It happens sometimes to me to witness scenes of life over which you wish the curtain would never fall, or – if I was an ignorant – to not have witnessed them at all, to not see, to not hear, to not to feel, to not anything. The serious problem with these plays consists in my empathy, totally genetic and otherwise non-removable, I would not be surprised at all to find in me an iota of DNA that has written on it with bold ink “in times of emotional charges, to be placed in stiff position, with enlarged and fixed pupils and to suspend any reflex/instinct/brain activity”, plus some auxiliary strands from the “to blush excessively”, “to drown mice in tears”, “to tremble like a possessed” family.
I was travelling today by minibus, warm, very warm, Alphaville – Forever Young in the background, and many people around. Only by incident there was a quadruped among us, a red-haired puppy, small in stature and bored to death, judging after the muzzle-on-paws position it had adopted. At Concordia Square station gets in a stylish young lady I could say, with a set of books in hands. “The Perfume Collector” – as I decipher on the cover of the above. She takes sit in the seat of vis-a-vis the dog’s owner mistress and starts browsing through books, with an imperceptible smile on her face.
If until that moment the dog had been good, asleep, as soon as the young lady sat down in the chair, it suddenly raised its nose wondering, and no more, no less, jumped into her lap, began to howl with a whine thin and to rub its muzzle to her belly, as if it gave it stampede. Needless to describe the embarrassment of the owner and insistence on pulling the leash to get it down, to no avail – because the dog seemed obsessively obstinate to continue.
The young lady in question raised the hand that held the book and with the other started to comfort the poor restless quadruped, full of empathy.
-Yes, darling, sweetheart, I know .. I know, darling, i’m ill there! …
She had ovarian cancer. :(