Silence walks if possible

 

Occasionally she would stare openly at me, without restraint and forced decency. Then I would ask her what she was thinking. Nothing - she would answer. The tone was flat. Her gaze would always be blank. She seemed to be looking at a certain point. Then I would stare at her pupils. Those few minutes lasted a long time. I would feel pain in my brain. Unspecified place. Uncombed hair would fall over her cheeks. Thin. Worn out. Seemingly an answer with no real connection to the question. 'Nothing'. I would give up the conversation even before the conversation started. I would make coffee in a little black machine that sometimes turns itself on. I would go to the window. I would try to see what it was in the distance, even though I basically knew. Above the roofs in the distance, a green straight line. Actually, behind, but it's not that important now. Field. Green field. Weed field. Garbage field. And the hospital. A gray tall building that rises like a wall to my left. I remembered the poetry of Anne Sexton. The sun was shining. And yet, everything was as gray and heavy as the hospital walls. Nothing, I thought. I went back to the other room to see what she was doing. She sat on the couch, looking at the same green line in the distance.

- What are you thinking about?

- About nothing. So....

The pain in my brain grew more and more. That knocking iron wrist. One o'clock will be soon. Lunch needs to be set.

- Come we'll eat together. There are potatoes and fish.

- I'm not hungry yet.

She would continue to stare into an indefinite spot on the line of demarcation of the red roofs of ground-floor houses and weed fields that belongs to no one. The sun is moving low. Clouds follows fast. I would eat, as usual, alone.

 

 

23.34h

03/12/2021

Friday

/West London/