are the miracles in which I believe in too; whether they are by divine intervention or not. I’m no less your daughter now than I was a week ago, I hope we both agree on that! You are my dad and I am your daughter. Clear?-

Egildo kept shaking his head as if he didn’t even want to consider what Luisa was saying. Just as her mother couldn’t accept the idea that the heart attack in public was perhaps the lesser evil, so her father seemed unable to accept the fact that Luisa remained his daughter despite her unorthodox conception. ‘God, these two are stubborn alike’, thought Luisa disconsolately.

-Okay then, if that’s not an acceptable explanation for you, then, maybe you should tell me what we do from now on, what have we become? Acquaintances?-

Luisa was getting angry and, knowing that she couldn’t afford to upset her dad too much in case he got another attack, she decided it was best to let him explain. But instead of answering Egildo remained silent with his eyes fixed on the ceiling, nervously nibbling at his lips.

Luisa tried to use the most conciliatory tone possible by squeezing her father’s hands even stronger.

“Dad. Do you know why you don’t want to believe that I’m still your daughter? In fact, I know you believe it, but you don’t want allow yourself to. You know why? Because you’ve spent years filling your head with those ideas that a family is just: dad, mum and kids; and everything else has nothing to do with it. Here, all of a sudden you find yourself part of that everything else and you can’t get over it. These ideas of your! You and the friends of the group, you have poisoned yourselves, you have lost sight of what is real, you are too busy being close to God to be able to see it. Do you know that there are people out there cheering for us? For our family! People who don’t know us, but who hope that we will be able to go through this, together, and this time without secrets-

Luisa stopped: she was about to talk about something that she personally found more difficult to deal with, not because she was ashamed of being lesbian, rather because, on this occasion, she was the one who had kept it a secret, she, who had avoided opening up with her father.

Just a few days earlier she would never have thought that the moment she came out to her dad would be overshadowed by other revelations that would almost relegate her own coming out to the role of supporting actor. Yet now, in that hospital room, she had confirmation that it was probably what her father cared the least about, or maybe just another piece of that horrible puzzle into which his life had been shattered.

Egildo turned to look at her, while Luisa tapped with her foot against the metal of the bed,

-How many years have you known?- He asked her. Luisa didn’t fail to notice a sincere curiosity in her father’s voice, an honest desire to know.

-Are you sure you want me to tell you?-

Egildo nodded, -Tell me if it’s something I did. Something I told you?-

-Dad! You know, that’s one of the things parents always ask... Mum too. They are always afraid that they have done something wrong. The truth is, no one knows yet why one is gay or lesbian. As far as I can remember I have never had any trauma and, just to demystify the concept of the traditional family... there wasn’t one more traditional than us and yet here I am falling in love with women!-

She smiled, once more she had pushed the front line further.

-I’ve always known it, even watching the cartoons. Lady Oscar was my first crush! You liked her too, remember?- Egildo remembered, he thought it was a good idea for Luisa to learn something about the French Revolution, then he had second thoughts when the cartoon had taken on vaguely erotic tones, so Luisa never found out how it ended between Oscar and Andrè.

-Here, if you want to; blame Lady Oscar!- Joked Luisa, surprised when Egildo also reacted with a restrained snort.

-Who knows dad? I assure you that if it were a choice, a lifestyle, like your friends say, I would certainly not have chosen it. Not because there’s anything wrong with being gay, but because when you are a teenager you would gladly do without carrying all these extra weights: the secrets, the shame of being different, the bullying. Imagine, there are already enough things to think about at that age-

Egildo looked at her worriedly:

-Have you been a victim of bullies? You too?-

-No, it didn’t happen to me, but only because I kept everything hidden and anyway there wasn’t much to hide. You know, if you ask a gay or a lesbian what is the thing that scares them the most and what would make them the happiest, the answer is almost always the same: let the parents know. They are...- Luisa stopped,

- We are terrified by it, by the possible reaction. It is a bit like mum and her secrets. It’s not only the fear of rejection for what one is or does, but also the awkwardness one feels for having built a web of lies. You have heard Franco’s story from the balcony, right? I know you were listening, certainly his case is more extreme, however there are so many kids who have gone through what he went through and this, I’m sorry, thanks also to the Lookouts… Do you want me to stop?-

If Luisa had set a limit, that would have been reached at that moment. It was no longer a question of just talking about her own experience but of tying it up directly to that of her father and what united them was a story of directly conflicting interests: people like her were the reason why the Lookouts existed, in the end her dad would be forced to choose between the two.

