The Confessions Of A Concubine. Roberta Mezzabarba
Читать онлайн книгу.
get far away from my hands
that can no longer reach you
touch you like warm water
like fragrant breeze
at dawn.
Go away from me.
Far away.
So that my eyes
can only glimpse you
indistinct
so that I can
chase you,
gain ground,
and join you,
nearby.
And my meetings with Pietro became more and more frequent.
And every time I was surprised I didn’t feel ashamed of what I was doing: I had gone from platonic to carnal without even realizing it, and as
the meetings multiplied, little by little I also lost the fear that had almost killed me the first time.
I searched for Pietro's gaze with mine, in the hope of discovering that small wink that presaged a new encounter.
I had fallen in love. Irreparably. Without solution.
I had also bought some lace underwear and each time I couldn't wait to show it to Pietro, although
"showing" was a eufemism, because in that squallid basement where we had established the abode of our meetings it was almost dark and even cold, but I did not feel any of this when I was stretched out on the cartons that he had brought downstairs and laid on the ground, overwhelmed by the whirlwind of sensations that Pietro made me feel.
Of course, it was important for me that he paid attention to me even outside of our tête-à-tête, but I was certain that instead it was vital for him to
have carnal contact with me.
He kept telling me that he had never felt what he felt for me, that I was fantastic, wonderful, beautiful, unique.
And each time I came out of it drunk.
And each time he wanted more.
Always more.
"I want to make love to you, I can't resist any longer! When I'm with my wife I think of you, I think I'll go crazy at this rate..."
In his arms everything seemed possible, but thinking back to his requests when I found myself alone, I didn’t feel ready, I didn’t want this last barrier that had remained between us to fall, the last small embankment against a current which was now too violent.
***
I felt a vague sense of guilt towards Filippo
hovering between us, leading me to have sexual impulses that, much more than once I think, had left him surprised if not appalled. To me it seemed that by giving myself to him I could partly silence my feelings of guilt.
One evening after some disinterested sex, done as if by obligation, he turned to me and said:
"You can't have children, you can't make me feel real pleasure... luckily at least you’re able to cook and tidy up the house, otherwise ... "
These were the things that made me realize more and more that I was not remotely willing to give up Pietro.
With my face pressed into the pillow I dreamed of Pietro, and clenched my teeth so as not to cry.
Filippo was never there: absent in moments of joy, and in moments of deep pain.
Absent not for nonsense, of course, for work.
" I serve the people!"
His work as a security guard made him feel a
step above the others.
For me by now it was late, too late to give up, to undo fastened ties, to give up, to do without Pietro.
I started because of pain.
Because of pain in love,
or love of the pain
now I don't know anymore.
I wrote love
and I didn't notice it
until many lines later,
when the pain reclined
tired and afflicted
on the extended palm of my heart.
And I loved.
Without hesitation and reservations,
certain
in the dark,
to find pain again,
only pain.
10.
The gala dinner
Giovanni Percalli, the new director of the company that managed the supermarket chain where I worked, had decided to offer a dinner to all the employees so they could meet him and to celebrate this new milestone.
"There’s no way I’m getting dressed up for someone who has bought himself a position in a company with money ..."
"But Filippo! Everyone will be there, do it for me, what will people think?"
"Think? What will they think? You work in that supermarket, you’re not obliged to do everything they ask!"
"But what if I want to go?"
"Listen Mysia, I don't want to come, and anyway tomorrow I have to cover a colleague, I’m doing a double shift, if you really want to go you can go by yourself, no problem."
Coversation over.
Television on.
End.
Swallowing tears of anger, and disappointment, I slid into a tub of boiling water.
The background of the news accompanied me, exasperating me, in every room.
I closed the bedroom door behind me, and stood in front of the closet looking for something that I could wear to the dinner.
***
The meeting room was already crowded with colleagues and other people I didn’t know.
The catering service had already set up a
wonderful buffet.
I felt a little calmer: I would spend a lovely evening with Pietro, he would tell me that he liked how I was dressed, that with my hair up I was more fascinating, he would make me feel beautiful for one evening, like Cinderella.
The director was in the middle of the room with his wife: a middle-aged couple that transmitted the complicity that united them. She looked towards him constantly, as she spoke, as if to seek comfort in his gaze, as he ran the palm of his hand lightly down her back. But what struck me immediately about the director's wife was her smile, which seemed to illuminate her whole face.
"Ah, good evening Pietro!"
The