Читать онлайн «Мрак и мед»
Автор Джованни Арпино
Giovanni Arpino
SCENT OF A WOMAN
‘…it is our task to impress this provisional, transient earth upon ourselves so deeply, so agonizingly, and so passionately that its essence rises up again “invisibly” within us. We are the bees of the invisible. We ceaselessly gather the honey of the visible to store it in the great golden hive of the Invisible. ’
‘It may be that any other salvation than that which comes from where the danger is, is still within the unholy. ’
1
A large iridescent fly buzzed around the window on the landing; the walls smelled of fresh paint. Relishing the taste of air, the fly veered suddenly, found the narrow gap at the partially open window, and disappeared. I leaned out too, to toss away my cigarette butt. The courtyard below was deserted: a meagre couple of yards of cement in the late August sun. In the distance, the withered green of the hills beyond the river blended into an opaque sky. Before ringing the doorbell, I felt to make sure my cap was sitting firmly on my forehead, checked the knot and proper positioning of my tie.
The door opened at once, as if the woman had been there all along, waiting.
She was a tiny old woman, incredibly rosy and diminutive, dressed in white and grey. Smiling and twinkling through every one of her delightful wrinkles, she gestured for me to come in. Behind her, the darkness of a long corridor. We quickly turned into a kitchen, two chairs already moved out from the table.
‘Good, good, very punctual, that’s a pleasure to see.
’ She sighed, still smiling, nodding, her hands clasped.I told her my name and carefully balanced my cap on my knee.
‘But you’re hardly more than a boy, good heavens!’ she lamented, squinting. I felt myself blush. ‘Who knows whether a young man like you will have the patience that this situation… the patience to stay here. ’
She remained undecided, holding her breath, her lips slightly parted over her porcelain teeth.
So I told her that my commanding officer at the barracks had explained the situation to me in detail.
Her smile faded, she nodded again, stroking the back of her right hand with the slender fingers of her left. She had very beautiful hands, transparent as tissue-paper, in keeping with her, with the immaculate surroundings, with the two flowers in the vase on the table.
‘A student, I think. An only child?’
I told her a little about my father, a clerk, about my mother and my younger sister. As I searched for the right words, those three familiar faces emerged from their usual misty haze for a moment, only to become softly shrouded again soon afterwards. I then specified my age, twenty years old, and the university faculty I was enrolled in, business and economy.
The voice coming out of my mouth felt unconnected to me.
