Читать книгу The Confessions Of A Concubine - Roberta Mezzabarba - Страница 9

5.

Seeking oneself

I’d been doing it for some time now, and I noticed that Pietro also reciprocated the shower of looks that I launched at him every day.

Like a little girl I barricaded myself behind pathetic excuses: if no one sees you it’s as if you’re not seeking his eyes, it’s as if you didn’t want him to tell you every morning that you’re beautiful.

And Pietro, placid and undeterred, continued to return my glances, not doing anything other than give me the hint of a smile that opened his lips and gave me a glimpse of his teeth, just enough.

But I was afraid that some of our colleagues would notice this game of glances, which gave me the pleasant and unfamiliar feeling that someone

noticed and appreciated me.

I wanted nothing more than this, to receive attention, to be noticed: I know, it may seem pathetic, but that’s how it was for me.

The management of the supermarket had

decided to buy a new accounting program, and more and more often after my miscarriage I found myself relieved of manual tasks, which were heavy, and I helped Pietro in accounting more and more often.

Pietro, who had attended a course for the use of the new program, was commissioned to teach me the basic principles of using it, so that I could then help him in setting up the complicated operations of accounting and administration.

I blushed instantly at that news and my heart seemed to go like a galloping horse.

Meanwhile, Pietro had already prepared two chairs in front of the pc.

As he began to explain to me how that new

program worked, I kept my gaze fixed on the screen trying not to notice the scent coming from his skin, and his warm breath on my cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

"Please God save me," whispered my mind, to try to distract me from the man who was a few inches from my skin.

"Please God save me."

But it was not God who had to save me from that web which awaited me, I could have done it very well myself, and instead I did not.

His hand slipped naturally onto my knee, squeezing it a little, and I slowly turned to him.

It was if my face had turned frame by frame, it seemed so long before I met his gaze.

His eyes searched the space around the desk we occupied, then with a small smile, he made me understand that there was no one there.

And then it happened.

It happened, and I don’t know exactly how it

happened that I found myself with his lips resting on mine, in a light kiss.

It happened, and I thought the sky would collapse on me if I did something like this, but instead nothing happened.

Embarrassed I quickly turned my gaze to the video on which a small dash was flashing waiting for someone to decide to tell it what to do.

How could this have happened?

How could I have allowed something like this to happen?

How would I be able go home to my husband that evening?

As soon the "lesson" finished, I went to the bathroom, and stayed there for a good quarter of an hour: I spent it almost entirely in front of the mirror, looking at myself, to see if something had changed in me, if you could see that I had kissed another man, who was not my husband.

I washed my lips with soap, rubbing hard as if

they were really dirty, and then I rushed to take the bus home.

As I ran my thoughts were galloping too.

I was a married woman, and Pietro also had a wife, even though he never talked about her.

What had I been thinking?

***

Filippo had not arrived yet.

Good.

I would prepare the hunter's chicken that he likes so much to be forgiven for what he will never know, and to seal my mute promise that I would never do it again.

How would I be able to kiss him?

Would it still be the same or had something changed, that afternoon?

He arrived when it was already dark and giving me an apathetic kiss on the forehead got me out of

the bind of finding out if he would feel the taste of Pietro on my lips.

***

A confession.

The first.

The words come out in drops, digging into recent events, too recent for them not to still hurt.

I have to shape my will.

"Forgive me father for I have sinned."

Forgive me.

Forgiveness.

"I desire another woman's man."

Forgive me, O father.

The confessional is dark and through the grate I glimpse a figure intent on listening to me, his head bowed.

"My girl, the flesh is weak."

Forgive me, O father.

"My flesh is not weak, I want his soul, I want his words, I just want a little sweetness, a little affection, a little love."

Forgive me, O father and tell me what I can do: my dark existence has found that glimmer that gives color to everything, but he cannot belong to me and I cannot belong to him.

"My child, I know, it's hard."

Forgive me, O father but I can't help but have him in my thoughts in every second of every minute of every day.

"Forgive me, O father."

My knees begin to ache, as if the wood on which they are resting had suddenly become very rough.

Act of contrition... I repent of and I am sorry for...

my sins... I promise with the help of your Grace...

and to avoid the next occasions of sin.

I had never understood what I was reciting from memory, until now.

I promise, I promise.

I promise.

A saddlebag that was too heavy.

And my shoulders are too weak.