That evening, broke off earlier than usual from work.
Before going home, the Avenue of the People's swerved and stopped in Piazza Bovio, a peninsula of rock adorned that evening by puffs of sea foam that reached the benches. If you do not go as far as the tip, the long strip of rock seemed to touch the Island of Elba. Giulio
lingered of the sunset. She felt a mixture of colors, most of those in nature which results in the twilight of a winter evening. The horizon was separated by a sharp line - which for him was a bit 'fuzzy - and the sun was going to die on the island, exactly on top of the mountain huts, giving the appearance of an erupting volcano. He could represent an image as an old habit, as that from the square had seen dozens of twilight, but it was not. Lived on visual impressions ever worn, of imagination and fantasy that made up for his weak eyes. Giulio
hung up the old story of the obsession of those days.
"This is the last sunset. I wonder how it will be later. If you will be."
A last look - a dip in extremis - to try to understand something, anything, Christ, an insight that could be entangled in those flashes, flashes that were leaving, a thought that could soar into the sky like a butterfly bursts from its cocoon-house, but nothing, nothing but a thin torment, who was devouring a Magone.
He stood in the shade a few minutes. In that light, between him and the others there was no difference. He paused on the silhouettes of the paintings hanging on the wall at the bottom, a square, rectangle and a fifty fifty fifty, seventy. They spoke of buoys, sail in pastel colors, the sapphire sky, he knew them well, and with dim light or light was the same thing. The gaze shifted to the coffee table in mahogany he remembered every little scratch, was the ideal shelf for his Tarot. He said he does not believe that he did for fun, but when he left the "hanging" was hurt. Then came the turn of the Tibetan bell resting on the bookshelf on the right: often weighed in my hands, I noted the tremendous specific weight, and listened carefully to the sound he could produce, with those mysterious harmonics that was near his throat vibrate.
sighed, got up, tried the gym bag, emptied it. We replaced the beauty, two changes, slippers, pajamas and again, as his mother had taught him: "If you were to die in the hospital, you would figure that with the nurses and doctors to be seen with a half faded pajamas? ".
book. No, that would not be served. He picked it up from the table, stroked him, was a paperback, one of his many books, "Dubliners," knew his place, swerved to the library and put it on J. You could enjoy beside the rib in skin of 'Ulysses'. He hoped it was a goodbye, turned a temporary farewell to all those volumes.
closed the bag, finally. He shook his head as if agreeing with himself.
part of it, in fact, tried to play down: after all were only two days of hospitalization, an intervention than an hour. He had decided, for reasons of work, surgery to both eyes simultaneously. It would have been a whole week at the mercy of his mother, the eyes of his eyes.
Another part of him reminded him that his view of things would change, and this gave him uneasiness. However
yet another reminded him that he probably would have seen much better than before, that complications are rare.
The inner conflict was taking place, Julius was a spectator to her and any ifs and buts, that were to blows with each other.
The phone gave a truce.
"Five-minute break," he thought sarcastically before answering.
Ready
"Hello Dad"
"Uei, hello little man, how are you today?"
"Good. I did my homework, then I went to Matthew. There was wind, then we played at home. At home."
"I accompanied my mother?"
"Yes you will operate tomorrow?"
"Yes, tomorrow morning."
"But then you will see clearly?"
"Quiet Yes.. I will continue to see you. On Wednesday and Sunday."
"Afraid?"
"No. .. why?"
"No way. I have a little 'fear, but I do not know why. In short, for a while' I do not see."
"Do not worry, Francis. I will continue to see you. On Wednesday and Sunday. And even on vacation. And, later, whenever you want."
"I always want to see you."
Julie sighed.
"For now be satisfied as well. Wednesday and Sunday."
"So ... good transaction! It says so?"
"is omitted, it says so. Thank you. I love you."
"Me too, Dad."
"So ... hello."
"Hello Babb big and strong."
In his life there were some situations unresolved. At the forefront of these was Francis, that child came to ripe age.
After the separation had experienced a gradually increasing need to see Francis, talk to him, to hug him. It was the most beautiful thing I had done in his life.
one house silently reminded him constantly.
everything tidy, no strip around, no snacks, no hum or sing-song of Nintendo.
The twilight had become night. He felt even in its night life. Now the games were made. A wonderful baby, yes, this was the greatest miracle. Continuity. But in a few years Francis would have soared, and he, Julie, could not continue to live in his shadow, in his loves, his studies, in a word in his life. Luckily there was Francis, but otherwise things were made. He could provide the additional seniority pension from that very day. Which rely on friends, and how many would have run away. Many white hair, wrinkles, her body was losing force. I noted the fact that now women do not even notice his presence. It would not be old next to none, no woman would want more. His wife was gone, and she also Francis for five-sevenths of his time.
