Leonia cared for him assiduously, lovingly, with complete dedication, and when he became confined to his bed she never left his side: at night she would stretch out beside him on an improvised cot placed close to his. She would prepare certain delicious drinks with which to refresh him, and concoct purees that were both nutritious and delectable.

The doctor came, and respecting the rules of the house expressed his verdict with a mere shrug of his shoulders, as if to say: ‘When you’re old there’s nothing left to do but to die.’ The priest came too, and with a supplicant’s invocation before the speechless patient, spread his arms towards the heavens: ‘The Lord will forgive. His quarrel was not with God, but with the world.’

In May, during a lukewarm sunset, the sun’s rays gradually invaded the room, during this period finding their way in every evening, as if bringing a greeting.

Benedetto Vai had had a restless night, and his agitation had grown throughout the day. He was overcome by a sense of disquiet that he was only able to rein in through a superhuman effort of will: through a real and genuine act of heroism. His mind was still lucid, his will still his own. Only certain involuntary movements of his head betrayed the presence of his illness. Leonia would arrange the pillows under his head, clasp his hands, moisten his lips, wipe the sweat from his brow. In the face of the old man, pinched with suffering, the big blue eyes still gave to him a semblance of vitality and innocence. Those lovely eyes were even larger than usual, and his shipwrecked gaze drifted about the room constantly, searching for a point of reference he could not manage to locate. Leonia’s eyes were also beautiful, brimming with passion and sorrow, following the unmoored glances of her master. Then one day it was as if lightning had struck. She suddenly jumped up, as one does when remembering something important that has been overlooked. She rushed to the cupboard and flung it open. She brought out the tablecloth and carefully spread it over the round table that stood in the centre of the room. She took out twelve plates and arranged them around it in perfect order. The glasses followed. This corpulent woman now moved quickly and athletically, from the table to the cupboard, from the cupboard to the table, as if in setting it she had transcended her body and become weightless.

Benedetto Vai watched her avidly, fixing his gaze on her with all his remaining strength, his whole life concentrated into that point, into staring at the woman as she worked. And every so often he would glance fleetingly at the door. His blue eyes were still large and clear, like those of a boy’s.

Next to the plates, between the plates and the glasses, Leonia precisely arranged the elegant gilt cutlery; calmly, serenely – and continued to move around that table lightly, with expansive gestures, almost as if in setting it she was performing a choreographed dance. In the middle of the table she created a large bushy display with the mother-of-pearl and silver roses, and ran through the shuttered, deserted house looking for twelve chairs. As soon as her task had been completed she stood back to admire her handiwork, and smiled with her entire being.