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Back The Scent of Your Breath Save as PDF
Chapters (45)
  1. Cover Page
  2. The Scent of Your Breath
  3. Dedication
  4. ONE
  5. TWO
  6. THREE
  7. FOUR
  8. FIVE
  9. SIX
  10. SEVEN
  11. EIGHT
  12. NINE
  13. TEN
  14. ELEVEN
  15. TWELVE
  16. THIRTEEN
  17. FOURTEEN
  18. FIFTEEN
  19. SIXTEEN
  20. SEVENTEEN
  21. EIGHTEEN
  22. NINETEEN
  23. TWENTY
  24. TWENTY-ONE
  25. TWENTY-TWO
  26. TWENTY-THREE
  27. TWENTY-FOUR
  28. TWENTY-FIVE
  29. TWENTY-SIX
  30. TWENTY-SEVEN
  31. TWENTY-EIGHT
  32. TWENTY-NINE
  33. THIRTY
  34. THIRTY-ONE
  35. THIRTY-TWO
  36. THIRTY-THREE
  37. THIRTY-FOUR
  38. THIRTY-FIVE
  39. THIRTY-SIX
  40. THIRTY-SEVEN
  41. THIRTY-EIGHT
  42. THIRTY-NINE
  43. FORTY
  44. FORTY-ONE
  45. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

“So?” I ask the woman with eyes like yours. “Another one who thinks she’s me. So?”

“So, you fool, this might alleviate all your suffering. Don’t you understand, don’t you see that the only connection between the two of you is him? The only point in common might be the love that links you to him.”

“What the hell do you mean? That it wasn’t Viola but that bitch Penelope who was jeopardizing my relationship with Thomas? Are you saying I’m blind, as always?”

Her eyes are sweet again and that makes me nervous. “No,” she says, “she’ll come after you. She doesn’t yet exist in his thoughts. She’ll come if you decide, if you go downstairs, open the letter, and see the photograph she’s sent you. You’ll be able to decide whether to survive or to die … and quite honestly I don’t know which is worse,” and she laughs, modestly putting a hand in front of her mouth.

“Shut up! Shut up … stop laughing. Tell me more clearly,” I beg.

She composes herself and says, “Do it like this. If you want to die outright, the best thing to do is the following: you invite her over to your place one of these days, and a few hours before she turns up, you leave. You get out of there. But you really have to go for good. In the meantime make sure that he’s at home, so that when she rings the bell, he’s the one who answers the door, and she’ll be forced to accept his invitation to come in, because she’s just had a long journey … and that way you’ll die, but at least you’ll be happy. And you’ll know that everything’s real and nothing is imagined anymore.”

I look at her again, think for a moment, bite my lip, and then whisper, “I’ll go and see her.”

I open my mailbox and see that the letter’s there, and I don’t care, I don’t give it a thought. But when I see her photograph only one thought occurs to me: She’s more beautiful than I am.

And my mind’s made up.

THIRTY-SEVEN

I’m on the train. The landscapes of Lazio and then of Umbria run parallel to my face, but my eyes are fixed on the seat opposite mine, and I am listening to a familiar but by now an ephemeral voice.

Thomas looks at me as he looked at me some months ago, straight into my pupils, with his eyes gleaming, his nostrils twitching, and his mouth half open. He looks at me as he looked at me when my excess of life was still so feeble.