No eye surgery could give a different look at this. Night. The next morning found him sore
chair. It was five and a half, he could sleep for another hour, then went into the room, set your alarm and slipped into bed, dress.
He dreamed of a trip to Rome, he had to climb a ten-storey building with his bare hands, jumping on balconies, clinging to the gutters, peering into a living room where he and a she stood in silence, watching tv in the packages, or teleshopping or MTV or on teletext page 700 on the weather. Julius continued to climb, with difficulty saliva, saliva, and he thought he not make it, to let go, when the alarm sounds.
not had breakfast because of blood taken, took a shower, shave, teeth and went out with the bag. Three days
later, the arm of her elderly mother, crossed the threshold of his childhood home. He had his bandage, but acknowledged, recognized the smell. A little 'stale, almost always closed windows, wood chest of drawers in the room, the windows, the carpet with the row of palm trees. He remembered the room and ran to the kitchen with his brother, then a Christmas lying on the ground with an electric train Rivarossi, and, again, his schoolmates with whom he played in the courtyard down below - from where came the barking now of a dog - and that it continued to play in that room at the naval battle at nightfall, not separate from the couch to see each other. He saw nothing, but stood on his head exploding - Like the sudden outbreak of an early Spring - pictures and stories, smells, sounds. Memories. His story, at least part, had soaked those rooms, those walls.
A month later he was at the clinic, to the control. He had before him
Professor Guarducci, eminent luminary, and the bearer of prosperity and health, even in a decentralized and provincial as Piombino. Considered it a mission,.
When he entered Julius, had surprised the professor intended to place the paperweight in alabaster in the right position, parallel to the outer edge of the desk. The embarrassment he had created, at least in the professor. He hurried to get into the situation.
The professor leaned over Julie, folded his hands and cleared his throat: "So, Mr. Scalzi, how are you?"
"Well, sir. I mean. The surgery went well, I guess."
"Oh, that was fine. I've got exams next target for intervention. Curvature of the eye, lens, iris, all right. Although the edema disappeared. In short, I would say that ..."
"Yes, sir, indeed. My vision is clearer."
"So, what can be attributed to his perplexity, and his request to speak to me?"
"of things have happened, after surgery, and I wanted to ask you if this happened to his other patients.
"What kind of things?"
"I definitely I see better now. But .. "
" Ma? "
" ... but I do not feel so well. And I do not feel better. "
" Does hearing loss? "
" No, sir. I intend to feel like everything that gives me an image "Giulio at the time he closed his hands on the armrests of the chair, about to get up" but I would probably be that you're wasting your time. The'm wasting time. "
" No, please. Tell me. "
" Here, sir. When we look at a painting, for example, that picture - which is made with a very specific type of brushes, paints, canvas, and technical - refers to feelings of those who watch, I mean that kind of feeling. I meant as an image is processed, how it is metabolized, it gives me that reaction. I think, sir, have lost some of these capabilities. Now I see a lot of things. Crisp, precise. Edged. And these things are many, I can not do to prepare. I can not make sense of them, at least not all. I do not understand. Probably as you do not understand me now, Professor. No, wait, sir. Do not hasten to answer. You probably can not do anything for me. I realize this only now. And I'm sorry. I'm just here to find out if such a thing have happened to someone else, but then what? Now I see better, she has done his duty. "Julius paused, lowered eyes. Camera. "Now there's pictures on pictures in my head, I do not know where to put them, I lost a part of the capacity to interpret them. Maybe my head now I think seeing us well, it's over there, you know that the history of that image is over with the image itself. First, however, gave me pain to fill the gaps, imagining boundaries, and I - I do not know why - I felt better. ... I seemed to be more inside. "
"Into what?" ventured the professor.
"Inside. Nestled in the images with them. Now, however, I reject it. I'll tell you, Professor: If I had known earlier, I would not have had surgery. Perhaps twenty years is different. But I need to fifty more feel see. "
Julius got up, took his leave and the professor, after all, was speechless.
No, it had never happened.
Julius looked tired in the evening, went to Piazza Bovio, sat on the benches. It would returned to work the next day, Wednesday would come to his house Matteo, would begin four months between the summer vacation, fifteen years would be retired. Exactly as before.
The sunset's piercing eyes.
(The Toni Malfa)
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