Thirty‑seven

I’m on the train. The landscapes of Lazio and then of Umbria run parallel to my face, but my eyes are fixed on the seat opposite mine, and I am listening to a familiar but by now an ephemeral voice.

Thomas looks at me as he looked at me some months ago, straight into my pupils, with his eyes gleaming, his nostrils twitching, and his mouth half open. He looks at me as he looked at me when my excess of life was still so feeble.

I no longer have death in my heart, because my heart has already been stripped down to nothing. Now death is advancing like a tumor; I feel it itching as it settles among my joints and muscles.

It’s slow, tender, sinuous, feline. I’m not afraid. It’s playing its part well; it knows how to catch human beings in its noose.

I’m abandoning him and going back to the red house on the hill, bringing his torn‑ up T‑ shirts impregnated with his smell. I don’t sleep because I sense that if I did, I would never ever wake up again. I huddle up on the sofa and think, until the light’s excitement has subsided; then at night I light the fire and bring tears to my eyes by fanning the flames.

I don’t know what Penelope did – I wonder if she ever came. I really hope she did, so I huddle up and think of the two of them. He says, “Come on in. Melissa should be here any minute, ” and she says, “Oh no, I’m sorry, I’ll come back later, ” and then he looks at her and realizes that she has beautiful eyes and a beautiful face framed by beautiful hair. But he doesn’t desire her, no, not yet. She goes downstairs to wait for me, and I will never come, so she will ring the doorbell and say to him, “Listen, she hasn’t arrived yet. My train has gone…I can take the ten‑ thirty, ” and then inevitably he will invite her up and maybe offer her a cold beer, and then, only then, will he realize, as he watches her sipping her beer, that she has the most beautiful mouth he’s ever seen. And then, only then, will he decide to kiss her.

And I go to sleep.

When I heard you crying at night, before I abandoned you, I turned to face the other way and thought, Basically it’s my life. I could have made it happier in the past…but I couldn’t do it. Should I apologize?

Should I apologize?

My new snakeskins are burning too quickly.