Free Accabadora by Michela Murgia Page A

chair as if she had been scalded, took several steps towards the window so as to have her back to Nicola, and when she turned round again the expression in her eyes was one he had never seen before.
    â€œYou’re talking about things that have nothing to do with you, and Santino is wrong to do the same. And whatever he said, the two cases have nothing in common. Giacomo Littorra was dying.”
    â€œAnd I’m already dead but they can’t bury me.”
    Bonaria made an angry gesture with her hand, more expressive than any word.
    â€œDo you really think my job is to kill people who haven’t the courage to face their problems?”
    â€œNo, I believe it’s to help those who can’t bear to suffer any more.”
    â€œThat’s Our Lord’s job, not mine. Doing what is right has never mattered to you, so are you now trying to get me to do what is wrong?”
    Nicola, not much inclined to respect divine roles in the comedy in which he himself played the principal part, was suddenly impatient with Bonaria’s evasiveness. He called for hismother in a loud voice. She immediately hurried into the room, drying her hands on her apron.
    â€œWhat is it, Nicò?”
    â€œTzia Bonaria’s turning into a priest, Ma. She’s already quoting the scriptures like someone who has to live on alms. Just listen to her!”
    Giannina turned to Bonaria in confusion, but the elderly woman had not moved, and held Nicola’s feverish gaze with a neutral expression.
    â€œBut what are you saying, Nicola? Is that the way to talk to people who come to pay you a visit?”
    â€œYour son’s not well and is saying silly things, Giannina. Don’t listen, I’m not listening to him either.”
    â€œI’m not saying silly things. But you are, coming here on two legs to tell me I can walk on one leg alone. That’s the way of priests, and stupid people.”
    â€œNicola, you know why I’m telling you things. There’s no point in wasting your anger on me.”
    â€œThen why are you talking like a woman who knows nothing about real life?”
    â€œOnly one person in this room knows nothing about real life. If you had any sense you’d thank your guardian angel for the miracle that you’re still alive. After what happened you could easily have been dead and buried, with the rest of us in mourning round your grave.”
    â€œSpending my whole life in bed, you call that a miracle? Being carried on a chair when I need to shit, you call that a miracle? Certainly I was a miracle once, a man with only one equal in Soreni, and maybe not even that. Now I’m a cripple,not even worth the air I breathe. I’d have been a hundred times better dead!”
    Bonaria made no response, turning towards the window from where the light of what was still full day was painting the room an unreal warm rose colour. The little putti on the coverlet glistened rudely in this luminous embrace, creating among the folds of chenille the optical illusion of a hysterical infantile dance. Bonaria snatched her shawl from the chair as a prelude to departure. Going out she said:
    â€œIf this is what you really believe, Nicola, I think you’re wrong. If all it needs to make a man is a leg, then every table is more of a man than you are.”
    Giannina Bastíu irritably reproved her silenced son, then ran out after Bonaria. The two women faced each other in silence in the narrow corridor, while the sound of angry little movements, as abrupt as Nicola’s condition permitted, came from the bed inside the room. After waiting nervously for a minute or two, Giannina whispered:
    â€œHe won’t accept it. What can we do?”
    â€œTry getting the priest to come and see him.”
    â€œDon Frantziscu? And what can he do for my son who doesn’t even believe in God?”
    Bonaria pursed her lips and she looked at her friend.
    â€œI don’t know, Giannina, but in a