1.
The girls had come to organize the celebration of their four decades without understanding how this could have happened. More than forty forty forty equals one hundred and twenty: it had written on the invitation sent to all friends. And we had joked about. The cakes, wine, music, friends, gifts, gossip and toast. Then the party was over and they were forty. 
At first I had not noticed, seemed to have changed anything. And it was so: it was true that birthday that he had not changed anything in itself. They had been in previous years to gradually erode the certainty, desires, feelings of omnipotence, marked now by a few wrinkles, annoying but not much. Winter
the party was over. She had come the spring, then summer and then was back in the winter. Was it that the cold months of the year was proving very hard. Cold and gray. Always, without respite. Rain or snow, never alone. It seemed a time a little 'apocalyptic. Or as the end of a movie, when the flow of credits leaves the scene to be very small, a bird's eye view. But here we are already beyond the weather, most in psychology.
It was then that forty years had knocked on the door. Children born with, sometimes torn between their parents, or those not born, because unwanted, sometimes chased, but failed attempts. With the loves lost, abandoned and forgotten, but never completely, regret, hated, remembered with bitterness, but sometimes with melancholy. With efforts to hold together the pieces of their lives. More and more fragile, those pieces, more frail.
I saw them, her friends, and they were always more beautiful. More compact. Even brighter than when I was twenty years younger. Someone had put on weight a few pounds, some remained thin with too much zeal. Some did not take back the gray hair, someone else had lost a bit 'of the brightness on the breast, the seat that had enchanted so many people. But they were beautiful all the same. Indeed, more.
What was so wrong? Their men. I realized I was one evening, strange case, everyone was there: their own, that is, friends, and their men who were so distant from those they loved, for which they had walked weeping or four inches off the ground. Those men of whom had spoken with such dedication that they had imagined, sought, pursued.
From my position as observer had looked good but the men who were there now, in flesh and blood. I had noticed that women were at the center, around a table. They talked, laughed, drank, joked, embraced, raised their voices, and eating ribevevano, held the reins of the evening. Their men, however, were scattered at the edge of the corolla of females. A spread on the couch, he felt that the fever was coming, he argued. Another, the landlord, who went back and forth from the kitchen carrying dirty dishes and a few other full of freshly baked food. One was not there, was away, because worked out, but continued to send messages on the mobile phone of his lady. A couple chatted with each other, trying every now and then to engage in a line of girls (my mother had continued to call 'girls' the friends of canasta even after seventy years to come) to hear his voice, to give his version the facts. Others were scattered around the house.
They, too, the boys were handsome men, not ever. Of all ages, someone had crossed the barrier of fifty, but there were those who had some years of less than girls. There were for all tastes: high and low fat or thin. With broad shoulders and pointed chin with the beard of contemplation. One pelatino, another hedgehog with blacks who were never anywhere and still another that it was decided to cut the tail hair now gray. Ex Movement and those with policy c'aveva not never had nothing to do, left or whatever, right no, what ever. An architect and a cook, a farmer and theatrical.
Seeing them separately, to meet one evening a dinner alone, without companions, I would not have found in them nothing wrong, nothing blatantly annoying. But it was due to the fact that they knew the woman who claimed, and rightly so, that did not fit. They did not go for girls, for what they had long hoped for, dreamed of their future. It was not a matter of compromise, expectations or resized. They were able to get them to exhaustion, the exhaustion of living love at breakneck speed, absolute despair in joy and in sorrow. These men had come once the women were sitting on a bench in the shade to rest a little, take a break, recharge your batteries. She had been caught in a moment of weakness. And they are aware, we were made to seize. Here's what they were forty, inch by inch that erosion had excavated the rock. But it was not a surrender, it was not expedient. It was awareness.
At first I had not noticed, seemed to have changed anything. And it was so: it was true that birthday that he had not changed anything in itself. They had been in previous years to gradually erode the certainty, desires, feelings of omnipotence, marked now by a few wrinkles, annoying but not much. Winter
the party was over. She had come the spring, then summer and then was back in the winter. Was it that the cold months of the year was proving very hard. Cold and gray. Always, without respite. Rain or snow, never alone. It seemed a time a little 'apocalyptic. Or as the end of a movie, when the flow of credits leaves the scene to be very small, a bird's eye view. But here we are already beyond the weather, most in psychology.
It was then that forty years had knocked on the door. Children born with, sometimes torn between their parents, or those not born, because unwanted, sometimes chased, but failed attempts. With the loves lost, abandoned and forgotten, but never completely, regret, hated, remembered with bitterness, but sometimes with melancholy. With efforts to hold together the pieces of their lives. More and more fragile, those pieces, more frail.
I saw them, her friends, and they were always more beautiful. More compact. Even brighter than when I was twenty years younger. Someone had put on weight a few pounds, some remained thin with too much zeal. Some did not take back the gray hair, someone else had lost a bit 'of the brightness on the breast, the seat that had enchanted so many people. But they were beautiful all the same. Indeed, more.
What was so wrong? Their men. I realized I was one evening, strange case, everyone was there: their own, that is, friends, and their men who were so distant from those they loved, for which they had walked weeping or four inches off the ground. Those men of whom had spoken with such dedication that they had imagined, sought, pursued.
From my position as observer had looked good but the men who were there now, in flesh and blood. I had noticed that women were at the center, around a table. They talked, laughed, drank, joked, embraced, raised their voices, and eating ribevevano, held the reins of the evening. Their men, however, were scattered at the edge of the corolla of females. A spread on the couch, he felt that the fever was coming, he argued. Another, the landlord, who went back and forth from the kitchen carrying dirty dishes and a few other full of freshly baked food. One was not there, was away, because worked out, but continued to send messages on the mobile phone of his lady. A couple chatted with each other, trying every now and then to engage in a line of girls (my mother had continued to call 'girls' the friends of canasta even after seventy years to come) to hear his voice, to give his version the facts. Others were scattered around the house.
They, too, the boys were handsome men, not ever. Of all ages, someone had crossed the barrier of fifty, but there were those who had some years of less than girls. There were for all tastes: high and low fat or thin. With broad shoulders and pointed chin with the beard of contemplation. One pelatino, another hedgehog with blacks who were never anywhere and still another that it was decided to cut the tail hair now gray. Ex Movement and those with policy c'aveva not never had nothing to do, left or whatever, right no, what ever. An architect and a cook, a farmer and theatrical.
Seeing them separately, to meet one evening a dinner alone, without companions, I would not have found in them nothing wrong, nothing blatantly annoying. But it was due to the fact that they knew the woman who claimed, and rightly so, that did not fit. They did not go for girls, for what they had long hoped for, dreamed of their future. It was not a matter of compromise, expectations or resized. They were able to get them to exhaustion, the exhaustion of living love at breakneck speed, absolute despair in joy and in sorrow. These men had come once the women were sitting on a bench in the shade to rest a little, take a break, recharge your batteries. She had been caught in a moment of weakness. And they are aware, we were made to seize. Here's what they were forty, inch by inch that erosion had excavated the rock. But it was not a surrender, it was not expedient. It was awareness.
0 comments:
Post a Comment