by Rita Siligato
“It’s all set.”
Redenta is standing near his bed, in his room. She is staring at him with piercing eyes. He is half sitting, half lying, covering his face with his hands. During the last year, Dario has aged considerably. He limps when he walks, his legs having always been his weak point. He has some eye trouble, too.
“It’s inevitable. Starting from tomorrow…”
“Do not even dream about it, girl. I am not moving.”
“I can see it! You can’t walk. You cannot climb four flights of stairs twice a day.”
“I love my home, Redenta. I have my music, my musical instruments… all I need is here…”
“… except me!”
They remain quiet for a while. Both know that a row is starting in three, two, one minute. Redenta leaves his bedroom because she feels like crying.
“Redenta! Dear girl, be reasonable.”
No answer. She is sitting upright on the davenport near the window in the lobby, faking bad hearing.
“Redenta!”
He is calling her from the bedroom. She opens a book at random: how to restore a violin. She does not understand a single word she is reading, shellac, isinglass, tourniquet.
“Redenta! Please, will you bring me a glass of water?”
She raises her head and smiles. She knows how to talk to him, now.
“Dario, I can’t find the glasses in your kitchen!”
“They are in the cupboard above the sink.”
“I can’t find them, Dario. Come here and show me…”
“I don’t feel well, Redenta. Please.”
She storms into the bedroom again.
“Can’t you see? You need help, dear boy.”
“I am not ready for this yet.”
She lies down beside him, on his narrow bed.
“Dario, be reasonable, now. We are old people. I am ninety and you are eighty-six. You need some help.”
“I am able to do everything by myself, as I always did.”
“Show me! Get up! Bring yourself a glass of water!”
“In a moment. I am tired now.”
She stands up and moves to the window: he is looking at her. From behind, against the light, in her bright red dress, she could be any age: her white hair gleams.
“Dario, it is not forever. Just until you get better. Let’s see…”
He tries to put his feet on the carpet, moaning and managing to sit upright, his legs dangling. She kneels by the bed and makes him wear his slippers, putting the cane in his hand in one swift move.
“Do you really want a glass of water? Come with me in the kitchen. We will sit at the table and have a glass of water together. Will you?”
“I will. Let me rest for five minutes… I will manage.”
They are sitting on either side of the table: she is looking into his beautiful dark eyes, clouded now and tired. The glasses stay untouched on the polished wood.
“Do you want to talk? We need to talk.”
“Yes, Redenta. Let me stay here.”
“You need help, boy. Who will cook your dinner? Who will go shopping?”
“I always did everything by myself. And I love my home.”
“And I love you, Dario. I would never have married you if I didn’t love you. And I love my home too. Would you…”
“I don’t know. I don’t know if I can manage it.”
“You will, I’m sure. It’s a difficult step for me too, don’t you think? After all these years…”
They look fondly into each other’s eyes.
“Dario, please. I think it would be easier for me too…”
“All right, girl. We will try. If it does not work…”
“If it does not work, we will think about something anew. We have time. Will you come and live with me? At my home? In Cavana? It will be as if we were newlywed again!”
“Will I?”
“You will. Now hop, hop, get ready! I will call a taxi and tomorrow you will tell me what you want me to bring home! And I was sure you would accept my offer: There’s fried fish and a lovely cake tonight! I bought it all this morning.”
She moves efficiently around the house, gathering his prescriptions and stacking them neatly into a bag, together with a clean striped pajama and his toothbrush. And as he wobbles to the bedroom, she picks up from the davenport the book she was reading before: tonight they will be sharing her bed and she will ask him about the shellack, the tourniquet, the isinglass. She knows it will work like a balm.
Quanto è difficile starsi vicini, a qualsiasi età… <3