Julian’s death
Two days after I listened to the tape, Julian died.
Quiet, no scenes. He fell asleep in the window armchair, with a book closed in his hand.
Doctors wrote “stopping the heart in a general deteriorating condition.” I read “a man who has done his job.”
The synaptic bridge was completed.
My nights were already full of scenes that weren’t mine. I could see Catherine in the lab, I could hear him scolding him for not buckling his coat, I was feeling the taste of the wine I had never drunk.
At the same time, I also remembered how my dad was buying a patty in front of school, holding my hand when we were crossing.
Two universes, packed into a skull.
At Julian’s funeral, I was standing next to the coffin in a black dress, with a look that I don’t know whose it was.
My father was there – upright, healthy, in color in the cheeks, which I had not seen for years. He was wearing a new suit he couldn’t afford before.
There were tears in front of the people:
“He was our savior… Thanks to him I am alive…
I squeezed the bag with the folders inside and told myself it was the last time any of us told this lie.
