Reale di famiglia

A dimly lit living room with framed pictures on the wall, upholstered chairs with floral cushions, a side table with a lamp, and curtains on the right side letting in light.

A darkly lit sculpture of a woman with delicate features, curly hair, and a hand resting on her chest.

A woman with dark curly hair seated in an ornate wooden chair in a room decorated with wallpaper patterned with fleur-de-lis, a large houseplant behind her, and a table with a lamp and lace cloth beside her.

A white door with textured glass panels in a hallway with tiled floor and a framed picture hanging on the right wall.

A wooden desk with a collection of framed photographs, a vintage yellow lampshade with fringe, a wall picture of two people sitting, and a framed picture of a woman in white.

A person with dark hair tied back, wearing a white shirt, looking down at an object in their hands, standing in front of a window with sheer curtains, surrounded by framed photographs on a table.

A round metal container filled with individually wrapped caramels that are green and white, placed on a patterned carpet.

After years of suspended silence, the front door of the house on Via Simonetta, in Cosenza, slowly opens again.

It doesn't want to frighten whoever is still inside.

The light in the entrance barely brings the ceramic figurines in the living room back into view.

At once, the scent of face powder and a faint smell of home cooking wrap around me like velvet.

I'm home, and my eyes fill with tears.

Dust has settled over everything.
It has stopped time.

The floors still remember her footsteps.
The mirrors remember her reflection.
The mink stole is still resting on the armchair, as if it had been left there only the night before.
I look for the mint candies.
They are still there.
A certainty.

If it weren't for the dust, it would seem she had only stepped out for a moment.

We open the windows, one by one.

The air begins to change.
The voices return.

The crystal drops catch the light once again.
Our faces overlap, blending together in the mirrors and the glass cabinets, until they seem to become one.

As if we were her.

Dopo anni di quiete sospesa, in Via Simonetta a Cosenza, il portone di casa si riapre, piano.
Non vuole spaventare chi vi è dentro.

La luce dell’ingresso a fatica ridisegna la silouette delle statuette in ceramica che si trovano nel salotto.

Subito un profumo di cipria e un lontano sentore di cucina, mi avvolgono come velluto.

Sono a casa e gli occhi si inumidiscono.

La polvere ha coperto tutto, ha fermato il tempo.

I pavimenti ricordano i passi.
Gli specchi, la sua figura.
La stola di visone ancora appoggiata sulla poltrona, come se fosse stata messa li la sera precedente.
Cerco le caramelle alla menta, sono sempre li, una certezza.

Se non fosse per la polvere, sembrerebbe sia uscita solo un momento.

Apriamo le finestre, una alla volta.
L’aria cambia.
Le voci tornano.

Le gocce di cristallo riprendono a riflettere la luce , i nostri volti si intrecciano, si confondono negli specchi e nelle vetrine, come fossero uno solo.
Come fossimo lei.