Читать книгу I love you, thank you - Kimi Turró - Страница 10

24 th January 2009: I wake up with a start and sit up in bed. A loud noise has woken me. It’s very early, still dark, I can hear the wind buffeting the house. I feel very strange and don’t know what’s wrong with me. I try to go back to sleep but can’t. I toss and turn in bed a long time until I decide to get up; this is very unusual for me as I love sleeping and it’s never given me any problems. I pick up a notebook and start to write an essay in French that’s work for the language school. Later on, I send a message to my sister, since today is her birthday. I wish her a fantastic day and she answers “With a sister like you, I’m sure it will be.” And I tell her I love her. Són quasi les vuit del matí i sona el telèfon de l’Adrià, que és damunt del pedrís de la cuina. It’s almost eight o’clock in the morning and Adrià’s phone, on the kitchen worktop, rings. I pick it up and see that it’s Pere, his father. I answer and he, thinking I’m Adrià, shouts “Adrià, Adrià!” When he hears me, for a moment his voice is relieved and calms down, “Adrià’s here?” I tell him that I don’t think so, while I go into the hall to see if his trainers are on the floor; then I go into his bedroom. The door is open and I deduce that he’s not there. Pere hangs up and I’m surprised. Around ten minutes go by and he calls back and says “I’m on my way over. Adrià’s up to his tricks again.” Everything happens very quickly. I think that he and his friends have been up to no good. But, in fact, I don’t have much time to think. There’s a knock on the door. Pere runs in and hugs me. Outside the police are waiting. He tells me “Hold me, hold me, Adrià’s dead.” A deep, dry cry bursts from within me; Pere’s words ring in my head, “Adrià’s dead, Adrià’s dead”, and I break into a thousand pieces.

How can I hug someone who breaks this news to me? How can someone come and tell me that my beloved child, my little king, my little boy, is dead? That he’ll never come in through the door again, that I’ll never be able to kiss him again, that I’ll never be able to tell him off him again, that we’ll never share any more secrets, play, cook, or watch television?

It’s all over. It’s like crossing a very fine line that can’t be seen, but is also an abyss, a deep well, like a black hole with no edges or end. Everything’s dark, there’s no light any more. I want to die. I want to go with him. Nothing has any meaning. I can’t feel my body, it feels as though a dagger has gone through my chest. I feel like I’m choking. I can hardly breathe. My legs are wobbly, but I want to run now, I want to escape and run and run until, breathless, I fall to the ground. The world falls in on me. Nothing has any meaning.

The visits begin, the condolences, the phone calls. Pere and I aren’t there. Our mind is far, far away. We let ourselves be held and loved, but we feel nothing at all, it’s like all our blood has been extracted. All that remains is a great pain and there’s an excruciating pain in my heart.

It’s Saturday. The shops are closed. There are roses and candles in the shop-windows. The whole town of Banyoles is out in force. The darkness of pain smothers everything. The news flies like a great black cloud that just gets bigger and bigger. Friends, customers, relatives, everyone wakes up into a nightmare. A grey day begins for everybody. Banyoles is dressed in mourning. Adrià Roca is dead.

I can only think about phoning David, his brother. I ring and ring, the hours pass and he doesn’t answer his mobile until mid-morning. I’m so nervous that the only sound that comes out of my mouth is a cry of pain, “Adrià’s dead, Adrià’s dead!” Poor David! He doesn’t know what’s happening to him, the darkness now reaches them, he and his partner, Quim. They live in Girona and get here as quickly as they can.

I see our pain reflected, as if in a mirror, in the faces of our friends and customers. Even now, their faces are still engraved on my heart. None of the team of Can Pere Roca, our charcuterie, each next to the other, knows how to help us; some are serious, others cry. It’s all so dreadful! But I can’t cry. The tears are stuck inside me and I feel as though I’m a block of stone.

There’s a knock on the door. It’s my dearest friends, from when we were little, Montse, Sussi and Anna. It’s the second time they’ve come to embrace me and give me all their love. The first was when I was 14 and my mother died. They’re standing in front of me once more. For a second, I go back in time. My friends are here, with their pain, which is my pain, reflected on their faces. There’s no need to say anything. Our looks, our tears say it all. Our love goes beyond this. And, in the midst of all this, I ask myself “Why is it always me?”

The visits are endless, the house is always full, the door’s never closed. There’s a constant coming and going. I don’t know how many people came by that day, but it was an endless round of tears and hugs.

The following days are lived in utter darkness. Pere, David and Quim are with me. Their company and love are there to protect me, but there’s only one thought going through my mind – the pain of the loss of Adrià. My son.