"Sometimes, Herbert, do not recognize you ..." said the woman died in her ashtray only half-smoked cigarette. Sat avoid leaning back in his chair and avoided looking at him as if trying to stay detached from it all. He had said something, without explanation, saying softly certain isolated words that appeared in his imagination roam in the room as a small fish in an aquarium. She had just climbed the stairs of his apartment that because he was already a long time that things were not going well between them, but there seemed to be a reason, and that afternoon had gone up there just to try to understand what was going on, groped for something to grab more. Herbert then had remained silent, he had served the coffee moving your hands slowly, as delaying things, then said: "I feel like a stranger to everything out of place ....
She then got up from his chair, went to the window, attracted by the desire he had of light, outside, to see that series again messy and fascinating rooftops around that last plan, and had on with another of his nervous ways cigarettes. "So everything we've tried to build together in the past two years, it becomes a trifle, a whim to take off just to do something ...." Then she turned, called to the table as an element to which until then had not thought of. "You're thinking of leaving, Herbert, to return in France, is not it? "he said in a voice strong and sharp. He sat down, he turned the game for the cup of coffee without her answer, even if he thought that his was almost a statement. So, after a break infinite, he said only: "No, I do not think this ...". She, in front of the undecided further response, she was seething with rage, he picked up in a gesture of her purse and jacket, and moved toward the door. He could say only half-hearted way, "Wait ..." but she was already gone, abruptly closing the door behind him.
He noted that coffee cups remained in the to cold, then got up from his chair in a flash, to go quickly to the window to appear, calling, trying to tell her that it was not, he still had to explain himself, she must understand that there were many other things which bound inextricably in their lives, but she was not there, maybe it was slipped from the back, and basically, it was almost better that way. He closed the window, pulled the curtains, he returned to his table to sip coffee that has become warm, then crossed the corridor to reach the room and caught a glimpse of his image in the mirror hanging on the wall. It was not him, he could not see his face. Something was transforming into that face, in that expression in those sections which had always been used: a change in deep but inexplicable, an unbelievable change, so that almost did not recognize, to doubt that he was still himself, Herbert, the same one that was managed with great enthusiasm in the years just passed, to build a life, to feel individual, to have its own character, he and a real personality, to be completely honest, he'd never had.
Bruno Magnolfi
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