Coma. Federico Betti
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to try to see again that shadow, but I don’t see anyone anymore.
Maybe there never was anyone there besides me, and the shadow that I saw was only in my head, it was result of my imagination.
Is this sort of isolation having some kind of negative effect over me? On my body, but also on my mind? Is it destroying me psychically, slowly wearing me out?
I hope not, in the meanwhile I see that shadow again, as it passes sneakily and hides somewhere, moving from time to time.
That’s what’s going on: someone is playing with me.
Yes, I’m starting to be sure, but that’s a game that I don’t like at all, you know? Where are they hidden? I can’t see the shadow anymore.
Actually, I can, I’m seeing it, here next to me, so close.
I turn to my left and see something: the outline of a human figure, of a dark grey tone, that I can distinguish in the middle of the dark unvarying black thanks only to this light tone difference.
“A painkiller”, I say, “I need a painkiller”. But how can I think to get something, an answer of any kind, from a flimsy presence?
The human-alike pulled back after a few moments and I stay once again alone, trying, for a few moments, not to think of anything, hoping that in the meanwhile my headache goes way too.
A question arises: where am I now, time passes by or stays still? It feels like being out of the world, in a parallel world, or in a place, in a system, isolated from the rest thanks to an air bubble or a glass sphere. Where am I?
I have an annoying headache. Can someone help me? Give me something that makes it go away, or at least that it’s able to alleviate it. If it stays like this, my temples will explode in a few hours.
I see that shadow again.
It is coming close to me again, arriving at my left.
He looks at me… so to speak. It’s inconsistent, like a halo, without a face, but if he did have it, the gaze would have been in my direction, at least one meter far away.
“A painkiller”, I say, “I need a painkiller. It hurts like hell!”
The weird presence goes away again; it seems almost like he comes here to me with the purpose of stay a few seconds staring at me and, right after, go away retracing his steps.
Who is he? Or should I say: what is it? I don’t know, but I want to.
Many thoughts are born and evolve inside me, I’m racking my own brain, I’m in confusion, and I have to try to make clear many things: where am I and why, how long have I been here and how long do I have to stay still…
And yet: could I reduce time? If yes, how?
All these questions do nothing but make my migraine worse, so I close my eyes and try to relax, waiting for some change and for someone who can help me get out of here.
XI
Days went by and, although the doctors were optimistic and made Mario Mazza imply that his brother was going to completely recover in a few days, he was always brooding, and he would have been until he didn’t see with his own eyes Luigi walking on his own and go back to his normal life.
Like everyday after the accident, once again memories came to mind, in which he got lost, sometimes smiling, sometimes barely holding back his tears.
Who knows if we could go back to have fun together, to have dinner in nice restaurants in the area of Bologna?
He was awakened by the voice of a nurse that was laughing down the hall and so he realized that he was sitting on that chair since an hour and half, in front of the room accommodating his brother, with the door shut and silence inside.
He got up to have a coffee at the vending machine then he walked back and forth until it was evening, as if he was confident that some doctor would have got to him with some good news; but clearly his brother’s conditions were stationary because he didn’t see anyone coming all afternoon, and when Mario Mazza got out of the hospital to get back home, outside it was snowing again.
Swearing and covering himself up as much as possible, he got on the bus to Bologna’s town centre, where he decided to stop for the happy hour in a pub in Zamboni street.
XII
I’m driving, I don’t know where to. I’m in a car, with a steering wheel in front of me and nothing else.
In this car there are no passengers’ seats, and all around it’s dark.
I didn’t understand the reason, but I’m sure that around here there’s someone that has bad intentions towards me.
I haven’t understood where I am: in a garage? Locked in a secret place?
And, mainly, I don’t know why I am in this unknown place. I feel like I got here by chance, catapulted here, almost against my will.
Headache is coming back, stronger and persistent. What should I do?
“Where are you? Please, I need something to make this migraine go away.”
No one is answering, everyone ran away, are they afraid of something maybe?
“Come on, get out of there!”
No way, the situation doesn’t change.
I try to look at my right and at my left, to look behind me, in the case that I could notice a movement, but I don’t see a thing.
This condition is starting to get on my nerves, I barely stand the darkness because I know that it could hide some trap, I can’t stand being made fun of by someone, known or not that he could be, at this point I can’t stand any of this. For a moment I see…
A shadow, the one that I saw the other time, it’s coming back towards me.
It’s next to be, I notice that he stops, I turn left and I found it in front of me, inconsistent and without its face’s features.
“A painkiller. Do you have a painkiller for me?”, I ask once again, realizing again, only after asking the question, that I can’t insist on an answer. Not from a shadow.
If it had eyes, it would look at me.
“Who are you? What are you doing here?”
I know that there questions, like a lot more that could pop in my head, won’t have any answer, but if I ask them it’s because this way I could find certainty inside me.
The shadow goes quickly back on his steps, leaving me alone with many unanswered questions, then it comes back.
“May I know who you are?”, I say, almost screaming. I feel like being on the limit of hysteria; I have to calm down, relax, otherwise I won’t solve a thing, I will never get out of here.
I stay for a few minutes in company of this inconsistent figure, that goes away again:
I try to follow it with my gaze to see where it goes, but I can’t see it anymore, it’s like it dematerialized instantly.
Maybe it’s all in m head, figment of my imagination, nothing is real and true.
But, if it really is like this, my mind is playing tricks on me. So: reality or simulation? Am I dreaming or am I awake?
I try to stop thinking: maybe it would help me calm down and come to sense.
I close my eyes and wait.
XIII
Mario Mazza was quivering from a few days: he knew that soon enough his brother was going to be brought out of the medically inducted coma.
The doctors confirmed it: “In two days, most likely. The cranial injury is almost completely healed: his brother did really good, he reacted perfectly.”
He was happy: he could finally start to think about an “after”; they would have