Egildo shook his head again, he was following her, but at the same time it seemed as if he was thinking of something else.

-I would like you to tell me more about these last few years, since you went to uni- He was almost asking to be invited in.

So, Luisa, shared with him what had happened to her since she had moved to Padua and how she had met Teresa. She told him about Teresa’s family and offered him an unprecedented opportunity from which to observe a world that until then he had only considered hostile territory. The more she told him, the more questions he asked and the more he asked, the more the narrative shifted from the personal to the general to return to the details of his daughter’s life. Luisa also told him that, on the very day of the gathering, she and Teresa had been attacked by three young men whom she had then seen in the square among the Lookouts,

-I think they are Paolina’s son’s friends- she said.

Egildo was massaging his temples putting his fingers over his eyes as if ashamed, then Luisa explained to him that they had got away lightly, thanks to the intervention of an English journalist and another passer-by.

-I think Luke, the reporter, and the guy who gave you the CPR know each other, I don’t know how, but they were together when we went to pick up Teresa at the Topolina that night, after you were taken to the hospital-

Luisa took the backpack that she had placed on the back of the chair and pulled out a copy of the Bresciaoggi that had been in there for a few days. On the front page a dramatic photo had immortalized the helpless body of her father on which a man was performing a CPR, at that moment the man had turned to the camera which had captured all the intensity of the situation.

Egildo’s tired face seemed to brighten up,

-Sergio, that man’s name is Sergio!-

Luisa looked at him in surprise.

-That day, in the afternoon, I was crossing the street in Corso Zanardelli and he was behind me. I was distracted and if it hadn’t been for Sergio I would have ended up under a bus. He saved my life twice-

Egildo said those words without any emphasis, as if he were talking about a casual walk through the streets of the city centre. Luisa remembered that while they were eating pizza, her dad had called, mentioning the incident.

-See! God works in mysterious ways, I told you!-

Dad sighed,

-By any chance do you have that reporter’s number? I would like to track down Sergio, if it were possible, at least to thank him...-

-No, we hadn’t exchanged numbers, but I know that Sergio is friend with the women of the Topolina, I could ask them...-

She heard a light knock on the door, after a moment it opened slightly and Sabrina turned her head uncertainly towards the bed.

Luisa got up from her chair and smiled at her mother, a reassuring smile.

-I’ll go out for a moment, I’ll call the Topolina-

Sabrina looked at her daughter, not understanding; she hardly even remembered what the Topolina was: it seemed that there was a clear line, a boundary that divided everything that had happened before and after that evening a few days before. The before was confused, out of focus, less and less decipherable the closer we got to that fateful moment in the square, the after was clear, precise as a blade that she had sharpened, reworking it time after time. Lethal.

She moved close to the bed sitting on the armchair that Luisa had left warm, she didn’t know what to do, so she did nothing, remaining with her hands resting over her red skirt; her fingers playing with each other.

Egildo reached out to her wife, opening his hand inviting her to join him.

Sabrina received that invitation cautiously, like an animal raised in captivity that inspects its open cage before running off into the depths of the forest, first moving her fingers uncertainly, then plunging into her husband’s hand, squeezing it tightly and bringing it to her mouth.

Egildo was exhausted: his face, pale, his eyes, red, but he also seemed relieved. He reminded Sabrina of a tired general who knew he had lost the war, but who seemed not to care too much, as if he had realized that after all he had fought for the wrong team.

Egildo looked at his wife biting his lip, he closed his wet eyes and then gently, with a smile, said to her: -God works in mysterious ways-