The end of dreams

31

It was the beginning of September yet it looked as if it was already November. Slow, weak drizzle was coming down: it only moistened her hair while threading its way through it, like tiny pine needles. 

"Shall we take the umbrella?" asked Andrew in a low voice.

Silvia did not even hear him. She got out of the car as soon as he stopped the engine.

They were in front of a very small hospital in the middle of nowhere. That was the only building which had deigned to receive Michelle in those last, ruthless days of her life.

The flamboyant healthcare system with all its worldwide renowned buildings had miserably failed to cure her; it had neither space nor time to waste for a young dying woman whose contribution to science was no longer needed.

The sky had turned grey: it resembled Silvia's soft-grey eyes. The girl gazed at the exterior features of the hospital: the building was in an evident state of disrepair and its glum aspect reflected faithfully the dramatic character of that moment. Mark's resolute gait suggested to her that she should let him lead the way. Andrew took her by the hand but she was too weak to get rid of his grip; she had always detested being taken by the hand.

They took the lift to go to the second floor - it was actually the top floor - of that third-rate construction lost in the suburbia. Silvia immediately began to hate that place. The elevator looked more like a fright elevator and when they left it they found themselves in a weakly illuminated small vestibule from which two corridors branched off. They turned straight into the corridor on the left-hand side. A plaque with big block capitals on it towered over the entrance and it consisted of brief, sad information: palliative care.

"They might as well have written that whoever enters here should abandon hope" muttered Silvia.

Andrew took a loving glance at her. 

"Shall we go?" 

She nodded. 

They opened the heavy entrance door to the ill-omened terminal care center. She went in and turned round to look at the door again. It reminded her of something. She stepped back toward it and finally she leaned her shoulders against it. 

"I'll go to her" said Mark, who was anxious to go back to his Michelle.

"You just go as well" said Silvia, and it sounded like a clear order.

"I must do it by myself." 

Andrew did not really cotton on to it but he did not have the guts to disobey her.

As the boys went out of her sight Silvia stood suddenly in front of an unknown yet familiar corridor: it was long, unreasonably long. Many identical doors on a line faced each other from both sides of it. Her door was the one on the right side, at the bottom of the corridor, and it was, obviously, the hardest to reach. Silvia lowered her head so that she would not turn round to peep into the rooms, lest she could be overwhelmed by the gloomy sadness that emanated from them. She had just begun to proceed slowly toward that most atrocious pain of all.

The smell of drugs and death accompanied her up to that last door. 

"She's a young girl, what a pity" whispered a woman while leaving the opposite room. Then a scent of roses spread.

Silvia turned slowly round. She lifted her gaze even more slowly. 

"Hi, Silvia" uttered Michelle in a low voice. Her eyes were half-closed. She had recognized Silvia's steps. Silvia raised slowly her eyes and her attention focused on Michelle's hand: it was livid and swollen. She recognized the flower tattoo on the back of her hand. She did not recognize her voice, though. Not in the least.

One day her grand-pa Francis had told her that when an animal changes its own voice it means that it is about to die. Her grandfather's theory was being confirmed in front of her.

Silvia lifted her gaze even more to find out if the patient was really Michelle. The woman was lying on the only bed present in the room and she looked bigger than Michelle. A few hours earlier the nurses had moved her only room-mate in order to make space for the several friends who would surely pay a visit to her. Doctors nourish no doubts when it comes to certain situations. At last Silvia's gaze got on level with her face: she felt a sort of pang in her stomach because she could hardly recognize it. Its condition was pitful since it was livid and swollen like her hands. 

"How can one end up in such a condition..." thought Silvia, anguished.

Her Pina had always been so beautiful, with her slender, at times almost scrawny, silhouette and she had often flaunted it. Now she was going to die as swollen as a ball on account of a cruelly derisory fate.

"She has recognized her" whispered aunt Julia to Anna.

Anna could hardly keep her eyes open: she had cried too many devastating, sleepless nights.