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/
