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Emiliana
Aug.9, 13:00
"Now go alone, I cannot take you more" as his mother pointed, with thin pale hand, the entrance, and she walked in the garden, inside the intricate maze of tall hedges of yew. She gasped and opened his eyes. She came back to reality in the blinding light. The beating heart was pounding in his temples. She felt faint. Her mother spoke only in exceptional cases. Lying on the couch blue sea, Emiliana was dozing in the sun on the terrace roof of his penthouse apartment situated on the outskirts of Bologna, San Ruffillo. By all accounts, she lived in one of the best in the city, lapped by the hills and good-looking. Autumn, elsewhere, to the plains, the morning mist did not see two feet away, but in San Ruffillo, the sun was shining. She had been so in previous years. Emiliana knew: there was born and lived. Then the district was changed in population, construction, services. Even the name was changed. Now called Savena like this at the mouth of the river valley. Right there stood the neighborhood, where the Savena began his course of plain.
Unfortunately, even land pollution conquered. Emiliana was convinced that the air and the sun were no longer as good as before. She had enjoyed every summer for a bit of vacation there. Not anymore. The sultry heat grew. She covered her face with her parasol and pulled his dark glasses on his nose, now could not stand the torment long: the sun pierced the red blisters bloomed and indelible. In truth, the newspapers had talked about the possible increase in tumors in the near future. Before his eyes he saw his mother Mary, in suffering, in pain from prolonged serious illness that had struck her. She took a quick hand on his forehead to dispel the tension. She felt he was hot already. Day overwhelming thought. It was the anniversary of the death of his grandmother and his mother had just reviewed. It was no accident. They united in life and in death. The memory made her bleed renovated inside. Now I do not want to cry. She would not be very bad. She stood up. She was emotional and impulsive character. The circumstances had damaged inside. He had far exceeded any margin of tolerance. The air -soaked powder had the reverberation of the hottest hours.
The skin was hot. She returned. Yet another flight of vacationers passed over his pale sky, but she did not see him. Another lonely day progressed. Emiliana had taken fire from the Neapolitan coffee pot boiling and left her to filter out, upside down. Now the refreshing drink was ready. She poured herself a cup. She was standing in front of the window, wrapped in the veil of the best shorts and glanced at the closed branch of orchid in clear plastic sheet. He had left on the table by the purchase of the morning. He looked at the time, went up to the cemetery in the afternoon. Grandmother Emilia would rather have roses or gladioli. Only shop had opened branch. It was impossible to find a better deal in August. Now she resigned to the idea that really, if Emilia saw from the other side, there remained satisfied with that gift. Almost felt: "You've got this chutzpah! (You had the courage) I lived ninety years in my beautiful Naples lastly to die here, in this far-off land, here, without the warmth of my own, without the smell of my sea, and you present co'stò limp twig! (With this withered branch). Have not brought me a bouquet of fragrant flowers? What a misery! If this is the gift for the first anniversary, ten years from now you'll be forgotten about me! I that I wanted so, so good ..." Grandmother would not accept excuses, even in the face of evidence that twig, so that ' limp ' was not. Emiliana sat in an armchair. She looked up at the sky clipping, over the glass. By now, it should be so, for this time. He thought. He lifted the cup as a sign offering. In small sips, it tasted coffee.